The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-10-11

friend. How long your reyery has been
you know not; but tiny, lconoclasuc
sparrow, scratching among the gravel at
your feet. looks so qu!zZlcally into your lace
that you hurry ashamed away.
few steps among the graves beneath
huge elms bring you to the river SIDE,
for the Avon he loved laves the sides OIL me
church-yard walls 1t is so still and silent
here you feel that the very spirit OF the
stream is hushed in obeisauce and reyer-
ence for the spot its waters are passing.
On the farther side are long, lonesome
meadows. A few sheep are grazing there.
Up the stream to the right, above the
masses of trees and tiles, looms the huge,
obese Memorial Hall. You resent 1t as you
have already turned away from the perky
white fountain in mellow old High street.
Everything modern here that seeks to men,
orialze men or committees ofto-day through
fantastic memorials TO this very sun OF the
English race and tongue hurts you with Its
braZen impertinence.
You turn, pass through the church-yard
and saunter along in the quiet of Mill lane.
At its end Is ramshacke mill, nobody
knows how many centuries old. Inc
splash of the wheel has dr0wSy sound.
fOotpath leads to a messy wooden prl0se.
You cross this. take to the meadows WITH
the river, church aud town to your lett, and
cross the fields to ShOttery. Here is
stone walls, and hedges cut In high ooX
patterns, and brown with matched roofs, SO
old that birds and mice use them for
nests, while wild field flowers and
weeds grow luXuriOusY upon them. In
stinctively you approach the oldest
and the Quaintest structure in Shot
terry. Its gable overhangs the lane.
Its south side faces maze of vines
and flowers; and four tiny windows,
hooded by the thatching, peep over into the
breeze and bloom. 1t Is Ann Hathaway
cottage a pleasant old woman, whom you
feel must have known the maid and the
man, huStles about, shows you the interior,
the ancient settle where the love-making
was done, the visitors book with its price
less autographs, even the heiTlOoms OF linen
more lasting than effigy or cenotaDh Of
stone, the while chatting cheerily, as If the
lids OF time always opened upon her. as
upon bright and stainless page. But You
have not heard What was said. The old
lady'S words have blended with the autumn
voices without. The voices you have
heard came trembling down the silence of
more than 500 years; and your heart has
thrilled unutterably, because for moment,
so close have come that day to this those
two to You.
DREAM FOLKS.
Back across the Avon over the great stone
bridge, and a few minutes walk, brings
you 10 humble Henley street. There is still
the seeming of dream-fOlk walking about in
the sOlt autumn air. There are few Of them
and they seem either very old or very young;
quaint old men and grandamS rudy OF lace
and white of hair who seem to have stepped
out of the olden times to look around their
former hauntS for little, and very quiet
children with demure Old ways. You Won
der If the influence Of so surprising a
shrine goes this far among STatford
dNellers, or whether it is the glamor of
your own fancy. This, as you stand be-
| fore the birthplace of Shakespeare-a
spruce enough structure since its "reSto-
ration" with gabled porch, an EliZabethau
window in the next story. and q peaked
dormer window outjutting from the steep
pitched roof above; all with pretty garden
at the sides and back. 1t seems long time
| before the jan5ing bell Is answered. Finally
another beaming old lady appears and you
follow her silently within. There is very
little to see ; incOmmuncabie things to feel.
There are two rooms below and two above.
One of the latter IS n sort of museum, and
YOU find little Interest here. 10 the tler
the bard was born. Which fact thrills you
| most pOwerfully-that here first saw the
light OF day the great rGyealer Of humanity
to men, or that the once white wall is black
with the names of the great and N ghty of
all lands and clmes, who have come and
reverently left these signs Of tribute to what
was so Immortality revealed?
1t is as though one had for the first time
/ come INTO WuuQfOuS communion WIFI them
! all; and il is now more than ever a dream,
/ rs you turn from the spot and by and by
/ awaken TO the consciousness that you are
/ but one of horde Of pilgrims, and are
| again passing beneath the portu Of Holy
| Trinity Church.
Yet how little IS there for simply the
/ eyes to look uponi-the interior of modest
| church Of the thirteenth, fourteenth and
/ fifteenth centuries, crueform, with central
| tower and ,plre, and aisles to thenaye only 3;
| a narrow chancel inclning strangely to the
| north; ancient oaken p-ws with curiously
carved niSereres beneath; a west window
representing the twelve apostles aud our
| Lords baptism; a cIerestory beautifully
| imposed on the arches below; north
| chancel window, the gift of Americans, il
! Illustrating, from LAS You Like It." the
| seven ages OF man; a few ancient sedila
or priests seats; an entabiature of stone
| in which is set The painted stone bust OF a
! pleasant-faced man with twred mus
! tachioS and slight, pointed beard; and
| below, grave with four lines Of inSCrip-
| tive suppGca.iOn that the dust and bones
/ beneath shall never be disturbed by NOR
! tai man. This is all. Yet every day of
every year men and women, in increasing
! numbers, come from the earth's remotest
| bounds, to stand beside this silent but
| never vOceless tomb.
| SCopyrtght, 1891. EDGAR L. WAKENAN.