Daily Yellowstone journal., 1891-10-13
WAKEMAN'S WANDERlNGS
A VISIT TO sTRATFoRD-oN-AVoN.

torio and Romantic Interest-Dream
Inspiring Associations Of the old City.
At shaksPeare's Tomb.
Copyright. 1891. by Edgar l.. wakeman.l
STRATFORD-ON-AvoN Sept. 3O.-If you
come to this shrine by railway aud its in
terminable changes, giving you glimpses
of all sorts of midland towns, from ancient
Warwick with its stately battlements to
bennington with its modern glitter, you
have reached a pleasing state of confusion
not remote from the vagarics of dreams.
If you have come to the place on the box
Of one OF those famous coaches which spin
TO various points Of interest throughout
the shire, you will have seen in a few hours
acountless succession of the most beautiful
and dreamful countryside pictures in Eng
land. And If you should come on foot for
the eleven miles, as l did, along the hard,
white highway from Warwick, underneath
an almost unbroken archway of elms,
through the crisp yet drowsy atmosphere
Of an English midland autumnal morning,
there is still surrounding you the glamor
Of bewitching unreality you cannot and
would not dispeL
Tramping over this witching way, what a
food Of historic memories sweeps in with
the breath Of the rosy morningl Here
upon this noble eminence. with historic
Clopton House to the right and Hampton
Lucy 10 the left, beneath the arching elms
is caught the first glimpse Of the valley Of
the Avon. a hundred lesser gentle YER
dure clad eminences rise and fall, a. if
with the t%h~obbing Of natures heart. in its
fair, far sweep From away in the north
east winds a thread Of silver. It broadens
as it disappears and reappears in its course
tOward the Severn, and is finally lost COM
pietely. where, above a mass Of elms and
lines and red tiled roofs, rises q slender
spire. Tn silvery thread is the Avon.
The mass of elms and lines and red tiled
roofs is Strarford The slender spire Of its
Holy Trinity Church marks the tomb and
shrine Of the worlds immortal bard
As you descend into the old town every
thing Is strangely still On the way you
see a few blackbirds hopping sa.ely among
the stubble, close TO the shelteuuC hedge.
Here and there a wary pheasant that has
escaped the annual autumnal slaughter
whisks into the road, trots along its grassy
border for a little, and then as suddenly
and silently disappears. The kline are
sleepily chewing their cuds against the
farmhouse byres. A few stocks" Of late
gathered grain are huddled in the little
fields. The smoke ascends family from
NN1 @@#NAAHNL9 70 @1NNN@A aAAAA AANNNa Ivy
are late risers. these English folk, and the
low sun is far up in its slender arc before
dweilers give sign Of being astir. Even
the sable rocks that haunt the dead trees
and high, wide chimneys Of ancient de
mesnes, rise sluggishly from their hiding,
wheel lazily about it and settle down
quietly again, not yet ready to unloose
their saucy, chattering tongues.
You knoE, as everybody knows, when
you ave cometo the little closely hedged.
tiled houses, where the open highway has
merged into a long, picturesque though
humble street. that were you 70 remain
in Stratford for a months time there
could be only just the half dozen places
Immediately identified with Shakespeare
70 visit-the house where he was born, the
site Of the hous where he lived at
New Place, the church where be is buried,
Ann Hathaway's cottage. and the memo
rial fountain and theater. And while you
could see these in an hours time, the i'm
pulse, now that they are so near your ken.
is TO avoid them, to wander away through
the town for a little al first, and, shaking
oil the dreamful captivity Of it all, 70 try
and come back 10 those objects and places
one by one, with increased aptitude and
power Of recognition and cOmpanionship.
You are now in the center Of Stratford.
on High street. You suddenly recall the
curious fact that in all the hundreds Of
English towns you have visited you nave
always found a High street, aud that
every place Of interest 70 he seen, as at
Stratford. is only a few moments walk
every other place. of or on this old
familiar High street. Here is an open
space, the ancient 'mercate square"
Jagged, zigzag thoroughfares lead 70 il
from outlying picturesque spots and quar-
tiers. All about are half timbered houses
projecting story over story into the mar
place, and you wonder how long be-
fore, from sheer age, they will tumble, red
roofs first, over into the clean, cool square
below. Quaint shops, just now opening,
are pinched in between staid old mansions.
Of inns, scores Of them, each
TO Guido the other in curious
or escutcheon suggestive Of the one
memory of the slumberous old town, speck
the gray tacades with gilt and color.
Down one Of these streets, old Henley
street, through whose windings a glimpse
Of the uplsnds is caught, you know is TO
be found the house of all others in STRAIT
ford. But you turn in the opposite direc-
ton. You pass In ancient inn named for
The bard. Each Of its rooms is given the
name Of some one Of the characters he Gre
ated. Servants are higgle-haggling with a
rosy faced huckster over the price Of vege-
on its comfortable porch. Old stone
houses. with the oldest Of peaks, gables
pent houses over huge oaken doors, are
passed. At some old men and women are
lodding, even in these morning hours, at
he open windows. Soon there is a vista
)f trees shutting out all beyond save
gray stone porch. Without knowledge Of
Stratford topography you ave come with
lnerring instinct straight to Holy Trinity
;hurch n graveyard.
An ancient yerger with snow white hair
8 shutting along the leaf strewn pave
pent. He pauses, and with c loud jangling
II his huge keys he unlocks the wicket,
hen the wide, low oaken doors, and il
Ihortly lost among the shadows within.
You steal softly after him Somewhere
n the dim place the old man is whistling
y n for company, in low tones as becomes
N old, old man, but somehow it checks
our impulse 70 enter. and you wander
round and around the shadowy shrine,
AZ last next the side Of the chancel
learest where you know that Shakespeare
- Ven - arrr 49, A~.eI- = ~