The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1852-07-15

ter's infant son, who was heir to eight titles
when he died. This "noblc impe," as the in
scription calls him. was impiously poisoned by
his nurse but he may have escaped the scat
fold in this way-who knows! He is pretty
child as he lies there, like stately little petri-
faction.
From Warwick we drove to Stratford-on-
Avon, about eight miles: by pleasant and
quiet road.
| know need not attempt to tell you, my
dear M. with what feelings approached
this shrine Of my highest intellectual worship;
how every hill and green Swallowed vale, and
old tree, and the banks of that almost sacred
river. spoke to my hushed heart of him who
once trod that earth, and breathed that air.
and watched the silver flowing OF that stream |;
of him whose mind was fount Of wisdom and
thought, mt which generation after generation
has drunk, and vet it fails not Of him whose
wondrous creative genius passed not alone into
grand and terrible forms of human and super
human power, nor pcr~cas:..S-s Of manly wit,
royal courtes,, and warlike courage, tut who
made hir.self master of all the mysterie Of the
fep:::.,ine soul of Nature called into being a
world of love and poetry, and peopled it with
beautiful immortals; of him whose bold yet
delicate hand swept every chord in mans vari-
able nature 10 whom the soul of childhood
gave up its tender little secrets from whose eye
nothing was hid, even in the deepest heart Of
womanhood
| knew the house. should have known it
anywhere, from plates and descriptions. We
passed through the shop, into what seemed to
have been sort Of family-room. Here | felt
disposed to linger for in that deep chimney
corner he must have sat often in winter nights,
dreaming the dreams that have since filled the
world Perhaps he there saw, in the glowing
embers, the grotesque and horrible faces of
Caliban and the weird sisters, or the delicate
forms of Ariel and Titania floating in the
wreathed smoke, and heard in the rain with
out, the ptiless storm which beat upon the
head of Lear.
We assembled a short narrow flight of stairs,
and stood in the birth-chamber of Shakespeare |!
the humble little room where his infant heart
took up that throb which had in it 50 much of
the intellectual life of the ages to come. As |
stood silently there, was almost panied with a
vain wOnderment as to the mother of Shaks-
peare Was she great-hearted and large-mind-
ed-fully worthy of the glory which rays back
upon her. Did no instructive pride stir grand
ly in her bosom, as she laid against it first her
newborn child Did no prophetic glorying
mingle with her sweet maternal jOyt
The entire house is small and simple, even
to meanness and yet it has ever been, and
must be while it stands, the pilgrim shrine "
of genius and wealth, and rank, and royalty,
where the humble and great of all nations do
homage to a monarch of the human mind, alb
s0lutc and undenosabe. As emerged from
this low. dark house, which hold snonid ~,
dearer to England than any palace of her
kings, and walked towards the Church of the
Holy Trinity, was disagreeably struck by the
smart insolent newness of some of the build
ings on my way and by the modern dress and
air of the people. How ! hated the haring
shop windows, with their display of cheap rib
bons and prints, and flashy silks But was
comforted by the sight of a goodly number of
quaint and moss-grown houses, and could
have blessed company of strolling players
and ballad-singers, who had collected gaping
crowd in an open square, for being in harmony
somewhat with the place. could have willed
Stratford and all it's inhabitants to have been
wrapt forever in charmed sleep, like that
of the fairy tale when Shakespeare was laid to
his rest in that picturesque old church on the
banks of the Avon Nature seems nowhere
unharmonious with ones poetic memories of
him-you could almost believe that the trees,
and the grass and even the flowers, were of his
day. | remember a rich June rose, hanging
over hedge, its warm leaves glowing through
glistening rain.drops, and that it seemed to
me he might have looked into the heart of this
rose, and dreamed of the passOn-f reighted
heart Of Juliet We entered the church,
passed up into the chancel, and stood before
the bust and above the ashes Of Shakespeare.
On our return to Warwick, we found that
we had not time sufficient for visit to Kenil-
worth Castle ! am intending to "don that,
on my way to London, next week, together
with the famous old town of Coventry, where
the benevolent Lady Godiva once took an air
ing ON horseback, not for her health, but for
the common veal.
Sunday dflernoon.-I attended worship this
morning in the old parish church of Edgbas-
ton. chose this, because was told it was q
beautiful, antique, iyy-clad, foliage-embowered
little building. | found it oil this-the very
ideal of country church, half hid among the
trees, and calling sweetly to worship with most
melodiOus bells; but the service was more than
two hours long! There were no less than eight
prayers and Thanksgiving offered up for 6 her
most gracious Majesty her name
was mentioned nearly as often as that of Christ,
and with quite as much apparent reverence.
The Prince Consort and Prince of Wales were
also most honorably mentioned and fervently
prayed for At one time, ] was apprehensive
that all the royal children were to be separate
ly presented; but to my relief they were COL
lectively commended to the loyal care of Provi-
dence, as the rest of the Royal Family" The
Beadle in his red livery and baton, striding
pompously up and down the aisle, terror to
all smiling little boys and coughing old pau
pers, struck me most ludicrously: the sermon
was weak, and the delivery weaker; and on
the whole, came to the conclusion that when
next wished to see country church for its
picturesque situation and ivy-mantled tower
would choose weekday for my visit
Tomorrow am to have my first sight of an
English cathedral. ! wonder il, in its conse-
Grated precincts, ! shall feel any awe-struck
remorse for my present irreverence; or il, like
most tourists | shall forget all such things as
personal religious sentiments, in admiration OF
its architectural proportions, sculpture, and
stained glass. Nous UerTons
As ever, yours,
GRACE GREENWOOD