UC-NRLF 
 
 B 3 355 Efl? 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 
 '^2^; 
 

 
 
 *^*-!?.'."^ 
 
 -;^^;i^ 
 
 !***•• " 
 
 
\Q. 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 3 
 

 >J^ /'^V-i^ 
 
 HV^^ 
 
 
 
 
 7-;4^||K^ 
 
S.-e-- 
 
 TO 
 
 THE ADMIRERS 
 
 OF 
 
 AND OF THE OTHER ILLUSTRIOUS SPIRITS OF 
 THE GOLDEN AGE OF ENGLAND, 
 
 THESE VOLUMES, 
 
 WITH TRUE ETOMBLENESS, 
 
 AKD ENTIRE DEVOTEDNESS TO THE SXTB'iiOT, 
 
 ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 BV 
 
 THEIR FELLOW-WORSHIPPER, 
 
 AND VERT OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 IV129(>?8C) 
 
]Mim mmEEWiEi ^im gf ©mY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SECEET PASSION 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 What sport do I make with these fools ! what 
 
 pleasure 
 Feeds me, and fats my sides at their poor inno- 
 cence ! 
 
 Hang it, give me mirth. 
 Witty and dainty mirth: I shall grow in love, 
 
 sure. 
 With mine owne happy head. 
 
 The Wild Goose Chase. 
 He that will not, now and then, be a Cala- 
 bingo, is worse than a Calamoothe. 
 
 The Virgin Martyr. 
 
 But do you know what fooling is ? true fool- 
 ing ? 
 
 The circumstances that belong unto it ? 
 
 For every idle knave that shows his teeth 
 
 Wants, and would live, can juggle, tumble, fid- 
 dle. 
 
 Make a dog-face, or can abuse his fellow, 
 
 Is not a fool at first dash ; you shall find, sir. 
 
 Strange turnings in this trade. 
 
 The Mad Lover. 
 
 If laughter may be taken as a sign of 
 happiness, then right happy were the bois- 
 terous, free-hearted merry-makers tliat were 
 causing the goodly rafters of Dame Hart's 
 kitchen to ring with their exceeding mirth- 
 fulness. Peal followed peal, and shout 
 burst forth after shout, with so little show 
 of dilatoriness, that, ere one was half spent, 
 t'other was in full force. Had any listened 
 to it but ever so small a space, he could 
 scarce help being assured that the wanton- 
 est wits and very drollest varlets in all 
 Stratford, ay, and for miles round, had 
 
 thronged to the threshold of their good gos- 
 sips, the jolly hatter, and his no less jovial 
 spouse, and were there, with their famous 
 tales and excellent good jests, intent on 
 having the walls about their ears, from the 
 effect of the huge tempest of laughter they 
 must needs be provoking. 
 
 Yet had little Tommy Hart and his af- 
 fectionate little helpmate no such company. 
 In very truth, they had but got about them, 
 as was their wont ever since the two had 
 been made one — which was no great time — 
 one or two neighbors and acquaintances of 
 some standing, who were most of their hu- 
 mor, in a readiness to join in all lawful 
 pleasures, to speak a jest in season that 
 hurt none, and promote whatever of singing, 
 or telling of stories, or other goodly frolic, 
 that promised amusement sufficient for the 
 wants of the hour and the company. 
 
 Hugely did folk of more serious sort mar- 
 vel at the wondrous appetite for, and enjoy- 
 ment in, matters of drollery of Joan Hart ; 
 a laugh seemed as necessary to her as is 
 water to a fish ; and, to look into her 
 admirable clear eyes, and into the corners 
 of her pouting lips, you would be ready to 
 take oath on it she had such provocation to 
 mirth at her commandment, nought should 
 reach her, however remote from lightness, 
 but her smiles should break out at it as 
 bright and gladly as though, under its as- 
 sumed gravity, there was jesting of the 
 very exquisitest kind. 
 
 Our Joan was small in stature, it is true, 
 but her heart was of an exceeding bigness, 
 containing, as it seemed, whatever was most 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 pleasant in all humanity, and in such meas- 
 ure, it I(X)iied to be in a constant liiiinor of 
 oversowing. But of this sort she h;irJ been 
 from her earliest years. Never did Fate 
 look so frowningly but she could make as 
 thoujjli the frown was a smile of most cov- 
 etable import. When she came to have 
 lovers, she laughed famously at them all, 
 which none could take so pleasantly as 
 'twas meant, save only little Tommy Hart, 
 an honest chapman of her native town, of a 
 like size, of a like humor, and of a hke 
 age as herself, who laughed at her with as 
 true a zest as did she at him. Ere any 
 long space was passed, they laughed at each 
 other — in perfect truthfulness, it may be 
 said, with all their hearts — and, in the end, 
 the daughter of the honest woolstapler, to 
 the vast contentation of the whole neigh- 
 borhood, became the wife of the waggish 
 maker of hats. 
 
 And now were they keeping the anniver- 
 sary of that very wedding, in their holidty 
 bravery, with no lack of jollity, as may be 
 expected, the which, if example could bring 
 a sufficiency, there was like to be the prodi- 
 galest display of it ever beheld. For there 
 was Joan, with her face as brown as any 
 Derry, and as full of laughter as is the sun 
 of fire, and looking nigh upon as warm with- 
 al, standing in the midst of a group, sitting 
 round her; whereof there was no one 
 whose visage indicated not all the mad frol- 
 ic in the which' they were then engaged. 
 There were they, a group of some twenty 
 or so of divers sorts, conditions, and ages ; 
 old and young, fat and spare, servant and 
 master, alike enjoying themselves to the 
 most absolute contentation ever known. 
 
 Prominent among these was seen the un- 
 wieldy form of Winifred Poppet, in a fair 
 miniver cap, a dainty partletof white thread, 
 and a stamel red petticoat of a most choice 
 fashion, as intent on the sport as if she took 
 no heed of such braveries. 
 
 Nevertheless, this was by no means the 
 case, for a careful observer might have no- 
 ticed that ever and anon, however busy she 
 seemed with the game that was going on, 
 she turned a sly glance to some part or other 
 of her gay apparel, and twitched a fold here, 
 and smoothed a rumple there, with a look 
 of as infinite contentation as ever brightened 
 up the visage of threescore and ten. 
 
 By her side was seen the well-known 
 figure of Jonas Tietape, in excellent favor 
 among the burgesses' wives at Stratford, as 
 a woman's tailor. That it was the cunning 
 in his craft that made him so well liked of 
 his customers, seemed evident enough, of all 
 conscience ; for gifts of person or counte- 
 
 nance, for the obtaining of a fair woman's 
 approval, had he none at ail, seeing that his 
 features were by no means comely, his 
 height so dwarfish, that an ordinary boy of 
 some twelve or fourteen years, might, with 
 no great difficulty, have glanced over his 
 shoulder, and his head, arms, and feet of a 
 bigness out of all proportion to the length 
 and size of his limbs. 
 
 With these defects in him, Jonas was in 
 such huge favor with his customers — ay, 
 and with whoever were of his acquaint- 
 ance — as was no woman's tailor in the 
 whole county. And how came so marvel- 
 lous a thing to pass, seeing that women, of 
 all persons, are only to be taken by come- 
 liness ? inquireth of me the courteous rea- 
 der. Thus was it : He had so comic a 
 manner with him, you could scarce look him 
 in the (ace but you must needs laugh out- 
 right. So many droll antics and grimaces 
 had he, such odd sayings, so great a multi- 
 tude of quaint, diverting tricks, and such an 
 infinite fund of good humor at his disposal, 
 that you might as well expect a hungry dog 
 to be indiflFerent to a full platter, as that 
 man, woman, or child, in his neighborhood, 
 could hear him, or look on him, and carry 
 on any melancholy or ungracious hu- 
 mors. 
 
 Yet it must also be recorded, he had gifts 
 of some sort. Of a surety, as hath been 
 said, they were not of person ; nevertheless, 
 I doubt not they did him more true service 
 wherever he went, than could he have 
 gained had he been ever so proper a man. 
 There was no game known or heard of be- 
 twixt John O'Groat's house and the Land's 
 End, he had not as pat as though he had 
 played it all his days. Hot-cocles, or 
 chuck-farthing, loggets, tick-tack, seize- 
 noddy, barley-break, cross-and-pile, pick- 
 point, shove-groat, and a lot more I cannot 
 stop to name, were as familiar to him as his 
 fingers and thumbs. 
 
 There was no sport at which he was not 
 so skilled, it was rare indeed he met with 
 his fellow at any. Cunning at the bow 
 was he, as though he had sought to be held 
 as a rival to Clym o' the Clough, or even to 
 Robin Hood himself; and at quarter-staff 
 none had dared touch him since he had 
 cudgelled Sandie Daredevil, the big drover 
 from over the border, who had made mocks 
 at him, and called him scurrilous names, 
 and threatened him most villanously, till — 
 though no seeker of brawls — he took him 
 to his weapon, and, with such earnest- 
 ness, the rude Scot got so ugly a knock on 
 the pate, he was fiiin from that time forth to 
 take up his hostel in the churchyard. Then 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 at mumming was there ever so monstrous a 
 dragon? or in the May games, who had eyes 
 for any thing, but his most delectable hob- 
 by-horse ? He roared sodragonish, it looked 
 as though he would swallow a whole parish 
 at a mouthful ; and his curvetings, his 
 neighings, and his paces, were so to the life, 
 there was never a natural horse of any sort 
 that was thought able to do them half so 
 well. 
 
 But Jonas Tietape, in a suit of motley ! 
 Then was there famous shaking of sides ! 
 Of a Christmas or a New Year's Eve, per- 
 chance, when the spacious hall or kitchen 
 was thronged with some of the merriest 
 hearts in Stratford, he would don the cap 
 and bells and parti-colored suit, and so 
 choicely play his part, that the very wisest 
 of the lookers-on could scarce help lament- 
 ing he had such lack of the fool in iiim. 
 
 Then, how brave a musician was he ! 
 'Tvvas a marvel to hear him play the bag- 
 pipes. He blew tliem with such exceeding 
 spirit, all the dogs in the parish would join 
 in full chorus whenever he headed a wed- 
 ding party, playing up " Light o' Love," as 
 was his wont ; and when he was in the hu- 
 mor of taking to the pipe and tabor, the mor- 
 ice would be danced with sucii vehemency, 
 the lookers-on could scarce help thinking 
 all in it had no less sufficiency of wings to 
 tlieir legs than bells. 
 
 These gifts caused him to be held in 
 such esteem, that his misshapen condition 
 was never commented on by any save some 
 few malapert, uncivil grooms, v.'ho, when- 
 ever they had sight of him, allowed tlieir 
 rude wits to run riot at the expense of his 
 person and his calling, till they got cudgelled 
 into more honest behavior. By those he 
 was used to come among, nought amiss was 
 seen in him. They had got so familiar 
 with the strangeness of his fashioning, they 
 had acquired a sort of affectionateness to it. 
 His dwartishness they got a liking to, far 
 more suitable stature in other men failed to 
 create. His large head had become an ob- 
 ject of singular approval ; and what else 
 was in him unseemly or objectionable to or- 
 dinary persons, to them was a feature of 
 matchless interest. 
 
 His apparelling was as little like that of 
 common persons as was his visage or figure. 
 He ever arrayed himself according to some 
 conceit or other ; and, being his own fash- 
 ioner, and having usually a fine choice of 
 inaterials, lie failed not on any occasion of 
 mirth to be clothed in the most ridiculous 
 garb eyes ever beheld. 
 
 Ai this present showing, he had on a jer- 
 kin of divers colors, made of pieces as vari- 
 
 ous in shape as opposite in fabric ; for lin- 
 sey-woolsey and Genoa velvet, taffeta and 
 broad-cloth, fustian of Naples and Welch 
 frieze, Norwich satin anJ Yorkshire ker- 
 sey, were most disorderly mingled together ; 
 and as for the suitableness of the colors, 
 what could be said of an arrangement where 
 iron-grey and scarlet, murrey and sadnew 
 color, watchett and russet, black and Lin- 
 coln green, were in closest neighborhood ? 
 Below this was seen a singular kind of 
 breeches, of which one leg disclosed French 
 sail-cloth of the coarsest sort, and the other 
 painted arras, as ridiculously fine as the lim- 
 ner's skill could make, having so goodly a 
 subject as the Queen of Sheba's stomacher. 
 These had monstrous great pockets ; and as 
 amongst his sundry several ways of getting 
 a living was the breeding certain little dogs, 
 much affected by his richer customers, he 
 was wont to carry one in each. One leg 
 wore hose of orange tawny, the other pur- 
 ple ; and the feet had on them severally, a 
 boot of undressed leather, and an embroi- 
 dered pantofle. 
 
 Laughing at the droll antics and smart 
 sayings of Jonas Tietape, till the tears made 
 themselves channels down his floury cheeks, 
 sat Cuthbert Dredger, the stout miller of the 
 Seven Meadows, in his well-worn leather 
 jerkin, high boots, and well-stuffed gallegas- 
 kins as famously covered with meal as was 
 his ruddy face, beard, and hair — whilst on 
 one hand of him stood the good dame, his 
 wife, and on the other his stalwart son — as 
 like to his father in all externals as is one 
 peascod like another — in their homely suits, 
 showing such signs of the dusty miller, that 
 even the shaking of their sides filled the 
 air with myriads of motes. 
 
 In close neighborhood to the stout miller's 
 son sat, spic . and span as a new-coined 
 groat, the youthful Margaret Hippocras, 
 better known of the good folk of Stratford 
 and thereabouts, as Peg o' the Twiggen 
 Bottle — her father keeping a hostel in the 
 town so called — though, by some of her fa- 
 miliars, she was often entitled Blinking Peg, 
 because of a slight infirmity in her vision, 
 approaching nigh unto what some unman- 
 nerly people said was a squint. 
 
 Next to her again lolled, almost at fall 
 length, the hurley figure of Jasper Broad foot 
 — the ploughman of a rich farmer in the 
 neighborhood — in the hugeness of his pleas- 
 ure, his mouth stretching open as it were 
 from ear to ear, and his freckled face half 
 hid by the liberal show of sandy locks, t!iat 
 curled in straggling masses around it. Two 
 old maiden sisters were close adjoining, 
 sitting up as straight as d.irts, and seeming 
 
8 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to be almost as sparo ; their sliarp noses and 
 chins siiowinij a m;initost lonj^ing for a 
 nearer acquaintance, and tlieir apparoliing 
 8criipuioii8lv neat and cie:in, as tliough put 
 on for the first time ; nevertlieless, tliey had 
 been hoHday suits with them any time these 
 twenty years. They were screamino^ and 
 clappiiio; of their hands in infinite contenta- 
 tion at the ])assing scene ; and, indeed, as 
 absolute was their content at all such mer- 
 rymakings in the which they had entered 
 togetlier witli the same zest since they had 
 been girls, making mutual monstrous exer- 
 tions the live-long day to earn a decent sub- 
 sistence as sempstresses, ami, after working 
 hours, enjoying themselves wherever there 
 was a fair promise of creditable pastime. 
 
 Last of all was a smart little varlet, with 
 a pair of merry dark eyes, lighting up as 
 pleasant a face — albeit the complexion was 
 of the darkest — as ever the sun shone on. 
 His well knit limbs were famously dis- 
 played in his plain russet suit, and he 
 seemed as though he could never tire of 
 their employment ; for, with all the quick- 
 ness of an eel, he was thrusting himself 
 now here, now there, with an intent as 
 though he would on no account fail to 
 share at tlie fullest in the sport that was 
 going on. 
 
 This was no other than the jolly hatter, 
 the laughing husband of the merry Joan : 
 and, whilst she was now stooping down in 
 the circle around her — they being all en- 
 gaged in the monstrous pleasant game of 
 " hunt the slipper" — swearing most ear- 
 nestly the lusty Goody Poppet had got the 
 slipper behind her ample person. Tommy 
 Hart, who had cleverly contrived to get hold 
 of it, unexpectedly gave his buxom dame 
 so sore a smack where there was an excel- 
 lent fair mark for such a purpose, as to make 
 her regain her perpendicular ere you could 
 count one, amid the loud laughing of the 
 whole party, in the which she precisely 
 joined, with a heartiness exceeded by none. 
 
 " Beshrew thy hand, Tom," exclaimed 
 she, with a sort of moc!: anger in her laugh- 
 ing ; " and 1 do not complain to the Third- 
 borough of thy monstrous heavy blows, I 
 am a shottcn herring." 
 
 Here, catching a glimp.so of the slipper 
 gliding behind the backs of divers of the 
 circle, she made a sudden pounce upon the 
 tapster's daughter, but, by some trick of the 
 woman's tailor, her foot slipped, and she 
 came against Jasper Broadfbot with such 
 force, as to send him against the two an- 
 cient sisters, who, in spite of their exceed- 
 ing uprightness, were speedily put on a level 
 with tlie floor. 
 
 " A murrain on thee, wench !" cried her 
 
 laughing husband. " In seeking for the 
 slipper, thou mu.st needs be a slipper thy- 
 self. Where were thine eyes to lead thee 
 so far from the object of thy search ? Per- 
 chance, an thou canst not see, thou canst 
 feel ?" 
 
 So saying, with the slipper again in his 
 hand, he took her smartly over the toes. 
 
 " Oil, thou villain !"' exclaimed she, of a 
 sudden throwing herself upon him, grap- 
 pling him with both arms to secure 
 what she wanted ; but, lo ! ere she was 
 well down she felt a tap on the shoulder, 
 and, directing her gaze that way, she be- 
 held the point of the slipper resting there, 
 as if held by some one behind her. She 
 was up on the instant, and was just in time 
 to see it, as it looked to her, disappearing 
 down the gaping throat of Jonas Tietape. 
 It was a feat of conjuring, such as he was 
 wont on an occasion to amuse his wonder- 
 ing gossips with, but the simple Joan 
 thought she could not miss having it, and 
 grappled her acquaintance by the throat, to 
 make him disgorge the desired mouthful, 
 till he was getting black in the face, and 
 she distinctly saw it in the hands of the 
 young ploughman, flourished within an 
 inch of her nose. Before she could recover 
 herself, it had disappeared she knew not 
 whither. 
 
 " Never saw I the like o' this, gossips !" 
 cried Joan, somev;hat scant of breath, and 
 looking in a huge perplexity. " It hath 
 been said there are few quicker at this 
 pastime than am I, and yet have I been toil- 
 ing to no profit this half hour or more." 
 
 This speech elicited no more synipathy 
 than might be gathered from a general \ 
 laugh both loud and long, to which many of ' 
 the company added famous commendations 
 of the poor woman's patience and agility. 
 
 " I do think thou couldst teach a horse to 
 eat his beans with a toothpick, dame," ob- 
 served Jonas, in his drollest manner ; "thou 
 hast so persevering a way with thee." 
 
 " Slow and sure, Joan," exclaimed her 
 husband, approvingly. 
 
 " Nay, good fellow," quoth the old miller, 
 who was as ready as any at a jest, " had 
 she taken such time to discover a husband 
 as she hath to And a slipper, I doubt much 
 thy fair commodity of hats would have seen 
 a inLstress in her this side of domesday." 
 
 " A husband, quotha !" cried Jean, cun- 
 ningly taking a sharp scrutiny of the circle 
 around her. " They require no such horri- 
 ble painstaking to get a hold of — Heaven be 
 thanked ! Had I thought my Tom had 
 been so difficult of ixxssessing, I would aa 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 soon haVe gone for counsel to a Bedlam 
 bejTcrar, as have looked beyond my nose for 
 him. Ah, goody, I have thee tliis time !" 
 
 But goody, vvir.h'a chuckle tliat made her 
 chin quiver like a goodly aspen tree, exhibit- 
 ed to the disappointed Joan her two empty 
 hands. 
 
 " By my halidom, I could have sworn I 
 saw it !" e.xcLiimed she, in some little em- 
 pliasis, as she narrowly watched a very sus- 
 picious movement beliind tlie two ancient 
 spinsters. As a cat looketh alter a mouse, 
 did she continue to peer at their motions, 
 elily affecting the whilst to have nothmg so 
 far from her thoughts. 
 
 And thus it continued some little time 
 longer, with a vast expenditure of jests from 
 all, and such antics froai the frolicsome wo 
 man's tailor, as helped the general mirth 
 hugely. It so happened at last, however, 
 thai Peg o' the Twiggen Bottle, being intent 
 upon a complete concealment of her defect 
 of vision from hearing some pretty flatteries 
 poured into her ear by the young miller, had 
 got her eyes modestly fi.xed as it were upon 
 tlie floor, and was so taken with the! atten- 
 tions of her companion, that she neither 
 heard nor saw the efforts of her other neigh- 
 bour to induce her to pass the slipper. 
 Joan, whose looks were sharpened by re- 
 peated failures, detected the impatient pok- 
 ings the inattentive Peggy was receiving, 
 and unexpicledly dashed upon the possessor 
 of the slipper before she had limeto remove it, 
 and, witli a shout of exultation, which was 
 swelled by that of all the circle, she caughi 
 hold of the long-sought pri-se, and waved it 
 over her head in triumph. 
 '• The first use she made of it was, though 
 with inhiiite good humor, to repay tier 
 husband the smacks she had had of him, 
 and, malgre his attempts to escape behind 
 others of the company, she desisted not tiil 
 all was returned with a handsome interest, 
 to the exceeding good entertainment of her 
 several guests. Jonas Tietipe must needs 
 put his unshapely person in the way, mak- 
 ing of sucli grimaces as would have un- 
 settled the solemness of an owl, but the 
 slipper spared not him any more than his 
 host : certes he got it in places quite oppo- 
 site to what the giver intended, for with his 
 antics he so flung himself about, that what 
 was aimed at his head lighted on his heels. 
 He was as nimble at his tricks as a kitten 
 — now with his heels in the air and his 
 hands on the ground, or each following the 
 other like the sails of a windmill, whilst the 
 head seemed to be shifting of itself into all 
 sorts of unnatural positions, with such ridi- 
 culous looks upon the ungainly counte- 
 
 nance, all around laughed till their sides 
 ached. And this of a surety did not lessen 
 when the heads of two little dogs, doubtless 
 made in some way uncomfortable by his 
 strange movements, were seen suddenly to 
 emerge from his pockets, with looks half of 
 curiousness and lialf of alarm, making a 
 sharp angry yelp, as if they liked not such 
 uneasy motion. 
 
 The chamber in which these famous 
 gambols were going on, albeit no other than 
 Uarne Hart's kitchen, was as proper a one 
 to sit in as might be found in dwellings of 
 greater note than that of the jolly hatter of 
 Stratford. There were huge rafters went 
 across the top, whereon was flxed a rude 
 rack containing divers flitches of bacon. 
 The chimney was of exceeding capacious- 
 ness, projecting far into the room, having' 
 within on each side, a commodious bench 
 for the lovers of the chimney-corner, to 
 whom the close neighborhood of the fire- 
 dogs offered most choice attractions. Above, 
 was an old crossbow, a rusty helmet, a stout 
 sword and buckler, and a quarter-staff 
 worthy of the Miller of Mansfield. 
 
 On a shelf were arranged an excellent 
 show of clean platters, and on another divers 
 cooking utensils as bright and clean as 
 scrubbing could make them. Bunches of 
 dry herbs were swinging in one place, and 
 a bag with seeds close upon it. A goodly 
 bundle of corn, in the ear, and a fair bough 
 of hawthorn, full of berries, were seen not 
 far from them ; a skin or two were stretched 
 out and drying on the w linscot ; there was 
 no lack of blocks and irons such as apper- 
 tained to the hatter's trade, but they were 
 evidently put away for the nonce, wherever 
 good room for them could be found ; and a 
 space, nigh upon a yard square, near the 
 chimney, was covered with the choice bal- 
 lads of the time. 
 
 A large oak table had been tlirust on one 
 side to allow the revellers more space, and 
 a liberal show of stools were huddled to- 
 gether in another corner. A huge iron pot 
 was swinging over the firedogs, to which a 
 stout, middle-aged woman, with bare arms, 
 and a face that rivalled them in ruddiness, 
 ever and anon came out of some adjoining 
 chamber to look to. 
 
 On one occasion she was accompanied 
 with an exceeding ragged boy, who looked 
 not to bs more than some six or eight years 
 old. He helped to carry a log from the 
 wood-house to the kitchen-fire, which he 
 seemed intent on with so monstrous an 
 earnestness expressed in his fat, foolish 
 visage, that it drew upon him the good- 
 humored jesting of divers of the company. 
 
10 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 whilst, on a sudden, Jonas took him by the 
 seat of his soiled and worn-out slops, held 
 him at arms' length above his head, and 
 made sucli monstrous mouths as though 
 about to make a meal of him without any 
 grace said. The boy struggled somewhat, 
 to the great endangering of his sorry gar- 
 ments, that were so patched there was no 
 telling of what color they might have been, 
 and he bawled most famously, but only as 
 it seemed to the heightening of the mirth of 
 the lookers-on. 
 
 The woman observed this with a huge in- 
 differency, tiiat some might have thought 
 argued little of the mother in her; though 
 out of all doubt the chubby, dirty, and rag- 
 
 fed little urchin, on whom the frolicsome 
 onas was playing off his antics, was her 
 child. She continued her attentions to the 
 cookery, notwithstanding the boy occasion- 
 ally set up so main a cry she must have 
 been monstrous hard of hearing had she 
 not known of it somewhere nigh upon the 
 end of the street. At last it so chanced, his 
 tormentor, by sonf\e odd contortions of all 
 his limbs, thrust his unseemly head exactly 
 upon the very opposite extremity to where 
 nature had originally placed it, and hopped 
 around the room on his two hands liKe a 
 bird, supporting the frighted boy on his legs, 
 which were standing above his head like a 
 pair of monstrous horns. The shouts 
 which this feat created made the motlier 
 turn trom the pot she was so intent on. 
 
 " Heart o' grace, here's a sight to see !" 
 exclaimed the woman, in no slight astonish- 
 ment, and with some small spice of ill- 
 nature. " Launce, lad ! o' my life, thou 
 ridest in a strange fashion : but fair and 
 Boftly, and the worst beast may be made to 
 go its best paces." 
 
 Notwithstanding this consolation, the boy, 
 who from the ordinary state of his apparel 
 was known by gentle and simple as Ragged 
 Launce, cried more lustily than ever: yet 
 was his fright so ludicrous it was clean im- 
 possible for any to care about releasing him 
 from his unpleasant position : and the merry 
 knave continued his leaping till he was 
 tired, 
 
 " I have put thee to most unblessed ex- 
 tremities, friend Launce," said he, as he 
 gravely placed him again upon his legs, 
 and with a mock interest appeared tc ar- 
 range in the best fashion the boy's dilapi- 
 dated garments. "But thou hast bad habits, 
 friend Liunce," he continued, pulling the 
 poor boy's linen out of the wide rents ia ids 
 several garments — '• bad habits, which, al- 
 beit neit.ier parson nor pedagogue, it is my 
 vocation to mend. I prytheo come to my 
 
 dwelling when thou hast ceased ta be want- 
 ed as a scarecrow, and I will do thy elbows 
 all the service my craft can compass." 
 
 " In sooth, his apparelhng be none o' the 
 best," said his mother, with a show of gra- 
 vity in the laugh she heartily joined in with 
 those about her, '• nor could it well have 
 been so, seeing that after Dickon o' the 
 Close had worn it seven year, he gave it to 
 his ploughman Robin, who died the next 
 sheep-shearing of the sweating sickness ; 
 and my poor husband, that's also dead and 
 gone, had it on him in all seasons, thatch- 
 ing or ditching, felling or weeding iroin the 
 Martinmas Master Go.~ling's brindled cow 
 tossed Goody Skillett into the horse-pond, 
 till that very AUhallows when Sir George 
 Carew's Irish hound was drowned in the 
 well ; a matter of three year and a half, and 
 since then Launce hath had them for lack 
 of better." 
 
 " A tine choice of masters, o' my life," 
 cried Tom Hart to his guests, merrily. " I 
 trust there may be no danger of hats serv- 
 ing so many." 
 
 " Nay, Tom, that would suit us but ill, I 
 promise you," answered his ready help- 
 mate, as she was assisting to get the supper 
 in proper forwardness. " Of the two, I 
 would liefer a lack of heads for the hats, 
 than a lack of hats for the heads. For 
 mine own part, were I a sovereign princess, 
 I would make it felony, without benefit of 
 clergy, for any one to shelter his crown in 
 any covering whereof another man hath al- 
 ready had honest advantages." 
 
 " That is to say, dame," observed Jonas 
 Tietape, with a grin of surpassing drollery, 
 " an a man must needs take to other men's 
 hats, he should have no head to support his 
 own withal." 
 
 " OdJs pigs, Jonas !" exclaimed the stout 
 miller, " that would not be a law to break 
 on a sudden. However ill-lined a man's 
 purse may be, methinks he could better af- 
 ford to lose his hat than his head." 
 
 " Ah ! feyther, that would I for one at 
 all times," answered the younger Dredger, 
 breaking off for a while from his dalliance 
 with the fair tapster. 
 
 " I warrant you," observed Jasper Broad- 
 foot, opening his huge mouth with a horse- 
 laugh such as might have disturbed the re- 
 pose of all the steeds in the neighborhood. 
 
 Jasper Broadf(jot had not much to say; 
 but Jasper Broadfoot had at times a mon- 
 strous deal to laugh, and his little say was 
 ever the prelude of a burst of mirtli, of 
 which the end seemed more problematical 
 than all the pages of that famous master of 
 figures, Master Euclid. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 11 
 
 ''• Pr}i;hee heed not such idle fancies, 
 good gossips," here observed Goody Pop- 
 pet, with an air the while that spoke an in- 
 tinite satisfaction with her fine apparel, the 
 greater portion of which was of other 
 people's wearing. " Tiiere be ho harm in 
 putting on a thing tliat fitteth you — the 
 more especial if it cost nothing — though it 
 hath been worn of another." 
 
 " Truly I think not," added tlie miller's 
 wife, who did not disd.iin a cast gown from 
 the lady of the manor, or any other wor- 
 shipul person within five miles of her, 
 which she appeared in with slight regard of 
 tlie laws made and provided against the 
 commonalty wearing what was allowed only 
 to their betters. 
 
 " Dear heart, doth say so, indeed !" ex- 
 claimed Penelope Tressle, the elder of the 
 two spinsters, with a smile of some am- 
 biguousness on her spare visage. " For 
 mine own part, I either mislike others ap- 
 parelling hugely, or it niislikelh me, for of 
 other than mine own gear have I never 
 donned since I have known the use of 
 homespun : and Honour hath been afflicted 
 with the like foohshness." 
 
 " Ay, that have I," said her younger sis- 
 ter, innocently, " and I thank God for it." 
 
 " And what art thou thankful for, thou 
 scarcecrow ?" cried Tommy Hart, as he 
 caught Ragged Launce up Ijy the arm, and 
 placed him on one of the stools, where in 
 the light, of the fire, he stood half abashed, 
 with one finger to his eye, and the other 
 hand grasping the tattered remnants of his 
 lower garment. He was silent for awhile, 
 even though all around him were busy 
 miking the very bitingest jests they could 
 think of at his expense ; and laughing 
 seemed a privilege it was evident none cared 
 to be deprived of. 
 
 " Thou hast monstrous cause for thank- 
 fulness, friend Launce," said Jonas, as he 
 was soberly intent on making the boy's jer- 
 kin — which was a world too large — sit upon 
 him with some pretensions to the court style ; 
 ever and anon standing at a distance, as 
 though to admire the sit of it, and looking 
 on the bystanders with that air of satisfac- 
 tion with which an admirable workman is 
 wont to shew his handicraft. 
 
 " What art thankful for, I prythee ?" cried 
 Tommy Hart, once again. 
 
 " Methinks I have no great call for thanks 
 at this present," observed Ragged Launce, 
 looking st'^adfastly on the cufF of his jerkin ; 
 then, suddenly lifting up his eyes to his 
 questioner with a famous shrewd look, 
 added, '' but an thou let me have a fair new 
 cap to my head to wear on holidays, I will 
 
 have such notable cause for thanks, I can- 
 not help being thankful the rest of my life." 
 
 " Why, thou cozening rogue, thou !" ex- 
 claimed the merry hatter, joining heartily ia 
 the laugh this speech raised at his expense. 
 " But, out of goodwill to thy father, to 
 whom I owe some thanks, the fair new cap 
 thou shalt have, and with it such a suit 
 withal as thy motiier Maud and that grin- 
 ning varlet Jonas can provide for tlieeout of 
 one of mine." 
 
 This announcement was received with 
 infinite contentation ; and, as may be sup- 
 posed, none were so well content with it as 
 Maud and her ragged boy, of whom the 
 latter was so in especial, and minded not a 
 whit the many rough tricks the merry knave 
 kept playing upon him. In the meanwhile, 
 Maud, assisted by Dame Hart and her more 
 matronly gossips, had finished her cookery, 
 and got it spread on the table ready for the 
 now hungry company, wlio, nothing loath, 
 sat themselves down to it in a presently, 
 and were soon wondrous busy in essaying 
 the several dishes. Nevertheless, busy as 
 they seemed every one of them, their mirth 
 scarce slacked an instant. The woman's 
 tailor appeared to have a greater commodity 
 of tricks, jests, strange grimaces, and odd 
 distortions of himself than ever he had, 
 whereof he displayed a most choice store, 
 till some could not eat for laugliing, and 
 others could not laugh for chokiu:: ; and, ns 
 for drinking, none dared so much as put a 
 cup to his mouth in his sight, for, after the 
 resistless, ludicrous grimace that was sure 
 to come of it, a hogshead was as likely to 
 be swallowed as a mouthful. 
 
 The first to begin, and the last to leave off 
 every laugh that was set a-going was Tom- 
 my Hart orjiis fair helpmate ; and so excel- 
 lent an example was not like to be lost sight 
 of in such a company; whereof the conse- 
 quence was, the black -pudding cooled on the 
 trenchers, and the porridge was like to be 
 sent away scarce touched by any, had not 
 some space intervened between the fi.s of 
 mirth that were so general. 
 
 Of all those present there was but one 
 who looked as if taking any interest in the 
 meal before him, and that was no other than 
 Ragged Launce. He sat on a stool cross- 
 legged, with a smoking bowl of porridge in 
 his lap; and though such excess of mirth, 
 shrieks, and shouts, and frantic gesticula- 
 tions proceeded from every one about him, 
 Launce continued at his porridge as grave 
 as a lawyer making a will at the death-bed 
 of his client, blowing every burning spoon- 
 ful with an intense energy that puffed up his 
 dirty fat cheeks as big as those of a trump- 
 
12 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 eter at the founding of some monstrous l)iffli 
 note; yet, in his eajrcrness taking of it so 
 hot, the tears ran down liis eyes in streams 
 as he gulped the scalding morsel. But, 
 when he had tinishod llic bowl, there was a 
 change, I warrant you ! In an instant he 
 was as alive to the fun as any, and, of the 
 various voices that burst forth at every fresh 
 piece of exquisite fooling on the part of Jo- 
 nas, the shrill treble of Ragged Launce was 
 far above the loudest. 
 
 In a short space, he was called upon to 
 help to reuiove the trenchers, which he did 
 with an exceeding readiness, taking care, as 
 he turned his back to the table, to empty in- 
 to his gaping jaws whatever eatable was 
 left thereon. 
 
 "Launce!" shouted Jonas Tietape, in a 
 voice that made the boy drop the trencher 
 he was then carrying away. He turned 
 round short, and picked up the fallen vessel, 
 but answered not, for a reason doubtless siit- 
 ficiently to ihe purpose. "Launce, I tell 
 thee, come hither !" 
 
 The boy slowly approached — albeit with 
 a countenance of some irresolution. " My 
 trencher, sirrah ! What made thee remove 
 it without any request so to do ?'" 
 
 Launce seemed suddenly suffering from 
 some convulsive action of the face, part of 
 which looked afflicted with an awful swell- 
 ing. He twisted his mouth about in an ex- 
 ceeding odd manner ; but instead of answer- 
 ing, stared very hard at the questioner, and 
 returned the trencher to the table. 
 
 " Ah, this be it outof all doubt !" exclaim- 
 ed Jonas, " but what witchcraft had conjured 
 away the goodly portion of exquisite dump- 
 ling that was on it but a moment since ?" 
 
 Launce looked as though making desper- 
 ate efforts to answer. The coMiers of his 
 mouth were seen to move with violent 
 twitches; the swelling shifted a bit, but did 
 not diminish. Nothing, however, came of 
 these movements, but a stare more fixed and 
 of less meaning than the former one. 
 
 " Hast lost the use of thy tongue, knave !" 
 No, it was his teeth he had lost the use of. 
 In transferring the contents of the trencher 
 to the capacious cupboard, that had already 
 received the unfurnishing of sundry others 
 equally well provided, he had on the sudden 
 sent his teeth with such force into the thick 
 piece of dough, that he could not withdraw 
 them, anl he could neither swallow the un- 
 wieldly mouthful, nor disengage his jaws for 
 the purposes of speech. In short, his moi;th 
 was as firmly closed as though a padlock 
 had fastened it. 
 
 " Alas, gossips, this is a sad business!" 
 cried Jonas, looking wondrously doleful. 
 
 " The loss of my dumpling I care not so 
 much. Though I do affirm it to be as deli- 
 cate eating as dumpling ever was. Yet the 
 loss of this poor t)oy's gift of speech is as 
 deplorable a thing as can well be thought 
 of But I must needs essay a touch of mine 
 art. 1 do hope to recover both these losses." 
 
 Ragged Launce was getting more uneasy 
 every minute. His face had become mar- 
 velously hot and red, and his grimaces hor- 
 ribly violent. The company looked in si- 
 lence it is true, but with looks of such mean- 
 ing as any language at their commandment 
 could not half so well have expressed. 
 
 The tailor with great gravity drew the 
 boy towards him, muttering a strange jargon 
 in a rapid voice that made Ragged Launce 
 tremble to his shoes. Suddenly laying the 
 boy's head in his lap, he caught hold of his 
 nose with one hand, and his chin with the 
 other, and drew open his mouth, exhibiting 
 to all the huge lump of dumpling that seem- 
 ed to fill the whole space within. 
 
 " Behold the virtue of mine art, my mas- 
 ters !" cried Jonas exultingly. " Lo ! I have 
 found my lost dumpling." A laugh long 
 and loud testified the general acknowledg- 
 ment of his skill as a conjuror. Launce 
 made one desperate effort — a swelling rose 
 in his neck of a size awful to look im — his 
 eyes became red with straining — tears 
 gushed over his dingy cheeks — he gasped 
 as though like one taken with a sudden fit, 
 and then drew a strong breath. " O my 
 life, 1 knew not but you had done with your 
 trencher !" said he, in a monstrous eager- 
 ness. 
 
 " Behold the virtue of mine art, my mas- 
 ters !" again exclaimed Jonas, in the same 
 exulting tone. " Lo ! I have found the lost 
 speech." 
 
 In the midst of the roar of mirth which 
 came on the heels of this marvellous discov- 
 ery, there was heard a loud knocking at 
 the outer door, at which all started, some 
 with astonishment, some with alarm, and 
 some with wonder. Ragged Launce in very 
 fear slunk away and hid himself under the 
 big settle; but failed not as he went to take 
 with him a huge roasted pippin with cloves 
 in it, that lay with others close at hand on 
 the table ; but, quick as he had done it, it 
 escaped not the eye of his busy mother, who 
 on the instant pursued him with the ladle 
 she had in her hand, and, as he was duck- 
 ing under the settle, hit him so sore a stroke 
 with it on his pole, he set up a cry loud 
 enough to alarm all the watch in town. 
 Nevertheless, seeing he was likely to have 
 no worse usage, as the enraged Maud for- 
 bore any further proceedings, hearing a re- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 13 
 
 petition of the rude knocking more violent 
 than before, he quitted liis crying, and with 
 one hand rubbin;: his bruised pate, with the 
 other he thrust the pippin into his mouth, 
 and soon lost all sense ol' pain, or fear either 
 in its enioyment. 
 " Who can it be ?" 
 
 " Wiiat can any seek here at this untime- 
 ly hour ?" 
 
 " It cannot be thieves surely." 
 "Pray Heaven it be not tire !" 
 " Hatii any ill-mannerly rogue been set 
 on to disturb our pleasure ?" 
 
 " Some drunkjn varlet mayhap, wh^ ' .l_. ^ 
 mistaken his lodging." 
 
 " PtTchance it be some one for me." 
 " Nay, I expect 'tis I who am wanted." 
 "As 1 live, it was an awful knocking!"' 
 " An it should be anything not of this 
 world." 
 
 " Alack ! do not say so, I prythee !" 
 '• Mercy on us, there it be again! Oh it 
 cannot help being a warning for us to pre- 
 pare for our ends." 
 
 And thus every one cried out something, 
 and every one imagined something, but 
 none looked inclined to see what something 
 it was. This state of things was made a 
 thousand times worse by the woman's tailor 
 suddenly assuming an aspect of the most 
 absolute atfright ever witnessed, whilst at 
 the same time he uttered a cry so terrible 
 all the women shrieked, and rushed into the 
 arms of the men nearest them with such 
 wondrous force, more than one was borne 
 to the ground, and the rest were so jostled 
 together, a flock of timid sheep set on by a 
 dog could not have got in so small a com- 
 pass. 
 
 Jonas stood aloof from the fear-struck 
 throng with his hands on his hips, and liis 
 mouth at its utmost stretch, giving vent to 
 so boisterous a peal of laughing as even 
 those old rafters, familiar as they were with 
 such sounds, had had no knowledge of. 
 
 "Why, thou intolerable faint hearts!" 
 exclaimed he, as soon as he could get pro- 
 per command of his speech. " If it be any 
 thing less substantial than Goody Poppet's 
 stout wench, with her lantern to see home 
 her mistress, I have no more brains than a 
 three-hooped pot." Whereupon the merry 
 knave threw open the door, and flying like 
 a wheel, turning round upon his hands and 
 feet, he passed with a mischievous chuckle 
 through the next chamber to the house-door, 
 though the way was so dark you could not 
 see your hand in it. 
 
 This declaration somewhat pacified the 
 affrighted company, whereof the male part 
 seemed the readiest satisfied — the most 
 
 scared being by far the quickest to assume 
 an air of inditferency — the miller and his 
 son boldly saying they were assured all 
 along it could be no other than their gossip's 
 handmaid ; but Tommy Hart honestly said, 
 he had not been in so horrible a fear all his 
 days, and vowed he would never rest till he 
 had served that " snipttaff'eta fellow," as he 
 styled the tailor, with such another trick. 
 
 As they were rapidly gaining confidence, 
 and Goody Poppet was preparing .or putting 
 herself under the guidance of her usual at- 
 tendant in dark nights to return home, the 
 ^^oT opened. Every one expected the stout 
 wench so well known to them, but there 
 presently entered one who was no more like 
 unto her, than is the golden sun to a Ban- 
 bury cheese. 
 
 The hood with which her delicate sweet 
 face was o»^TTai,^,^pj yy^^g suddenly thrown 
 back from ner shoulders by the hand of Jo- 
 nas Tietape, who had entered with her, and 
 there was displayed the features of a young 
 girl, of not more than twelve years, flushed 
 as though with some great exertion, and 
 wearing withal a troubled air, that did give 
 to its surpassing loveliness an expression so 
 touching, the horridest villain could not help 
 feeling its exquisite influence- 
 
 "Susannah!" cried Joan Hart, evidently 
 in a wondrous amazement as she recogniz- 
 ed her youthful visitor. " VVhy, what hath 
 brought thee here at this untimely hour ?" 
 
 " Truly a great need !" replied as musi- 
 cal soft a voice as ear ever heard this side 
 of heaven ; and then she wrung her dainty 
 little hands, and looked so pitiful, all present 
 felt their hearts melt within them. " An it 
 please you, good, sweet aunt, you return 
 with me toShottery on the instant." 
 
 The tender-hearted Joan stopped not for 
 questioning. Leaving the child to the sym- 
 pathy of her guests she flew for such things 
 as were needful for her to put on for the 
 journey, and before the more inquisitive of 
 the company had extracted, from amidst her 
 tears and sorrowful exclamations, aught be- 
 side her having run all the way over the 
 fields, without any companion, in so dismal 
 a night, Joan had returned ready to start. 
 Her husband grasped his cudgel, and, hav- 
 ing quickly lighted a lantern, and put him- 
 self in a like readiness, he bade his guests 
 " good-night," and was soon anxiously ac- 
 companying the fair child and his e.xcellent 
 helpmate into the street. 
 
14 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 All I have done is little yet to purpose, 
 
 But. ere I leave him, I will perceive him blush ; 
 
 And make him feel the passions that I do. 
 
 And every true lover will assist me in't, 
 
 And send me their sad sighs to blow it home. 
 
 For Cupid wants a dart to wound this bosom. 
 
 The Laws of Candy. 
 Fred. She's free as you or I am, and may have, 
 By that prerogative, a liberal choice 
 In tlie bestowing of her love. 
 Lod. Bestowing ? 
 
 If it be so, she has bestowed herself 
 Upon a trim youth. 
 
 The Captain. 
 
 The musician sat turning of his cittern, 
 close upon where sat an ancient gentle- 
 woman, with whom it was evident he was 
 not only upon terms of some intimacy, but, 
 if looks and courteous words denote aught, 
 the e.xquisite and very vehement gallantry 
 of his manner towards her had touched har 
 affections somewhat. Of a verity, he was 
 a man like enough to impress a woman's 
 heart with a sense of the most absolute af- 
 fectionateness, for not only had he in visage 
 and person such gifts as are usually all- 
 powerful with a fair lady, the which were 
 set ofT in a very gallant, peach-colored suit, 
 with a cloak of murray velvet, faced with 
 fur, and all corresponding appurtenances ; 
 but there was that in his look, in his voice, 
 and in his every motion — albeit there was a 
 marvellous stidhoss in the homage and ten- 
 derness with which he appeared to regard 
 his companion, that smacked of an age gone 
 by — that spoke him to be of no common 
 sort. 
 
 Certes, the tall, antiquated, stately dame, 
 who looked into his eyes with so manifest a 
 conceit of ecstacy, was not of that proper 
 condition that would in ordinary cases at- 
 tract so admirable a gallant. She lacked 
 youth most abominably ; and of charms had 
 she no more than would serve to show she 
 was not quite a dressed-up-anatomy. Her 
 parchment visage — albeit there was paint 
 enough on it to have done some service to- 
 wards creating any Red Lion or flaming 
 PhcEni.x worthy of being the pride of the 
 whole city — only gave signs of life in the 
 constant trick she had of forcing her mouth, 
 which resembled a hole in a hose that had 
 been horribly boggled in the mending, into 
 the fashion of smiling ; and in the no less 
 continual habit of hers, of raising her 
 sunken eyes from the edge of her robe, that 
 Btood out all around her stiff as any board, un- 
 to those of the handsome musician, and then 
 
 as suddenly letting them fall to renew their 
 long acquaintance with the fading pattern 
 of her dress. 
 
 Her close vest and round ruff, her long 
 waist and stiff farthingale, her lace cuffs 
 and trimmings, with her gown of faded 
 satin, looked as though done on stone ; and, 
 had it not been for a sort of palsy, which 
 she strove to disguise by keeping her chin 
 fixed in her left hand, as though it were in 
 a pillory, that gave her head an inconstant 
 humor of motion, the curls of her perriwig 
 — set with streamers in the old Venetian 
 fashion, with a feather at the side — might 
 as easily have passed for a cunning piece of 
 statuary. Her right hand, however, par- 
 took not of such stillness ; for, though it 
 was close on winter, and a pleasant fire of 
 logs was burning on the fire beside her, 
 she kept it beating the air with a huge fan 
 very vigorously; ever and anon furling 
 it quickly, and tapping of her companion 
 playfully, or shaking it at him, when his 
 compliments seemed to her to have a mean- 
 ing in them which appealed somewhat too 
 directly to her too susceptible nature. 
 
 " Nay, Master Dulcimer, thou must in- 
 deed," exclaimed the dame, with an exceed- 
 ing earnestness, furling her fan briskly, and 
 then as rapidly opening it to the full display 
 of a most moving scene from the romance 
 of Launcelot du Lac, painted thereon. 
 
 " By those divine and love-darting orbs, 
 I am in no voice," replied the musician, in 
 a tone of exquisite melancholy, as he struck 
 two or three tender chords upon his instru- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh, thou silly flatterer, thou !" cried she, 
 shaking her closed fan at him, though with 
 a smirk on her visage that would have as- 
 sured a less observant spectator she was 
 well pleased at such language. " But, pry- 
 thee, tell me not thy voice is like to fail 
 thee, for I have set my heart on hearing 
 this ballad." 
 
 " A villanous cold, an it please you, 
 sweetest lady," said the gallant, bending, 
 over his cittern to the complete hiding hi^ 
 face for the nonce from the keenness of her 
 looks, as he added, in a sort of passionate 
 whisper, " Sooth to say, the foolish liking I 
 have for singing o'nights under the chamber 
 that holds such a pearl of price, hath occa- 
 sioned me so monstrous a hoarseness, I 
 doubt I have more notes than a cuckoo." 
 
 " Dear heart, thou shalt have a posset on 
 the instant !" exclaimed the enamored 
 dame, rising with as much state in her 
 movements as tenderness in her looks. 
 
 " Nay, by this heavenly light, I will never 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 15 
 
 allow it, sweet Mistress Deborah !" cried 
 the musician, suddenly rising with a famous 
 humility in his countenance. " I am scarce 
 fit to be noticed of such excellence." 
 
 " Thy hoarseness must be cured, Master 
 Dulcimer," said the lady, curtseying to the 
 very ground to the low bending of the gal- 
 lant before her, as he with the deepest air of 
 reverence took her hand to lead her back to 
 her seat, from which she had got a pace or 
 two. " Believe me. Master Dulcimer, 'tis 
 the exquisitest posset ever made — the sove- 
 reignest thing on earth for a hoarseness. 
 Her gracious highness Queen Mary, of glo- 
 rious memory hath oft applied to my poor 
 ability for the concocting of it, and hath ex- 
 pressed wonderful comfort ere she had 
 scarce swallowed a mouthful." 
 
 " I should scorn myself ever after, could 
 I sutfer my humbleness to be raised by such 
 matchless goodness, to taste what tlie high- 
 est of the land must have been but too proud 
 to have enjoyed at such fair hands." 
 
 " They were well pleased enough doubt- 
 less, Master Dulcimer. Not only her late 
 Highness, who honored me with many to- 
 kens of her most princely regard, but that 
 puissant and most excellent sovereign Henry 
 the Eighth, and his sweet son, the young 
 King Edward, who is now a saint in Heav- 
 en, as likewise her present Highness the 
 Queen's Majesty^, hath granted me many 
 precious favors ; for, as thou art I know 
 well acquainted, I have lived among princes 
 and nobles all my days." 
 
 " Of a surety, thit accounteth for the 
 princely and noble air thou possesseth so 
 completely." 
 
 " In sooth I know not," said the lady with 
 another majestic bend to the ground, in re- 
 turn for one of a like kind which followed 
 the civil speech of her gallant. " But thy 
 hoarseness, Master Dulcimer, getteth no 
 remedy all this while. As it hath been got 
 in my service, I cannot but endeavor its 
 cure with all speed." 
 
 At this she was again, in all the dignity 
 of a queen, sweeping forward to procure the 
 promised posset, when the musician once 
 more, with a reverence even more respect- 
 ful, and a concern more absolute than he 
 exhibited on the previous occasion, took her 
 hand with many fine spun expressions of 
 humbleness, and led her back to her seat. 
 A little more stately colloquy followed, full 
 of flattery on one side, and of vanity on the 
 other. But as the speech of Master Dulci- 
 mer was evidently getting terribly thick, till 
 it became more like the croaking of a raven 
 than the voice of a gallant, she became 
 monstrous eager the posset should be tried. 
 
 At last when she found the flattering hu- 
 mility of her companion was in no way to 
 be moved, and possibly in some measure 
 tired of the many bendings to the floor, her 
 notions of proper ceremony bade her make 
 in return for the many equally lowly her 
 gallant honored her with at every fine 
 speech, a thought seemed suddenly to have 
 entered into her head, the which, had she 
 not been so intent on the sweet things she 
 heard, would have found a place there at the 
 very first. 
 
 " By my fay, I had clean forgot !" said 
 she ; then raising her voice to a pitch some- 
 what of the sharpest, she cried, " Mistress 
 Varnon ! haste, 1 prythee, and make a pos- 
 set for worthy Master Dulcimer." 
 
 This speech was directed to a most comely 
 maiden, who stood concealed from view in 
 one of the deep windows. Possibly she 
 had gone there for the better seeing some 
 music she held in her hand ; and perchance 
 the youth at her side was offering what as- 
 sistance he had at his commanduient in the 
 proper understanding of it, but methinks, if 
 this had been the case, there had been no 
 such need as there seemed for the passion- 
 ate words that one gave the other, and the 
 deep fondness which shone in their looks, 
 and in their exceeding closeness. Surely, 
 it needed not the youth's hand locked in that 
 of the maiden, whilst the other arm encom- 
 passed her girdle with so firm a pressure, 
 her little ruflf ever and anon seemed like to 
 be crushed against his jerkin, for the proper 
 understanding of music of any kind ; but 
 this was not all. These two, it was evi- 
 dent, had been as regardless of the anti- 
 quated dame and her formal gallant, as were 
 that goodly pair, of them. Their loving 
 dialoj;ue, for such it was out of all doubt, so 
 tilled every sense, not only were their com- 
 panions lost sight of, but of the whole world 
 were they in a like forgetfulness. 
 
 " Methinks it cannot but be wrong, my 
 dear lord," murmured the blushing maiden, 
 her heart beating against her lover's breast, 
 like a bird newly caged fluttering the bars 
 of its prison-house. " 'Tis true aunt De- 
 borah useth me with exceeding harshness, 
 but I can scarce reconcile me to the part 
 your friend is playing, which cannot but end 
 in her great unhappiness, and to leave her 
 in a state of such terrible disappointment as 
 must needs come of it, when all is discover- 
 ed, looketh to me cruel and unmaidenly." 
 
 " Tush, sweet heart !" exclaimed the dis- 
 guised gallant, pressing her to him more 
 fondly. " The usage you have at her hands 
 is such, that for it nothing can be too great 
 a punishment. She hath employed her ut- 
 
16 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 most for the complete marring of your hap- 
 piness, merely because tiie Q,ueen liketli not 
 my Lord Southampton to marry, and so 
 leave lier with one servant the less, of whom 
 she can command attentions that in her old 
 age she should have never thought of; and 
 to be in favor witii her Highness, Dame De- 
 borah, hath not only done me all manner of 
 ill othces with the Queen, but hath spoke 
 of you to her in so horrible, infamous a man- 
 ner, as your pure heart can have no notion 
 of." 
 
 " In very sooth now, dear Wriothesley, 
 hath she done me this huge unkindness?" 
 earnestly inquired his indignant mistress, 
 whilst big tears trembling on the long lashes 
 of her fair eyes did most eloquently speak 
 her sense of her kinswoman's injustice. 
 
 " As I live, my sweeting, 'tis so !" re- 
 plied the youth with a like earnestness. " I 
 was told of it by one who was present, and 
 I shortly after received of tiie Queen a sharp 
 rating, with numberless proud peremptory 
 terms, for paying any sort of heed to one so 
 discreditably spoken of." 
 
 The lashes of the fair listener became so 
 heavily laden with those most choice pearls, 
 that they could noJonger have footing there, 
 and came stealing over her downy cheek as 
 if well inclined to linger upon such dainty 
 ground. 
 
 " Sweetest life !" whispered her lover 
 with increased vehemency of love at the 
 sight of her tears. " There is no bearing 
 this monstrous tyranny. Will's stratagem 
 is the very properest stratagem that could 
 have been devised, for without it how could 
 I have had access to thee, my life ! my 
 heart! for a single instant? — and 'tis her 
 own unconsionable vanity that is to blame, 
 if she take to heart at the discovery, the be- 
 ing made so absolute a gull. But 1 am as- 
 sured no harm will come of it. Her heart 
 is as stiff as her stomacher, and she hath 
 about as much feeling as hath the oak Hoor 
 she passeth over with so stately a step." 
 
 Mistress Varnon wiped away the tears 
 that rested on her cheeks, as though they 
 meant to settle there all their days •, but she 
 attempted not any sort of reply. 
 
 " On the knees of my heart, I beseech 
 thee secure my happiness!" continued the 
 devoted lover, pressing the trembling girl to 
 him with a greater shew of afFectionatenes 
 than ever. " I have all things in readiness 
 it needeth but thy consent to be free for ever 
 of the infimous slanders, and continual ty- 
 rannies to which thou hath of late been sub- 
 jected." 
 
 The looks of Mistress Varnon were fixed 
 on the floor, and an expression of indecision 
 
 appeared to linger over her exquisite sweet 
 countenance, but her heart was beating fas- 
 ter than she thought any heart had done, 
 since the world was made. 
 
 " Do I not love thee, a thousand times 
 better than life !" murmured the young no- 
 bleman in a tone of tender melancholy, it 
 was scarce possible for one of her loving na- 
 ture to listen to unmoved. " In honest truth, 
 my whole soul is so wrapt in thy infinite 
 perfections, if thou deny me the precious 
 gift of them, I shall take such a hatred to 
 my miserable life, I will to Ireland on the 
 instant, in the hope some rebellious kern 
 may help me to a speedy riddance of it." 
 
 " Nay, that thou shalt never do," replied 
 the loving maiden, in tones so soft and low, 
 and trembling withal, they could scarce be 
 heard. 
 
 " Wilt consent, then, my sweeting, to 
 what I have in my exceeding love for thee 
 proposed?" asked her lover, witli a look 
 that spoke how much depended on her an- 
 swer. Her lips just opened, and at the same 
 moment her head drooped upon his shoulder. 
 The reply can only be guessed by the man- 
 ner in which it was received. The lover 
 pressed his fair companion in an embrace, 
 that seemed not likely to be ended shortly ; 
 and he only raised his lips from the rosy 
 resting-place they had found witliout any 
 effort at resistance, when her name, repeated 
 in her aunt's sharpest tone, and a warning 
 cough from Master Dulcimer, awakened 
 the devoted maiden from a sense of bliss to 
 which she had given herself up, heart and 
 suul. 
 
 Recovering as quickly as she could the 
 music that had dropped from her hand in 
 the ecstacy of her feelings, she was busily 
 pointing out to her lover, seemingly equally 
 intent on the notes as herself, a passage 
 which they were trying in a low voice, 
 when the tall figure of her kinswoman, 
 handed along by the disguised music-mas- 
 ter, with a formality tliat made any great 
 speed impossible, came upon their hiding- 
 place. 
 
 " Excellent proper scholars, o' my life !" 
 exclaimed the pretended Master Dulcimer. 
 " Mistress Varnon proveth herself worthy 
 of the lessons of her most admirable sweet 
 mistress." 
 
 Here followed the courteous bend that 
 closed every such sugared compliment — the 
 which of necessity was acknowledged by 
 another from the lady equally ceremonious. 
 
 " In sooth, Master Dulcimer, I must needs 
 own she is a close scholar, and an apt," re- 
 plied the antiquated virgin ; the suspicions 
 excited, and the sharp reproof she had pre- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 17 
 
 pared, changing, in conscquenco of the 
 timely flattery, inio smiles nnd good will. 
 " And she hath of late so liked the singing 
 of madrigals, she is no le-is impatient than 
 am 1 for the coming of your.self and boy to 
 help us in the indulgence of this exquisite 
 rarj pastime. Bat I mast not let aught in- 
 terfere with the curing of your hoarseness. 
 Go, Mistress Varnan, use thy utmost skill 
 in t!ie making of my choice pcssel ; prjpxro 
 it with all proper speed ; and take wilh thee 
 Master Dulcimer's boy into the garden to 
 help thee gather the herbs that are neces- 
 sary in the making of it." 
 
 It is doubtful whether the young lovers 
 were more pleased to escape from the room, 
 than was the statsly spinster to get rid of 
 them. Sh3 had a little scheme in her mind, 
 intended to force her companion into a cou- 
 fe^siim of the uuconquerablo passion she 
 fancied she had inspired him with, fur, 
 though he had said many tender and gallant 
 things, she had heard nothing of a sort to be 
 compared with the intensity of her own af- 
 fection ; but his reservedncss she attributed 
 to his modesty. She couKi not believe him 
 to be no better than a poor mu.sieian. In 
 her own mind there was no conviction so 
 perfect as that he was some prince or other, 
 so smitten with her attractions, as to wil- 
 lingly saek disguise to obtain the pleisure 
 of her sweet society. His appearance, his 
 manners, and his language, she had for 
 some time passed, pronounced to be as a 
 long acquaintance with conr:s could alone 
 obtain ; and in this rare delu iion she fooled 
 herself to the top of her bent. 
 
 S!ie considered that he wanted encour- 
 agement, and that nothing could afford it so 
 well as adecliration of hjr feelings in his 
 favor. How to bring this about in a dis- 
 creet and maidenly manner she had long 
 thought of, and at last satisfied herself she 
 had conceived a plan excellently well adapt- 
 ed for her purpose. She had scarce well 
 rid herself of her exquisite fair niece and 
 her disguised lover, when she turned a gaz j 
 upon her companion of such inlinite atlec- 
 tionateness, as no language can do justice 
 to, whereupon, meeting his bright glance, 
 in the which lurked — though she saw it not 
 — a look of sly pleasantry, she as suddenly 
 cast her eyes to the gn.und, and sighed as 
 though her heart must needs break in a pre- 
 sently. 
 
 Tiie seeming musician regarded her for 
 a moinent with some ^ort of compassionate- 
 ness, as though loath to carry the deception 
 funher; but the very absolut:; ridiculous- 
 ness of the love-sick anatomy before hitn, 
 together with what he knew of her infamous 
 
 behavior to her gentle kinswoman, and a 
 remembrance of how co npletely the hippi- 
 n;^ss of two young and amiable people de- 
 pended on his successfully carrying on the 
 jest, satisfied his conscience for the nonee ; 
 and furnishing his looks with the proper 
 gravity, and his carriage with the customa- 
 ry starchness, he bowed himself upon her 
 hand, which he took into his own with a 
 monstrou-: show of gallantry, and in words 
 of the movingest sort, requested, as he was 
 denied the most sweet delight of entertain- 
 ing her with his voice, she would, out of iier 
 marvellous condescension, lap his spirit in 
 that rapture he never f^iiled to enjoy to an 
 exquisite excess, when listening to her in- 
 comparable performance. 
 
 The only reply she give was conveyed in 
 a sort of hysteric sob — a sudden casting of 
 her eyes to the ceiling, as sudden a clasping 
 in both her own of the hand of her gallant — 
 tlien a look at him brimming over w.tli af- 
 fectionateness — and lastly, a sudden move- 
 ment with stateliest step>, her eyes tixed on 
 hiua all the way — to the virginals. 
 
 '•Oh, Master Dulcimer !" exclaimed she, 
 in a most j)erturbed voice as she sunk on 
 the seat that stojd before Ihat instrument. 
 
 Mister Dulcimer said never a word ; for, 
 having seated her, and m ide his leg with 
 the gravity expected of him, he was dili- 
 gently employing biniielf in turning over 
 the leaves of Thomas Morley's " First 13,'joke 
 of B diets to tive Voyces," wliich, with va- 
 rious other madrigal-:, pi?torils, roundelays, 
 ayres, and catches by John Beimett, Thomas 
 VVeelkes Jolm Farmer, William Bird, John 
 Dowland, and John Widiye; with a goodly 
 heap of older works by Sneryngham, Divy, 
 Browne, Sir Thomas Phillip-;, Fairfax, 
 Cornish, Turges, Tudor, and Banister, were 
 partly on the virginals, and on a stand ad- 
 joining. 
 
 Wiiilst thus employed, Aunt Deborah had 
 time to recover in some measure from the 
 intense pleasurable bewilderment into which 
 her gallant h id thrown her, and, with an ex- 
 ceedmg aud.ble sigh, and a marvellous lov- 
 ing glance, she began a few bars of quaint 
 and pleasing sym )liony. Ere she had pro- 
 ceeded far, however, she stopped. 
 
 " In sooth," she murmured, with a smile 
 that might have been beco ni ng enough 
 some forty years before ; " in very sooth, I 
 know not what to sing." 
 
 " Such exqnis.te sweet singing as thou 
 singest at all times," replied her companion, 
 somewhat enamoredly, '• rendereth the 
 choice of but slight concern. Be assured, 
 whatever pleaseth thee to sing, shall inti- 
 nitely please me to hear." 
 
18 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 "Excellent Master Dulcimer!" exclnim- 
 ed his antiquated mistress, in a very fervor. 
 
 '• H itft thou no moving ballad, most ad- 
 mirable JNIistross Doboraii — notouchino- dit- 
 ty thit should express, witli a natur.il force, 
 die desperate passion of some love-lorn 
 heart .' llast thou — " 
 
 '• UaV3 [ not, sweetest Master D;ilcimer!" 
 replied the lady, clasping her hands power- 
 fully togctiier", and talcing another sharp 
 scrutiny of the ceiling. 
 
 " A song of such ravishing sort must 
 needs command my very deepest attentive- 
 ness," observed tiie disguised musician. 
 
 " But it is one of my poor contrivance," 
 whi-pered Aunt Deborah, her look again 
 downcast. " A tritle, a very trifle, dear 
 Master Dulcimer, which thy superior skill 
 cannot but despise." 
 
 How t!ie gentleman protested the great- 
 ness of his opinion of any production from 
 such a source, may readily be imagined ; 
 and the mod.vst dei)reciation with which the 
 lady spoke of her performance ere she could 
 be got to commence the singing of it, it 
 neecleth no great stretch of fancy neither to 
 have a proper notion of. Suffice it, that, 
 after many delays, a wonderful display of 
 affection in lior looks, and with a constant 
 fire of sigh-; thut ought to have melted the 
 most obdurate heart. Aunt Deborah betook 
 herself to her instrument, and, in a voice 
 of the shrillest, commenced the following 
 words : 
 
 AUNT DEBORAH'S DITTY. 
 
 "Honey-sweet lips! — Most tempting fruit that 
 groweth, 
 Fain would I taste, if tasting there might be : 
 Honey-sweet lips I — Most rosy flower that 
 bloweth, 
 Fain would I own, if such might bloom for 
 me. 
 Oh, doleful strait I — ^^The tree doth grow so high, 
 I juight o'er-reach, would I such fruit devour ; 
 Oh, sad mischance 1 — The plant so low doth lie, 
 I fear to fall stooping to pluck the flower. 
 Honey-sweet lips !" 
 
 It was with a great to do the disguised 
 master of music kept the grave and deeply- 
 attentive visage he had all along command- 
 ed ; for, in sober truth, the very monstrous 
 pasftionateness put on by the starched and 
 ceremonious maid of honor to Her High- 
 ness Q,aeen Mary, of sanguinary memory, 
 was so extremely ridiculous, that any ordi- 
 n.iry man might have laughed his head off 
 ere liis mind would have well got rid of the 
 humor it would have put him into. Such 
 Uirmng up of eyes — now to her companion, 
 
 and anon to that part of the ceiling that was 
 directly above her head — such sugared looks 
 that no conserve could have been half so 
 sweet, had not the vessel that furnished them 
 had more in it of the fashion of the empty 
 gallipot than of any such tempting cates as 
 good housewife's do put in them — such 
 smiles of inlinite love as must have pene- 
 trated the very core of a millstone, had they 
 beamed on any thing human, of whatsoever 
 sort, more desirable than the shrivelled-up 
 lips from which they originated — such 
 blushes of modest bashfulness, a tithe of 
 which would have sufficed the wants of St. 
 Ursula's eleven thousand in any extremity 
 — such sighs as no undone church-organ 
 ever gav« , whereof the bellows lacked wind 
 beyond all toleration — such devotion, such 
 prudence, such longing, such coyness, such 
 hope, such doubt, and such fear, were never 
 exhibited in the singing of any ditty since 
 the beginning of time. 
 
 Nevertheless, the assumed Master Dulci- 
 mer leaned' on the virginals ovei against the 
 singer, beating of the time as it were with 
 his hand, and seeming to be quite rapt with 
 such bewitching minstrelsy — albeit, his mid- 
 riff was in extreme jeopardy with his ef- 
 forts to restrain his mirth. Peradventure, 
 he dared not trust himself to speak, though 
 he had no lack of encouragement so to do, 
 for speech gave he none at all ; yet the suf- 
 fusion of liis eyes, which arose from his 
 powerful struggle to preserve his gravity, 
 was regarded by the love-sick Aunt Debo- 
 rah as a sure sign her ditty had touched 
 him to the quick, and after a short pause to 
 allow time for it to produce its due efiect, 
 she proceeded : 
 
 SECOND VERSE. 
 
 " Tempt mc no more ! — With excellence so 
 
 winning, 
 
 Scarce can I look, and not as soon be won ; 
 
 Tempt me no more 1 — Though knowing nought 
 
 of sinning, 
 
 With such sweet sin I needs must be undone. 
 
 Oh, sunless joy ! — Methinks these sugared baita 
 
 Do hold to me an unresisting lure ; 
 Oh, nameless bliss I — -Methinks there honor 
 waits, 
 With honest bonds to make my wish secure. 
 Honey-sweet lips !" 
 
 Nature could hold out no longer. The 
 assumed Master Dulcimer was just on the 
 point of giving way to those powerful in- 
 clinations he had with such huge difficulty 
 withheld, when, as the singer, with amoroug 
 sio-hs, and looks, blushes and smiles, a 
 thousand times more exquisitely ridiculous 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 19 
 
 than those which accompanied the singing 
 of the first verse, closed her ditty — as it the 
 pent-up passion she had so long kept within 
 proper bounds had now burst its barriers — 
 she had no sooner got to the last note than, 
 with an energy that nigh pressed the breath 
 out of his body, she on a sudden threw her- 
 self forward into his arms, and doubtless 
 would, if she had dared, hive helped herself 
 right libsrally to the tempting objects that 
 had formed the burthen of her song. 
 
 The gallant was so taken by surprise, he 
 could do nothing against such an assault 
 but struggle as he best could to get free ; 
 certes. Aunt Deborah had got so close a hold 
 of him, and he was placed in so exceeding 
 awkward a position, his liberation looked to 
 be no easy matter. At last it came with a 
 quickness he h id hardly dared to hope. 
 
 Whil.st he was tugging and twisting with 
 more vigor than gallantry to rid himself of 
 the embrace of his antiquated mistress, the 
 door of the chamber was suddenly burst 
 open, and there rushed into the room, seem- 
 ingly oat of breath with the speed he had 
 used in getting into it, the long-legged, iron- 
 visaged, ancient serving-man, that was at 
 once her steward, groom of the chambers, 
 gardener, bailiff, cellarer, clerk of the kitch- 
 en, running-footman, and a good score of 
 other callings, and had been so ever since 
 he could clean a trencher, empty a flask, or 
 grow a salad. 
 
 That he was intent on the saying of some- 
 thing of the very utmost consequence there 
 could be no manner of doubt; nouglit but 
 the Dlost absolute necessity could ever have 
 induced a serving-man, u-ed to the rigoVous 
 formalities of so stern a mistress, to break 
 into her privacy in so rude a manner as he 
 had done. He would himself have thought 
 the world was at an end, had he dared to do 
 so on any common occasion. But, what- 
 ever was his intent, of a surety he said 
 nothing, for he had scarce got well into the 
 room, when he stopped short in his speed as 
 though he had seen a basilisk. 
 
 He, who had ever regarded the stately 
 Aunt Deborah with an awe scarcely less 
 than that he would have felt standing in the 
 presence of the Queen's Highness, and 
 would as soon have expected to have dis- 
 covered the grave Lord Biirghley cutting 
 purses in Tothill Fields, as his proud and 
 formal old mistress allowing of the most in- 
 nocent familiarity from an individual of the 
 opposite sex, even had he been a prince, be- 
 held her in a situation with so mean a per- 
 son as a singing-master, which, to put on it 
 the most charitable construction, was ex- 
 ceeding equivocal. He was struck dumb 
 
 with surprise and consternation, and stood 
 with mouth wide agape, and eyes staring 
 with all their power. 
 
 But how did Aunt Deborah take this un- 
 timely interruption ? At sight of her serv- 
 ing man, from whom she had exacted the 
 respect due from one having absolute power 
 and empire, slae was nigh ready to die with 
 rage, vexation, and pride. She who had 
 set herself up as so immaculate, of such 
 wondrous dignity, of such unparalleled per- 
 fection in all things, as one so infinitely su- 
 perior to those around her — she was not to 
 be approached without every possible show 
 of humility and reverence ; to be detected 
 by her own serving-man in an act so op- 
 j)osed to her former bearing, as having ten- 
 der dalliance with a gallant, was shame un- 
 speakable. The offence of finding her under 
 such circumstances would at any time have 
 been beyond forgiveness — bearing the rude 
 character the old man's intrusion did, it was 
 deadly. 
 
 The affectionate old spinster resumed her 
 starched appearance with what facility she 
 could, and livid with shame and anger, she 
 glared upon the bewildered and terrnied do- 
 mestic. " Begon*, rascal!" cried she, in 
 tliose deep tones that express, much more 
 than violent, loud exclamations of any sort, 
 the powerful feelings under which the 
 speaker is laboring. " Out of my house ! 
 Pack, on the instant I An I see thy villa- 
 nous visage another hour, I will have thee 
 scourged out of my presence !" 
 
 " But, mistress ! — prythee my lady !" ex- 
 claimed the serving-man, trembling, and 
 pale with fear. 
 
 '• Dost dare speak to me ?" replied the 
 enraged dame, stretching out her arm in 
 the direction of the door ; then adding, in a 
 higher key, "Begone, knave !"' 
 
 But to do her bidding the poor man had 
 not the power. His knees knocked togeth- 
 er, his hands and head shoo'c as with the 
 palsy, and he looked as one about to give 
 up the ghost. 
 
 " Strip off my apparelling, and tlie badge 
 of the Varnons, and get thee hence for an 
 unmannerly, meddling jacknapes." 
 
 " But Mistress Varnon hath run off with 
 the musician's boy, an it please you my la- 
 dy!" stammered out the serving-inan, as 
 well as his fear would allow him. 
 
 Aunt Deborah gave a sudden start at this 
 intelligence, and her paleness was visible, in 
 despite of her paint. 
 
 '• What sayest, fellow ?" demanded she, 
 solemnly. " Dost dare to say a Varnon is 
 capable of such infamy ?" 
 
 The man, as he gained courage, told his 
 
29 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 tale ; which was to the effect that, as he was 
 workin:j; in thj g.irden, ho spic.i the miisi- 
 cim's boy and Alistress Vartion in a won- 
 derful loving humor, and thinking their be- 
 havior nvirvelloas strange, he kept an eye 
 on tlieir inoveinenis. 'J'bcy seemed tor a 
 whil^ to b) gitliering of herb.?, but mule no 
 great progre.-!s in their labor. In their ram- 
 bles they at last came to t!ie wicket at the 
 bottom of tiie gnrdiui, and they were so 
 loving and so intent on cacii other's dis- 
 course, they took no heed that they were 
 watcb?d. They presently opened the gate 
 and went out, and, on the man's going there 
 to see whit they could be at, which he did 
 not like doing too quickly, he beheld them 
 both galloping away on Heet horses. 
 
 Aunt Deborah listened in a state of breath- 
 less amazement, evidently in such a rage 
 with her gentle kinswoman, her anger 
 against the serving-:nan was clean forgot. 
 She was uttering the bitterest denunciations 
 against her for bringing such shame upon 
 her fimily by her intolerable infamousness 
 in running olF with so low a person as a 
 musician's boy ; when her attendant having 
 obt lined some slight sense of security, 
 vent ired to say that he believed the musi- 
 cian's boy was no musician's boy at all, nor 
 any thing of the sort, for, as ho was looking 
 after the runaways at the gate, a swash- 
 buckler-looking k-.iave, in a ten-ible swag- 
 gering mood, came up to him, and bade hiui 
 tell his mi.-tross to be under no concern for 
 the disippearance of the young lady, for 
 my Lord Southampton had her safe, and that 
 they would be married within five minutes 
 of their leaving the house. Moreover, he 
 had given him a tester, to tell one Master 
 Dulcuner to join his friend instantly. 
 
 " Master Dulcimer !" screamed his mis- 
 tress, looking around; but if she sought 
 that admirable master of music, her eyes 
 must have been of a very choice sort to 
 have seen him, considering that he was then 
 on a swift horse, on the track of his young 
 friend, and the lovely partner of his flight, 
 having made the best of his way out of 
 Aunt Deborah's house, as soon as he found 
 himself released from her too afl'ectionate 
 embrace. 
 
 The love-sick virgin now saw that she 
 had been cozened. She had managed to 
 regain her huge fan, and had employed it, 
 in its wonted mmner, with great diligence, 
 when she suddenly furled it, with a look as 
 full of hate and rage as might have be- 
 longed to a Medusa, l)rokc it over the head 
 of the astonished menial, and stalked out of 
 the room, desperately intent on vengeance. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Beware, delighted poets, when you sing. 
 To welcojne nature, iu the early spring. 
 
 Your uuinerous feet not tread 
 The banks of Avon ; for each flower 
 (As it ne'er knew a sun or shower) 
 
 Hangs there the pensive head. 
 
 DAVENANT. 
 
 Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 " Now, dame, prythee put forth thy best 
 housewifery, for amongst our company this 
 day will be one for whom I have an especial 
 respect." 
 
 " 'Tis Master Shakspeare, then, I lay my 
 life on't." 
 
 " Ay, that is it, dame ; and one more wor- 
 thy of all honor eiiher amongst such as be 
 players, or with folk of any condition, dis- 
 tinction, or goodness, whatsoever, we are 
 not like to see in our time, I promise you." 
 
 " Marrv, he shall have the best enter- 
 tainment we can give him, and with such 
 heartiness of good-will, as he may, per- 
 ..hance, lack in a braver feast. But who 
 have you provided to meet him, sweet heart? 
 for, methinks, there should be some choice 
 in the company wliich one so esteemed is 
 required to grace." 
 
 " As for that, dame, I can but ask mine 
 own fellows of the Fortune, most of whom 
 must depart with me, on the morrow, for 
 Windsor; and, though they may not be so 
 approved in their art as those he hath been 
 used to at the Globe, I doubt not at all he 
 carelh for Ned Allen sufficient to be con- 
 tent with the fellowship of such humbler 
 spirits as he is wont to have at his board." 
 
 " Heaven be good to him, for he is a inost 
 sweet gentleman, and his great deserts are 
 not like to suffer discredit from aii honest 
 woman's prayers. But it is fit we should 
 have no brawlers nor breedbates, nor ruf- 
 tlmg braggadocios amongst us to disgrace 
 him and ourselves; for, if I mistake liot 
 hugely, there are such to be foiuid among 
 our friends of ' The Fortune ;' and it will 
 as little credit you, dear heart, who, I am 
 proud to say, hath as honest a name in 
 liis calling as hath any man, and, moreover, 
 hath as fair a provision for his living as 
 might satisfy some of higher estate, as it 
 will honor a guest who, of his eminent 
 qualities, demandeth at your hands whatev- 
 er respect and affection it may be in your 
 power to afford." 
 
 " Well said, sweet heart ! O my life, an 
 excellent proper speech ! And as it regard- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 21 
 
 eth my state ana prospects, what you have 
 eaid b3 as truj as truth itself, and 1 thank 
 GoJ for it, and will naver abase his favor, 
 ba assurad. Bat as to our feJows there be 
 eo.ne, i am afraid, of rather a graceless 
 sort; nevercheiess, I think not ot tuein so ill 
 that they will show their unworthy humors 
 bel'ore so true a heart as Will rih iKspeare. 
 1 must njeds have iJen Johnson for one." 
 
 "I sliould like him the belter, could he 
 better govern himself; for he can be, at 
 times, as excellent good company as mighc 
 be desir 'd. liut he is nrjt free from envy 
 of anoJier's greater good-fo,'tu:ie, however 
 assured he mty be of hiS worciiiness, and 
 hath a boisterous, rude way with iiim, at 
 times, that iooKeth to be ever intent on a 
 quarrel." 
 
 " Nay, dame, speak of him not so ill. Ben 
 is a king, in his way." 
 
 '• A king, i'taith, that, ever and anon, 
 must needs be using of his sceptre by way 
 of cudgel, for the betier showing of liis au- 
 thority." 
 
 "Like enough, dame; nevertheless, he 
 is too great a personage amongst us to be 
 slighted, and hi is, besides, well known to 
 Will, so that we can have no cause for 
 omitting him." 
 
 '* For mine own part, husband, I have no 
 wish that way ; indeed, I have oft found in- 
 finite pleasure in his company ; so let him 
 come, oGoii's name, only I would be more 
 content were 1 assured he would come in a 
 fitting mood. But who else shill you have 
 to meet sweet Master Shakspjare .'" 
 
 " Why, dame, I cannot but have Will 
 Byrde ; he hath a most exquisite throat for 
 a ballad, of any one of my acquaintance ; 
 and Huiiijjhrey Jetfes, he pla3eth the viol 
 like a master ; and John Sluinke, he telleth 
 a good jest with a marvellous proper spirit ; 
 and Tom Dowton, he knoweth tricks of 
 conjuring th.it would surprise you mightily ; 
 and Wed Colbrand, and Francis Grace, and 
 Samuel RowL^y, they sing a t!iree-part song 
 in a manner which is a delight to hear ; and 
 
 Gabriel Spencer " 
 
 " Surely that is he who broke the con- 
 stable's head." 
 
 " Ay, but none of us are constables, sweet 
 heart ! so our head will be in no danger." 
 
 "I warrant you. But if he be so vio- 
 lently disposed, one head is like to be no 
 more respected by him than another." 
 
 " Fear nought, dame. Gabriel would not 
 harm a mouse ; but there doth exist such 
 an antipathy between a constable and a 
 player, that if a cracked crown come of it, 
 it is no marvel ; and, peaceable man as I 
 am, if, of the two, one is to be hurt, me- 
 
 thinks he should be the constable — there- 
 fore Gabriel d 'serveth no blame. Bjsides, 
 he hath many commendable gifts which 
 should make him good company. I'ossibly 
 I may chance to fall in with Ar.uin, or 
 M is^ye, or some other choice spirit, whose 
 tricks and jests cannot fail to gariiiah our 
 entertainment right pleasantly." 
 
 " As you will, dear heart; but fail not to 
 have sufficient recourse to your lute, which, 
 in my humble tliinkiiig, be as delicate gar- 
 nish for a friend's banquet as any honest 
 heart need desire." 
 
 '• But it is not reasonable all L^hould be so 
 good a wife. And now I must needs be 
 going. I have pressing bnslne-is. I am 
 ordered to bring my dogs and bears to court, 
 for her majesty's games. Spare neither 
 pains nor pence, Joan. So God be with 
 you!" 
 
 " Good bye, sweet heart ; and if you see 
 my father, 1 pray you give him my love and 
 duty." 
 
 " I will not fail, and will strive to bring 
 him with me to dinner ; for I know he will 
 be right glad to meet Master Shakspeare." 
 
 The fnregoing dialogue had been spoken 
 by persons aiming at no great pretensions in 
 any of those things most commonly assum- 
 ed. They were simple of heart, and simple 
 in manners ; had been married long enough 
 to know how to appreciate each other's 
 good qualities, and to conform completely 
 to each other's tastes. So contented a 
 cou()le was not often to be met w.t i. They 
 had no ambition in dress, in great co.npany, 
 in tine furniture, or in gay livnig; they 
 cared only to be a comfort to eacii oiher, 
 and a source of pleasure to those around 
 them. Eiiward Allen had lately built a 
 playhouse in Cripplegate, which, as with a 
 prophetic eye to its results, he named "The 
 Fortune ;" and, having married ihe daughter 
 of Phillip Henslowe, who had realized a for- 
 tune by his gains, as the master of a com- 
 pany of players, and of a coUecticm of dogs, 
 bulls, and bears, which seemed in equal 
 fiivor, Allen found himself obliged to take a 
 prominent part in both performances, and 
 was now hulloing on one of his four-footed 
 company at Pans Garden, and anon ap- 
 plauding as favorite a biped at the Fortune 
 playhouse. 
 
 These diiferent pursuits, at times, made 
 strange confusion in liis speech. They 
 would then so mingle in his thoughts, he 
 could not mention them with the qualities 
 that were singular to each and every one, 
 but would speak of one of his best bears as 
 of a most moving tragedian ; whilst he, who 
 had drawn floods of tears from a crowded 
 
22 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 aiiilionce, was mentioned as the bravest 
 (loiT at his game that had been seen any 
 tim > these ten years. 
 
 tlis wif3, though she had been bred, as 
 it wore, in one continual scene of worrying 
 and l)iting, had a monstrous dislike of all 
 <]uarrolsoineness ; but tlie baiting of bulls 
 and bears she had been so used to look 
 n|)on, that she could no more regard it as 
 strife, Ihui could a miller decry as noise the 
 turuiod of his mill-wheel. She could see, 
 witli iiiiiniti' cohtentation, a bull pinned to 
 the n-rouni by a savage dog, whilst some 
 of his fellows were being tossed in the air, 
 yet would not allow the cat to be catching 
 of mice, she so hugely disliked dumb inno- 
 cents to be harmed. Amongst her friends 
 she was universally esteemed, as more than 
 ordinarjly grave in hor humor, charitable, 
 pious, discreet, and kind; and if her hus- 
 band thought her face or person nut so good 
 as those of many women of his acquain- 
 tance, tliere could be no doubt of it he found 
 her heart a wondrous deal bettor than them 
 all. So, as it must needs be, Edward Allen 
 and his yokefellow led an exceeding happy 
 life. 
 
 Leaving liis feir helpmate to play the 
 part of the good wife, which she was wont 
 to perform with such perfectness there was 
 not room for the finding of a single fault, 
 tlu courteous reader must a while with the 
 husband, whose excellences of disposition 
 were no less admirable ; for, having, under 
 the care of his fair partner, been getting 
 himself ready for a journey, the whole time 
 of what hath been set down of their dis- 
 course, he started off in his best suit an i 
 cap, and making forth from the liberty of 
 tlie Clink, where he had his dwelling, he 
 proceeded across a field lying towards Lam- 
 beth Marsh, called Pedlar's Acre, where- 
 in were some buildings, towards which he 
 made. Tliese proved to be the ordinary 
 habitations of certain of his company of 
 beasts before they were suffered to make 
 sport at the Paris Garden. Here he re- 
 mained not long, ascertaining from an old 
 womau remaining there, that his father-in- 
 law and partner had gone off with his best 
 bears and dogs to the Queen's Majesty, at 
 Somerset House. Making his way from 
 thence lo the water-side, he jinnped into a 
 boat, and was soon crossing the river with 
 as much speed as a pair of oars could make 
 for him. 
 
 On landing at the stairs, he was allowed 
 to pass the yeomen there on guard, for tliey 
 knew him well, and shortly found hiuiself 
 greeted by a bullet-headed, bald-patcd, old 
 lellow, with legs like nine-pins, a body like 
 
 a barrel, and a face as glowing as the flam- 
 ing cinders in a blacksmith's forge. He 
 was surrounded by a motley grouj), some 
 holding dogs and some bears, and there 
 were with them certain officers of tiie 
 queen's household, who appeared to be ex- 
 ceedingly intent on what was going for- 
 ward. They were in a part of the court- 
 yard, where a post h;ul been set up over- 
 against the window of the queen's privy 
 chamber, where she was wont to regale 
 herself with a sight of the sport. At other 
 windows that commanded a view of the 
 ga'nes, were grou|)s both of ladies and of 
 gallants ; whilst, surrounding the spot which 
 contained the bear-keeper and his beasts, 
 was a throng of curious people, young and 
 old, who thought themselves fortunate in 
 being able to see the queen witness such 
 royal pastime. 
 
 The new comer being addressed as " son 
 Allen," in a rough but not unfriendly voice, 
 by the person just alluded to ; this pointed 
 the latter out to be no other than Pliillip 
 Henslowe, the most approved master of the 
 sports of the Paris Garden all London could 
 produce, and a long-established favorite with 
 its good citizens. 
 
 After a few words of cheerful greeting, 
 and an affectionate inquiry after his daugh- 
 ter, which elicited the loving message slie 
 had sent, the old man set his son-in-law to 
 fasten one of the bears to the post, lie giv- 
 ing directions the whilst to him and the 
 holders of the dogs, and ever and anon ad- 
 dressing the beasts themselves, that they 
 should, on account of their having such 
 noble spectators, exhibit such nobleness of 
 sport as should make them worthy of so 
 much distinction. Then he would turn to 
 some of the queen's officers about him, and 
 lament the irreparable loss he had sustain- 
 ed, in the last winter, of two of the very 
 cleverest bears that had ever come out of 
 Muscovy. He told how they had been 
 brought over to him when cubs, and what 
 absolute pains he had taken with their 
 education, till they had become the most 
 accomplished bears that had ever hugged 
 the breath out of a mastiff. And then he 
 digressed to certain of his dogs, whose 
 qualities he vaunted as excelling that of 
 the best that had ever been known in die 
 the memory of man, either in the baiting 
 of bulls or bears ; nay, for the matter of 
 that, they were of such unmatchable cour- 
 age and fierceness, they would as lief fly 
 at a lion or a tiger as at more 'accustomed 
 prey. 
 
 Old Henslowe did not want listeners, and 
 he talked with the air of one who takes llie 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 23 
 
 subject of his discourse to bo of such higli 
 consequence it can admit of no rivalry, 
 and though, like all his fellows, he iiad iiis 
 jerkin and cap off, and his shirt-sleeves 
 tucked up above his elbows, and his appa- 
 relling was in every way tiie reverse ol the 
 courtier, he lacked not attention, nor, it 
 may be added, respect ; for he was an oracle 
 in these matters, and they were in such 
 fashion, tliere were few at court who de- 
 sired not to have some knowledge of them. 
 His son-in-law was busily engaged in fas- 
 tening up the animal that was rirst to be 
 baited — a luue, shaggy brute, that stared 
 about him with a solenmness of visage as 
 of a justice of the peace at the least. 
 
 He had scarce done this, when a stir in 
 the crowd gave notice that the queen was 
 approaching; and, sure enough, her high- 
 ness appeared in great splendor, closely iit- 
 tenJed by the noble Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 then first in her favor, and surrounded at a 
 convenient distance by lier courtiers and 
 ladies in waiting. Even, at that distance, 
 the marks of age and decay were but too 
 visible in her visage ; and, moreover, she 
 wore an expression of inquietude, which, 
 despite of the efforts of her courtly compa- 
 nion wlio stood at her side, after she had 
 seated herself on a chair of state placed for 
 her at the window, to entertain her with 
 such discourse as he kaew she most af- 
 fected, scarcely left her an instant. On 
 her appearance, all heads were uncovered, 
 and an Imzza set up, which caused the 
 dogs to bark, and the bears to growl, as if 
 they must needs testify their loyalty, and 
 the satisfaction they iiad in being set by the 
 ears for the entertainment of such exalted 
 company. 
 
 Presently a clear circle was made round 
 the bear at the stake, none being allowed to 
 come within it, save only those engaged 
 with the dogs. Old H^nslowe took by the 
 neck one of the poworfullest of liis mastiff-!, 
 and showed him to Bruin, which set him to 
 growling and struggling furiously to get at 
 him ; and Bruin turned his solemn visage 
 towards his enemy, with a glmce from his 
 eye and a glisten of his formidable teeth, 
 that savored of any thing but aif:!Ction. 
 The old man aggravated the dog by shak- 
 ing him at his prey, and sohoing hiiu on, 
 not forgetting to rem i ml the beast that the 
 eyes of th ) Queen's Highness were upon 
 him, and that it behoved him to show of 
 wh It high blood he was, and who had been 
 his master. 
 
 At a little distance his son-in-law was 
 en c<m raging another dog to the attack by 
 similar means, and others were beino- held 
 
 in readiness, all of which looked desperately 
 eager at the sport. Presently, old Hens- 
 lovve let loose his dog, and went direct at 
 his prey, like a hawk at the quarry ; but 
 Bruin was an old hand at the game, and, 
 standing on his hind-quarters, looked ready 
 for his assailant, let him come as savage as 
 he would. The mastiff flew at his throat, 
 but the bear knocked him aside with one 
 of his fore-paws, like a dexterous fencer. 
 He made another spring, which would have 
 succeeded better, had not Bruin got him in 
 his arms with so fierce a hug that it made 
 him squeak for it. Before, however, he 
 could do any serious hurt, the other dog 
 was let at him, and Bruin was fain to let 
 go Ills hold of the first to defend himself 
 from the second. 
 
 The game now became wondrous excit- 
 ing, for tiie dogs were eager and fierce, and 
 the bear marvellous quick in his movements, 
 and sn:3pping and pawing off his foes with 
 a dexterousness that balHed their attacks 
 and won liim great applause. The audi- 
 ence seemed to take great interest in the 
 combat ; even her highness looked as though 
 she regarded it with m:>re attentiveness 
 than the sugared compliments of the noble 
 gentleman at her side. Hithertj all had 
 looked on, witli too much respect for the 
 great personage in whose company they 
 were, to attempt any interruption, save soma 
 hearty commendation now and then fro n one 
 or two of the more privileged ; but old lljns«- 
 lowe, in the intensity of his honest pleasure 
 in the fight, clean forgot under whose aw- 
 ful eyes iie was, and made the air resound 
 again witli his plaudits, which, with even- 
 handed justice, he bestowed wiih equal vo 
 liemence now on one party and now on the 
 other. Now it was " Brave dog !" — anon 
 •' Brave bear !" — then was heard, " Well 
 fought, Jowler ! — a good grip, Pincher ! — 
 closely hugged. Bruin !" and the like en- 
 couragements, which seemed to have vast 
 effect, for the dogs worried the bear with a 
 spirit that increased every minute, and the 
 bear seemed every minute to put forth a 
 more valiant opposition. Edward Allen 
 looked on with quite as great a s itisfaction, 
 though he was not quite so boisterous in 
 giving it words ; yet he could not forbear 
 once remarking to a bystander, that Bruin's 
 action was of the true, high, Ptoman dignity j 
 and Jovvler's dalivery pointed him out as the 
 first tragedian of his time. 
 
 When it was thought the bear had been 
 sufficiently worried, and the dogs appeared 
 to tire of the sport, they wers put on one 
 side, and another bear and other dogs wero 
 brought forvvard to supply their places. 
 
24 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 As this fight was but a repetition of that 
 aire.uly doscribeil, m^tliinks thoio be no 
 nyjtl of giving licre any account of it. 
 NevertliolesH, it affjrdod as abun.lant con- 
 toatation as the other. 
 
 It so c;i:ince.l .m oJd accid_^nt put an end 
 to thj enLertaininont in the mo t summary 
 fasliion. As the second bear was beinj re- 
 leased from ihe stake, lie slipped his collar, 
 and nude a sudJen rush at the crowd 
 around. After so much fighling, it was 
 not supposed he coidd bo in any v 'ry ami- 
 able mao I, so his unjxpocted attick threw 
 the whole company into the horriblest fright 
 the eye ever beheld. In endeavoring to get 
 themielves out of his way, they tumbled 
 over pach oiher by dozens: in the confasiQn, 
 the dogs broke I'roai their keepers and flew 
 at the.r libjrited prey. Old Henslowe and 
 his son-in-liw rushed forwird to pirt them ; 
 bat, in the press, they wore knocked down, 
 and bear, dogs, and men were presently 
 seen stragghng on the ground in one un- 
 distingui.shable miss, whilst such as had 
 the use of tueir legs were making their es- 
 cape with no less histe than alarm. Her 
 niijesty and her courtiers got themselves to 
 a place of safety with mach more s))eed 
 than dignity ; b it in a few minutes, the up- 
 roir ceased. Brain wis recaptured, and th'i' 
 dogs severally secured. It may readily be 
 behevei th ^e was no more bear-baiting be- 
 fore her highness tliat d ly. 
 
 Hensl.jwe saw his beasts depart to t'leir 
 habications with their attendants, and then, 
 patting on his jerkin, accompanied his son 
 Allen to look for his e.Kpected guests. Much 
 they disc(jursed by the way on the state of 
 tlieir alf lirs — now dilating on their doings 
 at the Fortune, and now at Paris Garden ; 
 and, from what pissed betwixt them, a 
 goodly lesson might aave been learned of 
 the relitive value of interludes and bear- 
 baiting ; of play ts and pi ly-writers, and 
 bulls, bears, and dogs of divers kinds and 
 qualities. Apparently wall satisfied wit'i 
 these uMtters, as fir as th ^y were concerned 
 with them, they at list arrived at a small 
 way-side inn, near ihe Pimlico fields, as yoi 
 goto Ch)lsea, much frequented by honest 
 citizens with a taste for tiie country, and a 
 projjer enjoymont for curds and cream, ho', 
 cakes, and a game at bowls. Instead of 
 going through the house, they entered at an 
 open gat:", which led them through a sliady 
 avenue into a sortof garden, having bowers 
 all round for the acco.n nodition of the com- 
 pany. Here was a swing, and several other 
 rustical pleasures, an 1 beyoad was a smooth 
 bowling-green, in great repute for the neat- 
 ness with Wiiich it was kept. 
 
 Old [lenslowe and his son became aware 
 as they approached, of some persons being 
 in hot and violent dispute. People were 
 seen leaving their favorite bowers, some with 
 alarm, and some with curiosity. The swing 
 was deserted ; the climbing-pole, the skittles, 
 and the butts for the shooters completely 
 neglected; and all were hastening to look 
 into the cause of the huge uproar which 
 was existing in the bowling-green. Among 
 a throng of persons, some of whom affected 
 a display of greater bravery than was usual 
 amengst the regular frequenters of " 'l^he 
 Sliepherd and Shepherdess," whose sharp 
 speeches and ready answers had more than 
 once drawn attention to them from the more 
 quiet pirt of the company, there was seen, 
 more prominently than all others, a sturdy, 
 broad-faced, stout-made man, not ill apparel- 
 led, yet seeming to be careless of such 
 things, his features inflamed with passion, 
 and both by voice and gesture showing, as 
 plainly as such things could, that he was in 
 a very monstrous, tearing humor with some 
 one. Around and about him were two or 
 tliree of his companions, evidently striving 
 all they could to pacify him, most prominent 
 among whom was one who, by his appear- 
 ance, was a person of worship, though this 
 arose as much from his hiving so goodly a 
 presence as from wearing handsome gar- 
 ments. 
 
 A little in the rear of these was another 
 group, surrounding a man of a middle height, 
 yet of a well-knit frame, whose face was 
 pile with passion. It might be seen, from 
 his manner and language, that he was quite 
 as violent as tlie other, and that he paid as 
 liitle attention to the representations of his 
 companions in their endeavors to restore him 
 to good humor. An inditTerent spectator 
 could easily hive ascertained, from what fell 
 from these different persons, that there had 
 been a violent quarrel during a game at 
 bowls betwixt two of a party of players who 
 had met together at " The Shepherd and 
 Shepherdess" for the enjoyment of those 
 innocent pleasures the place afforded. The 
 two, it appeared, were Benjamin Jonson and 
 Gabriel Spencer, both of " The Fortune ;" 
 the former, besides, being a writer of plays 
 of singular merit, as witness his admirable 
 " Every Man in his Humor." Both were of 
 marvellous hasty tempers, and exceedingly 
 intolerant of ihe slightest opposition. After 
 tiunting each other with terrible provoking 
 words, they got so inflamed, that they were 
 for running each other t'arough whore iliey 
 ^5to»d ; but they were separated by some of 
 their more peaceable companions, and made 
 to put by their rapiers ere they had done any 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 25 
 
 mischief — yet not without tho giving and 
 receiving of a chall^ng j tJ s ^t la tlieir qu ir- 
 rel the n 'Xt clay in Hox;on Fields. It wa.-i 
 hoped, by thosi who strova most to reconcile 
 th3;Ti — pirticularly the person juit spoken 
 of, who was addressed soin 'timas as W; 1, 
 and so.neti.nes as Mi-tsr Sliikspeara — ;hat 
 the mitter in dispute migiit hi adjusted 
 without any recours? to weapons ; aid they 
 labored assiduously with that oo ect in view. 
 It was in this s'.ige of the pDcejdin vs 
 that old Hjnslowe and his sm-in-law ap- 
 proxoh3d t'i9:n. The later thougiit it w.ses'. 
 to take no notice of the dispute ; and, there- 
 for3, in a ch aerful ininaer, he accost jd them 
 all and severally, which behavior ot his wa> 
 iiR nediitely re -ponded to by the greater part 
 with every sign of webo:n3 and good hu.nor, 
 for the purpose of calling oiT tiie attendoa 
 of the ilisputants fro.n their quarrel; an) 
 they even put aside their squauble, and re- 
 plied to their salutations in so;Tiething lilie 
 a friendly spirit. An invitation was sriortly 
 afrer proifered to then by Edward Allen, 
 wiiich w 13 as heartily received as given, 
 an 1 in a present'y there was such a vast ex- 
 penditure a nongst the n of hirailess froack 
 and pleas intry, tnat it app3ared to the peace- 
 ful Alien har.noay had been coaipleteiy 
 restore 1. H3 was, however, aboui the only 
 one in the co.npany under that impression, 
 whch doubtless arose Iron his entire igno- 
 rance of the bitter, taunting speeches that 
 had pissed betwixt Ben Jonson and Gabriel 
 Spencer, which, it was well known, froai 
 thnr t irbulent dispositions, neither would 
 overlook. 
 
 Nevertheless, in the full belief that the 
 quarrel was a trifling one, which must, of 
 cours ?, beentirely forgotten wliist they were 
 enjoyia:r theiu selves under his roof, lie readi- 
 ly joined in the mirth that was going on 
 ar()uud him, as they strolled towards West- 
 minster, for the purpos"e of taking bo its to 
 Southw irk. They engaged two boats ; and 
 it WIS so managed, tliat Gabriel siiould pro- 
 ceed in oae, and B3n in the other, and there 
 were about either, one or two judicious 
 friends who tried to reconcile them. It did 
 not appear they h id much success, for both 
 parties continued in the same dogged hu- 
 mor — Without doubt entertaining feelings 
 agiinst each other not readily to be removed. 
 They all arrived, without further adven- 
 ture, at Eiward Allen"s house in the liberty 
 of the Clink, and met with the most friendly 
 of welco.nes froai the good daaie, who, in 
 her extre ue pleasure at seeing of her father, 
 seemed determined to be pleased even wita 
 those siie least liked to see. Slie had got 
 two or three good gossips of her acquaint- 
 
 ance of her own sex to meet her husbmd's 
 company, anl had greitly excited tiieir ex- 
 pectui uis by aut.cipating the monstrous 
 sitisfaction they were to rind in the society 
 of so ne of her expected guests, particular y 
 dilating on 'h; tna/velious sweet qialities of 
 her hasbaaii's fist frie id. Master William 
 Shikspeir^, of "The Globe," whoai she 
 made no disguise in averring she liked with 
 a 1 an honest wtniin's partiality. At the 
 entrance of her husbuid with his co npany, 
 she siagled o.it Mister Saakspeare, and 
 uiide h.iU known to th3se her friends with 
 such warmth of gratiric ition, as no do ibt 
 would hive rendered s.)mew iit uneasy a 
 hu ib ml less satistied with his wife's worthi- 
 ness of nature, or his friend's honorableness 
 of mind, thin the well-contented Ned Allen. 
 The reception, and the etforts they were 
 obliged to mike to renew an ac'iuaintance 
 or to establish one with the fair companions 
 of their fair hostess, for awhile took off the 
 a t uition of the associates of Ben Jonson 
 anl Gibriei Speneer ; and the securing of 
 their pi ices at dmner, the satisfying of their 
 several appetites, and the attenrioas they 
 thought it necessary to pay ti their female 
 fellow-guests, prevented taem for so ne time 
 noticing taeir behavior. Nevertheless, so ne 
 time before t!ie meal wis tinished, they could 
 not help regarding, with very coasiilerable 
 alarm, the exceeding strangeness of their 
 conduct. G ibriel sat pale and stately, with 
 a sinister, restless look glancing f ro n his 
 grey eyes. H e was wont to be a good feeder 
 and a loud talker, but all marvelled to see 
 he ate little and talked less : Ben, with his 
 broad, red fac3, sat over against him, look- 
 ing all the less pleasant for tue gloomy fr-)vvn 
 which seemed to sit on it imuiovea'jiy. He 
 had never been wont to neglect eitaer his 
 meat or his li juor ; but now he had not a 
 m lid's appetite in courting time; neverthe- 
 less, he neglected not the gond wine, of 
 which there was abundance, but poured it 
 down as thougli he was laboring under a 
 thirst that could n'A he quenched, or made 
 his throat a funnel for the purpose of noting 
 how quickly good liquor would run down it. 
 The exceden: housewtfe h id put forth all her 
 skill in the miking of dainty dishes to enter- 
 tiin her hushaad's guests, as she believed 
 taey deserved ; and the result was a b in juet 
 that should have pleased the most critical. 
 
 There certainly was no lack of commen- 
 dation from the well-pleased guests. Even 
 the dame's good gossips eat and praised, and 
 praised am eat, as though desirous of domg 
 the fullest justice to their entertainment. 
 And well were they qualiried for tais, for 
 they were no flaunting madams too proud 
 
26 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 and ig-norant to trouble tliemselves about 
 doni3stic matters. Tiicy were siinijle, 
 honest, city dames, of excellent reputation, 
 than whom none knew better the proper 
 ordering of a house, and all that showeth 
 the njtable true housewife, in tlic best and 
 kindliest fashion. Dame Allen, in her duty 
 of a good hostess, was diligent in seeing 
 that all fuvd well, and were well satislied 
 with their fare. Whilst engaged in this 
 office, sli3 was struck with tiie uneasy air 
 and strange, unsocial manner of the quar- 
 rellers ; bat, as neither of them were of her 
 esteemed acquaintance, she contented her- 
 selfwilh an occasional pressing to partake 
 of her dainties, and then directed her atten- 
 tion to such as she regarded, with more 
 esteem. Still, ever and anon, she glanced 
 at the two with a curious inquietude, and 
 busied her mind with marvelling what it 
 was that made them appear so ill at ease, in 
 the midst of such general contentation. 
 
 At last the meal was over, the table clear- 
 ed, and again spread with tankards, and 
 glasses, and wine, and sack, and cakes, and 
 co.nfits, and the like after-dinner cates ; and 
 every one seemed to bo inclined to talk to 
 his neighbor ; some ventured upon a jest, 
 and all looked to be inclined for pleasantry 
 and good fellowship after the bias of their 
 several humors. Old Henslovve talked of 
 the notable bulls and bears he had seen in 
 his diy, and entered into some spirited 
 accounts of the dogs they had been matched 
 with. His daughter chimed in with anec- 
 dotes of the savagest of these animals, 
 speaking of their fiercest encounters as 
 familiarly as might another of her sex of 
 the sportiveness of kittens. Her worthy 
 husband, as was his wont, divided his dis- 
 course so much between quadrupeds and 
 bipeds, that there was no knowing, for cer- 
 tain, which liad the advantage of his com- 
 mindations. Others spoke of news from 
 court and gossip concerning the ill-repute 
 into which, it was said, the Earl of Essex 
 had fallen with the queen. Shakspeare 
 was dividing many gentle courtesies and 
 compliments amongst his fiir hostess and 
 her fair friends, as it seemed, infinitely to 
 their contentation. Each appeared to have 
 sometiimg to engage himself withal, and 
 some means of alfording entertainment to 
 himself and his neighbors. 
 
 Yet, of the company, there must be ex- 
 cepted two, for Gabriel Spencer still con- 
 tinued his sullen reserve, and Benjamin 
 Jonson kept up his wild manner and frequent 
 recourse to the tankard ; in addition to which 
 he begin, in a fierce, taunting manner, to 
 niake remarks which, thoujili riddles to most 
 
 of the guests, were easily seen by Gabriel, 
 and a few others, to be levelled at liim. 
 The flashing eyes and increasing paleness 
 of the latter warned the ob.-ervant that there 
 would be mischief anon, if t.iey had not the 
 wit to ward it off; and so they presently 
 took measures that should direct attention 
 elsewhere. They chose to be pressing on 
 their host for a taste of his skill on the liite, 
 which, after some backwardness, he was 
 induced to afford ; and, of a surety, he well 
 earned the praises so liberally bestowed on 
 his admirable handling his instrument. 
 Then was enjoyed the sweet throat of Will 
 Byrde ; and his exquisite ballad was scarcely 
 ended when Humphrey JefFes was enforced 
 to show the goodly quality of his viuldi- 
 Gamba. John Shanke's ready jest was 
 equally at their bidding ; and Tom Dow- 
 ton's tricks of conjuring were as little called 
 for in vain. Ere the last of these marvels 
 had exhausted the astonishment of the com- 
 pany, the three-part song of Ned Colbrand, 
 Francis Grace, and Samuel Rowley, was 
 heard in all its grateful harmony. 
 
 The thoughtful few who so judiciously 
 sought to render ineffective the evil humors 
 of their unfriendly companions, noticed, not 
 without much alarm, that neither the taste- 
 ful playing on the lute, the exquisite ballad, 
 the famous performance on the viol, jest, 
 conjuring, or three-part song, had any effect 
 on the angry and unsocial spirits who sat 
 amongst them ; and they began to experi- 
 ence a creeping dread, that chilled their own 
 efforts to keep the rest sufficiently amused. 
 Of these. Master Shakspeare had been all 
 along the most active. He had seen that 
 mischief was brewing under the cloudy l)rows 
 of his two angry associates, and sought all 
 means at his disposal to bring them into 
 pleasanter and more commendable feelings; 
 but the evident uselessness of his labors 
 began to be painfully conspicuous, for, mis- 
 liking the strange looks and behavior of Ben 
 Jonson and Gabriel Spencer, Dame Allen 
 and her gossips had, one after another, stolen 
 out of the chamber. The newsmongers sat 
 silent, gazing with no small share of anxious- 
 ness, at the singular bearing and behavior 
 of their turbulent friends. The singers 
 forgot their voices, and the musicians their 
 instruments ; the jester had ceased attempt- 
 ing to raise a laugh at his quirks and quid- 
 dities, and the conjurer seemed to have taken 
 an entire leave of his art — so wrought upon 
 were they all with the strangeness of the 
 conduct of their fellow-guests. Old Hens- 
 lovve and his son-in-law appeared to be the 
 only persons who knew not the feelings that 
 were nourished by their implacable friends ; 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 27 
 
 and they were so intent upon a discussion 
 respecting the host age at whicli bears 
 should be first brought to the gamfs, as to 
 have no thouiiht or care for anything else. 
 
 Shakspeare, who had omitted nothing that 
 might reconcile the hostile parties, or make 
 them forget their quarrel, saw, with alarm, 
 the offensive conduct of the now half-intoxi- 
 cated Ben Jonson ; and at last ventured, in 
 an under-tone, to make an impressive remon- 
 strance to him. At this, the other, striking 
 his ti.-t on the table, loudly e.xclaimed, with 
 a contemptuous look and voice, '■ Let him 
 go hang ! Who cares for such a white- 
 livered hound ?" The words were scarce 
 out of his mouth, when Gabriel started up, 
 his long pent-up passion no longer to be 
 restrained, and, catciiing in his hand a heavy 
 tankard that stood before him, he sent il, 
 with so true an aim, at the head of the in- 
 sulter, that it knocked him off his stool. A 
 violent scene followed, every one springing 
 to his legs in confusion, all asking questions, 
 or making comments, and crowding round 
 either the prostrate player or his adversary. 
 Henslowe and his son-in-law seemed as 
 greatly astonished as though all their bears, 
 bulls, and dogs, had joined in general fight; 
 and the rost, if their astonishment was less, 
 their anxiety was equally painful. 
 
 At the fir-t outcry. Dame Allen and some 
 of her gossips had rushed to the door, in as 
 hugh a fear as women are wont to fall into 
 on such occasions, to learn the nature of 
 the disturbance ; and their exclamations, as 
 may well be believed, did not tend, in any 
 manner, to lessen the uproar and c^'ufusion. 
 Poor Dame Allen ! terrible was her disap- 
 pointment at the result of an entertainment, 
 to eujoy the superior attractions of which 
 she had invited so many estimable persons 
 of her own sex ; and it was not till the 
 worthiest of her guests, in her thinking, had 
 had come to assure her that there was no 
 cause to be under any alarm, for his friend 
 had only been stunned, and was in a fair 
 way of perfect recovery, that she grew to be 
 in a more tranquil state. 
 
 Whilst some of the company were busy 
 raising the fallen man, a few assembled 
 about the other, and, partly by persuasion, 
 partly by force, got him out of the room, 
 and thence into the street. On coming to 
 himself, Ben was monstrous furious, and at 
 first could not be pacified in any manner, 
 wiien he found his adversary had gone 
 away ; but in the end he became less vio- 
 lent, and finally took his leave of his host as 
 though he thought no more of the matter. 
 At thi-allthe company went their several 
 ways, with an abundance of friendly good 
 
 wishes from their kind and cheerful enter- 
 tainers. They, in the simplicity of their 
 hearts, fancied that the quarrel would go 
 no farther ; but in that they were in as 
 great error as ever they were in all their 
 days. 
 
 Early on the morrow, two men were seen 
 walking rapidly together in the direction of 
 Hoxton Fields. It was a fair morning in 
 September, with a fine cool air, and the 
 hedges were in full foliage, showing a rare 
 crop of berries, and a no less pleasant stock 
 of the latest fiowers of the season ; and the 
 herds, which stood in groups, hither and 
 thither, were breaking their fast with what 
 looked to be a most absolute enjoyment of 
 their meal. Flocks of sparrows and finches 
 were flitting from spray to spray, and nu- 
 merous bands of larks were whirling over 
 the open pastures. The distant report of a 
 gun from the sttd^bles, which were plainly 
 discernible in the landscape, showed that 
 the sportsman was abroad, and busy at his 
 vocation. The two men walked on at a 
 brisk pace, as hath been said, the one look- 
 ing exceedingly fierce and sullen, the other 
 wearing a melancholy expression, with a 
 visible tinge of uneasiness. 
 
 " I think, Ben," exclaimed the first, in a 
 serious tone of voice, " it would be as well, 
 your honor well cared for, to settle this un- 
 happy dispute, betwixt you and Gabriel, 
 without the shedding of blood." 
 
 " Tush, Will ; dost take me for a cra- 
 ven !" exclaimed the other, fiercely. "Am 
 I to be knocked o' the pate by every scur\y 
 knave that lists, and care for nought but to 
 patch up my quarrel ! Zounds ! shall I, 
 who, as it were, have served apprenticeship 
 to the profession of arms, and that, too, with 
 some small credit to myself and respect of 
 mine enemies, shall I be a mark for so 
 worthless, contemptible a fellow as this 
 Gabriel Spencer ; to be flung at when it 
 suited his humor, and, when I have had 
 my brains nigh upon knocked out, present 
 my service to him with his morning 
 draught ! Nay, I'll put my tongue in pawn 
 to the first cur who seeketh a breakfast, ere 
 it shall give its assent to anything so 
 odious." 
 
 " I admit that the blow is an affront not 
 to be endured," observed tlie other, whom 
 the understanding reader will have no diffi- 
 culty in discovering to be Master Shaks- 
 peare. " But surely he had exceeding pro- 
 vocation." 
 
 " Provocation be hanged !" sharply an- 
 swered his friend, who was no other than 
 Benjamin Jonson. " Was it like, after 
 what had passed that I could sit tamely by 
 
28 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 and see so vile a fellow making mouths at 
 me, like a sick ape after j)iiysic ! Fore 
 George, I had amuntli's uiiiidto cudgel him 
 as lie sat. I tell thee. Will," added he, in 
 a decided tone, " tiie knave hath crossed me 
 often. I like liot his humors. I am ear- 
 nest inmy quarrel, and with the help of my 
 good rapier, which hath done me yeoman's 
 service before now, I will bring it to a pro- 
 per ending. ' 
 
 Ma?tjr Shakspeare knew Ben too well to 
 expect any approach being made to the 
 amicable settling of this ditierence in his 
 present mood ; tierefure, he wisjly held his 
 speech, and the two continued to walk on in 
 silence till they turned tiie end of the lane, 
 which bordered on the liekls to which they 
 were proceeding. As they were advancing 
 along the ji.itii that leads across one of 
 the larger tields, thjy became aware of two 
 persons waiting under a clump of trees, 
 down in one of the corners of it, for whom 
 they made. They were so intent on their 
 discourse, that they did not discover the ap- 
 proach of Bon and his friend, till tiiey came 
 close upon them, and overheard the follow- 
 ing dialogue. 
 
 " Of a truth, Captain Swashbuckler, you 
 speak monstrous tenij^tingly ot your rapier." 
 
 " A right Toledo, as I live, worthy Mas- 
 ter Spencer. But that I have contidence in 
 your discretion,! would not have tuld you 
 the name of the great grandee of whom I 
 had it." 
 
 " The Duke de Medina Sidonia, I think 
 you said, to whom it had been presented by 
 the King of Spain." 
 
 " And in consequence of my pressing ne- 
 cessities, and of iny exceeding friendship tor 
 you, 1 reduce my demand of forty crowns, 
 which is not a quarter of its right estimate, 
 to five, which 1 would not of any one else 
 take tor the loan of it." 
 
 " 1 am bound to you. Captain Swashbuck- 
 ler, for your consideration, and for standing 
 my friend in this quarrel ; and 1 willingly 
 pay you the sum you require." 
 
 " Thanks, wortliy sir ; but concerning of 
 this little matter of dispute betwixt you and 
 that hectoring brickliyer, Benjamin Jon- 
 son, be you under no manner of concern as 
 to its issue. Remember you my lessons — 
 forget not your punto reverso' — of all things 
 bear in mind the secret thrust I took such 
 pains to inform you of — and you shall have 
 his weapon at your coinmHiid and his life 
 at your disposal, ere you have exchanged 
 half a score of passes with him. I remem- 
 ber me, as well as if it was but yesterday, 
 when I taught the noble Earl of Leicester 
 this same matchless trick of fence ; and I 
 
 know not how many of his enemies he over- 
 threw by em|)loyiiig it in the duel.o with 
 them. But, by the god of war, here come 
 tiie very men we look for!" 
 
 Saying this, Captain Swashbuckler ad- 
 vanced, and, taking olf his hat with the easy 
 assurance of a cast captain, saluted the 
 persons who approached him. His broad, 
 bronzed face was not made a whit handso- 
 mer for the patch over his eye, and his un- 
 gainly shape was not more prepossessing 
 than his aspect. He was dress^'d in a fa- 
 ded suit of cinnamon, with a goodly rutf, 
 wore his soiled beaver with the air of a 
 commander, and strode in a pair of worn- 
 out buff shoes, with crumpled roses, as 
 though there could not be so great a man in 
 the world. 
 
 After salutation and mutual introductions, 
 Master Shakspeare and he stood a little 
 apart to arrange the business of the meet- 
 ing. It was the earnest desire of the for- 
 mer to bring things to an amicable settle- 
 ment, but the other must needs show him- 
 self to lie a man of war, and talked so over- 
 poweriiigly of the atiront liis principal had 
 received, and entered so learnedly into the 
 proper proceedings of the duelK) in such ca- 
 ses, that, with a sad heart, Master Shaks- 
 peare found he could not prevent the tight 
 both parties were so bent upon. 
 
 It chaifced, however, that previous to the 
 combatants being set against eacii other, on 
 the seconds measuring their rapiers, " the 
 right Toledo," which Captain Swashbuck- 
 ler had sold his friend, Vv'as found to be sev- 
 eral inches longer in the bl.ide than the 
 sword of Ben Jonson. Master Shakspeare 
 lustily protested against such a wisapon 
 being used, and was in hopes tids inequality 
 would put an end to the combat ; but Ben 
 insisted tiiat his adversary should have his 
 own weapon, which tie strongly commended 
 as having befriended him on many a pinch, 
 and he woidd take that worn by his triend, 
 Will Shakspeare, which was of the same 
 length. The latter strove to prevent this, 
 but all his objections were overruled ; and 
 at last Ben Jonson and Gabriel Spencer 
 found themselves opposite each other with 
 the naked blades, as the former had ruled, 
 crossed in front of them. 
 
 Captain Swashbuckler appeared even less 
 pleased with tliis arrangement than Master 
 Shakspeare, but they both drew a little off 
 from the couibatanis, to watch and wait the 
 issue of the tight. Ben Jonson looked de- 
 terminedly, yet with the quiet steady glance 
 of an old swordsman ; and Gabriel S|)encer, 
 though he was somewhat disconcerted at 
 the disappointment he had to endure in 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 29 
 
 beincr doprived of the advantages he might 
 have derived from s > c.ioice a weapon as 
 that vvliii'li h.id had the honor ot being con- 
 ferred bv the King of b-'pain o.i so disliu- 
 gi!ish?d a grandee as the Duke de Medina 
 Sidonia, I'l It such conlidence in the lessons 
 he ha i ri ceivel froai a mister of fence so 
 well known at ['auFs as Caj.tiin Swash- 
 buckler, as to be perfectly free from appre- 
 hension for hims:;lf. But, most unfortu- 
 nately for him, it so chanced that, in the 
 very b';>ginning of the duel, after a few pas- 
 ses oniy, and before he thought of applying 
 to the funous secret thrust t lat had so be- 
 friended the great Earl of Leicester, his own 
 we ij on was turned aside, and at the same 
 moni?nt the other passed through his body. 
 Poor Gabriel ! he uttered but one groan, and 
 fell dead at the feet of his adversary. 
 
 Master Shakspeare was greatly shocked, 
 but he saw at a glance no human aid could 
 avail. Ben Jonson seemed no less dis- 
 tressed ; it was evident he was terribly 
 moved, anJ he vowed very earnestly lie 
 would willingly give all he was w-orth in 
 the world such a mischance had not hap- 
 pened. He called to Captain Swashbuck- 
 ler to help to beir his friend out of the field, 
 but the noble captain had thought it much 
 better to bear himself out, as soon as he be- 
 held the turn things had taken, and was no 
 longer witliin hearing. He, however, did 
 not i'orgei to take with him the goodly ra- 
 pier, wiiich he had so lately sold at so poor 
 a price, in the i'ullest conviction that its 
 matchless character must be of much more 
 advantage to a living teacher of fence than 
 to a dead pupil. 
 
 With the assistance of some laboring men 
 from an adjoining brick-field, the body of 
 Gabriel Spencer was removed to a filter 
 resting-place ; and his death was so much 
 spoken of, as soon as it became known, that 
 Ben Jonson found it necessary to remove 
 himself as far from the scene of the fatal 
 quarrel as was possible for him. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Let me crave 
 Thy virtuous help to keep from grave 
 This poor mortal, that here lies 
 Availing when the destinies 
 Will undo his thread uf life. 
 
 The Faithful Shepherdess. 
 
 Into a certain tenement that was in the 
 village of Shottery, must we now introduce 
 the courteous reader. Certes, this same 
 
 dwelling was none of the stateliest, yet had 
 it very fair accommodations for those who 
 dwelt therein, and an exceeding inviting ap- 
 pearance fjomthe higiiway before it, when 
 the twining woodbine which covered the 
 porch, and clung round the rasem aits, and 
 about every pan, up to the eaves, with infin- 
 ite luxuriousness, was in its fulle.-t bloom — 
 the more especial when there was a fair 
 posy of freshest flovVLTS st aiding in some 
 convenient vessel on the window-siU, and 
 through the open door there could be seen a 
 glimpse of the fruit-trees in the garden, in 
 fullest bloom, or with store of p.ippins and 
 cherries on their pleasant boughs, while, 
 before the door, two rosy-cheeked girls sat 
 with an exceeding fair show of diligence — 
 the one knitting of hose, and the other, evi- 
 dently, scarce a year older, spinning at her 
 wheel, ever and anon looking from her la- 
 bors to regard or give some sage admoni- 
 tions — marvellous for one of lier tender 
 years — to a laughing, shouting, lovely boy, 
 twinned at a birth with her sitter, who was 
 romping and rioting with a young hound of 
 a noble breed, at a little distance, the two 
 rolling over each other on the grass with 
 admirable good fellowship on both sides, 
 and a huge outcry of mingled barking antl 
 sliouting ; and presently the dog, breaking 
 away from his companion, and standing at 
 some little way ofi", uttering many a short 
 joyful bark, and wagging of his tail very 
 famously, watching the movements of his 
 lovely playfellow, and bounding olf again 
 as the boy sought to lay hold of him. and 
 repeating these antics till he graciously al- 
 lowed himself to be caught. 
 
 Then broke out afresh the noisy play with 
 so wild an uproar, that it would bring out 
 the alarmed mother from her household- 
 work, and thereupon she would rate the boy 
 and the dog, for their blameableness in cre- 
 ating so horrid a din, and, more ihan all, 
 rate the elder sister for having allowed it. 
 Whereof the result would be, the dog would 
 presently look as grave as dog ever h.oked 
 when found at lault, and, spying of a beggar 
 at the end of the village, woukrset oft" with 
 a monstrous eagerness down the road to 
 show his extreme watchfulness ; the boy 
 would return to the task he had been con- 
 ning, ere weariness made him fling it aside 
 for choicer entertainment; and the elder 
 girl, after many loving words, endeavoring 
 to impress on the truant the exceeding pro- 
 fitableness of book over play, would continue 
 her spinning, and her discourse with her 
 sister on divers matters seeming to be of the 
 most absolute importance, which had been 
 so rudely interrupted. 
 
30 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 By the time the matron had left the door, 
 the dog had relumed to his accustomed 
 place bcibre the house. At lirst he put on 
 ;ui exceeding discreet behavior, only ven- 
 turing to cast a wistt'iil glance at his fellow 
 culj)nt, when tired of scratching at his ears, 
 biting at his tail, snapping at the tlies tliat 
 ventured in iiis neighborhood, or following 
 
 been leading a horrible ungodly life, in all 
 sorts of riotous ill-living — taking liitle note 
 of his poor wife and sweet young family, 
 save once in a way or so coming to see 
 them. 
 
 Then, if the intelligencer were a woman, 
 which was like enougb, and a careless and 
 unthrifty wife, which was not impossible. 
 
 any of those employments mo^t in request she would be monstrously indignant at the 
 among dogs of all degrees, when not in- barbarousness of husbands, saying that, as 
 clined for sleep, food, or other occupation, j far as she knew, one was not a whit better 
 For awhile the head, so rich in shining than another ; wives were to be slaves for- 
 curls, of his playfellow, was not raised from sooth, and to be cast aside like old garments 
 his task ; but ere long it was slowly lifted not fitting to be worn when the occasion 
 up. j served, while their dissatisfied partners did 
 
 As soon as the child's eyes met those of | nought but lind fault and give trouble. 
 his fast friend, the latter lett off what he was \ Much more to the same pur[)o.se was like 
 then about ; his tail was in motion on the to follow, was her companion inclined to 
 instant ; at tir.~t slowly and softly, then listen, but it most frequently happened she 
 beating of the ground with monstrous vig- : was brought back to the proper subject of 
 orous tluunps, as he ventured on a subdued inquiry, and then proceeded to communicate 
 bark. Anon, some little encouragement numberless interesting particulars relating 
 covertly given by the boy, set him leaping to the persons whom she had before men- 
 around him, at a short distance, making it tioned ; and the stranger, unless he sought 
 less and the bark louder as the other in- other information, went away with the im- 
 creased, the evidence he could not avoid prossion that of all the base,' idle, careless, 
 showing of the pleasure with which his profligate husbands, unnatural fathers, and 
 playmate's proceedings were regarded. It intolerable worthless varlets, one Will 
 was rarely the temptation was long resisted. Sliakspeare was the worst, out of all doubt. 
 The task was again cast aside, and they | But the other tale was of an exceeding 
 were presently frolicking together with diflerent complexion, inasmuch as it de- 
 more noisy enjoyment than ever. { scribed the said Will as being the son of a 
 
 Such was the scene, with occasional tri- ' respectable Burgess of Stratford-; some time 
 fling variations, that had every sunny morn- since Alderman and High Bailiff of that 
 ing for the last year or two, been presented town, a youth well esteemed of many for 
 
 to the ordinary wayfarer when passing 
 througli the quiet village of Shottery. Did 
 it appear he was a stranger in these parts, 
 and, struck by the singular beauty and in- 
 tehigence of the children, must needs in- 
 
 his singular flne talent in the writing of 
 ballads and plays, who was inveigled into a 
 marriage ere he was eighteen, by an artful 
 cozening jade nigh upon old enough to be 
 his mother, whose temper was of that in- 
 
 quire to whom they belonged, he was sure tolerable sort he was forced to fly bis native 
 to hear one of two monstrous different sto- ^ town, rather than endure any more of it, 
 
 ries — perchance both 
 
 One was, that the mother was the daugh 
 
 and seek his fortune in London, where his 
 marvellous skill and learnino- so wrouoht 
 
 ter of an honest yeoman, whose sons lived upon the Queen's Highness, it was said she 
 in the house higher up the road, where the would have had him riglit willingly to have 
 
 family of the Hathaways had dwelt time 
 out of mind, and that Anne, instead of mar- 
 rying some person of substance and repute 
 among her neighbors, as was expected of 
 her, and as she might have done, had she 
 
 been her husband, had he not had already a 
 wife of his own. Nevertheless, this stood 
 so little in the way of his advancement that 
 his fortune was made presently by her 
 Highness, who would scarce let him out of 
 
 BO desired — there being no lack of such j her sight, and it was with uiuch ado he 
 anxious to be connected with so worthy a could escape from her to attend to the wants 
 man as John Hathaway — had taken up : of his young family, who with their mother 
 with a young fellow from Stratford (whose \ he maintained with so liberal an exhibition, 
 father was as poor as a church mouse), so ' taking for her the house in which she then 
 wild in his courses that, after stealing of, dwelt, and hlling it with comforts such as 
 Sir Tliomas Lucy's deer, beating his men, ; no woman of her condition had experienced, 
 and numbeiless worse offences, he abandon- tliat she was envied of all the wives in the 
 ed his wife and his three children, and joined 1 village, 
 the players in London, where he had since 1 Siiould the teller of this tale be a man 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 31 
 
 95 13 not unlikely, and had a thriftless idle 
 bagfao-e, with a goodly spice of the shrew 
 in her, for a wife, wliich many men have 
 had before now, he will at this point of his 
 discour.se speak terrible bitter things of the 
 wretchedness of husbands that have such 
 vile jades for to be tlicir helpmates, and if 
 the strangar check him not, it is like he 
 will be mons rous moving upon his own 
 grievance in this particular, till he do. 
 
 He will then straightway be ready to take 
 his oath on it, so loving a husband and ten- 
 der a father as Mast -r Shakspeare never 
 lived in this world ; that, despite his dame's 
 crabbedne^s, artfulness, and folly, he had 
 tried all tilings to induce her to be a good 
 wife to him ; and that on his children he so 
 doated, lie lavished his whole gains in the 
 bringing of them up tenderly. The boy in 
 especiaf he had such proud hopes of, it 
 was said he had writ a play wherein he 
 was made to be no less a person than the 
 Prince of Denmark. Thereupon the stran- 
 ger would quit the |)lace in llie opinion that 
 the said iMaster Shakspeare was made up 
 of every wonderfullcst excellence, and was 
 so fortunate withal, save in the matter of 
 his wife, that he could not but envy him his 
 gifts. 
 
 Whereabouts lyeth the truth betwixt these 
 contrary statements, the courteous reader 
 will doubtless be able in some sort to deter- 
 mine. 
 
 It hath been discovered by some prying, 
 impertinent jackanapes or another, that the 
 brigiit source of all that we have of splen- 
 dor, clearness, and excellence in things visi- 
 ble, hath on it divers unsightly sputs. If 
 that face which is of such wondrous bril- 
 liance no gaze can be fixed on it for long 
 and not blinded, be so disfigured, it is utter 
 foolishne>s in expect the fairest and perfect- 
 fectest thing in nature to be free of speck or 
 flaw. 
 
 The sun throweth out his golden beams 
 with so unmeasured a prodigality that none 
 save such poor inquisitorial critical knaves, 
 who, if allowed to see a hair's breadth be- 
 yond their noses, must do so only to find 
 fault with what most helpeth them in the 
 use of their sight, would be so horribly un- 
 grateful as to point out any small defect in 
 him visible only after intolerable prying and 
 searching, quite regardless of the prodigious 
 heap of benefit all derive at his hands. 
 
 Wherefore, in portraying of certain spots 
 in this our intellectual sun, or rather such 
 as do so appear when viewed in ignorance 
 of the circumstances which produced them, 
 the whicli becometh proper and necessary 
 for the full understanding of the subject — it 
 
 behoveth all who read, to be mindful of the 
 incalculable advantages placed at our dis- 
 posal by the infinite generousness of his 
 nature, and if there shoukl be any grievous 
 error mixed up with such bountiful store of 
 good, let us straightway regard with a proper 
 humility the knowledge that the sweetest, 
 gentlest, noblest of God's creatures could 
 not escape the debasing touch of evil. 
 
 Perad venture, this blemish, if any thero 
 be, shall b3 none so great — at least it must 
 needs leave good warrant for the exercise 
 of our charity. 
 
 In the blooming daughter of the honest 
 yeoman of bhottery, of a surety, tliere was 
 no lack of womanly tenderness. Yet so 
 frequently did her womanly vanity under 
 evil counsel get the better of her better qual- 
 ities, it was rarely the latter were allowed 
 their natural influence. 
 
 To one of so sensitive a sort, as he to 
 whom the church had given her, whose as- 
 pirations pointed to such fine issues, and 
 whose affections could embrace only what 
 was most choice, such intractablencss as she 
 exhibited must needs have produced in him 
 a sense of intolerable discomfort. 
 
 In the very flush of youth, p >ssessed of all 
 those personal gills that do most attract a 
 loving woman's eye, and having such prodi- 
 gal graces of mind and heart withal, as Vv^o- 
 man never yet resisted, it is like enough his 
 nature was as ready to meet the love he had 
 sought so earnestly with such little profit, 
 as were the natures of all sucii fond and 
 loveable creatures with whom ho chanced to 
 associate, eager to assist him to its attain- 
 ment. 
 
 Directly it chanced he had the means at 
 his commandment, his thoughts turned to- 
 wards a suitable provision for his vviib and 
 young family. Ho had the pleasant cottage 
 in which they had since dwelt at Shottery 
 taken for them, and furnished with all things 
 useful and proper in abundance, and their 
 several wants were so fully considered, no 
 family in the village were so well cared for. 
 
 He never allowed a year to pass without 
 paying them a visit, at which times, as may 
 well be imagined, he was not like to come 
 empty-handed. Indeed, so prodigal was he 
 in the giving of such things as children 
 most desire, and so many other ways had he 
 of winning their young hearts, his coming 
 was looked for by them all with monstrous 
 eagerness ; but not more anxious were they 
 for his return, than was he to be amongst 
 them, for so loving a father was he, it mat- 
 tered not what pleasures and honors awaited 
 him among his many excellent noble pat- 
 rons and friends, when the time approached 
 
32 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 for his customary visit, he was as impaliont 
 to be on the road, as ever was lover to meet 
 his mistress. 
 
 That he loved tliem all was most mani- 
 fest ; but of his three children, there was 
 one whom he loved with so intinite and ab- 
 solute a devotedness, it moved every heart 
 that saw it. Tiiis was his only son Ham- 
 net. The helple.ss infant, the tottering child, 
 and the romping Loy, were regarded iiy him, 
 as the fond father year after year saw him 
 take on himself these several characters, 
 with an intensity of interest, such as no;ie 
 but a doating parent can have any thought 
 of. His aiiection became a passion — the 
 powerfiillest impulse of his existence. His 
 thoughts seemed to tend in one direction 
 with a constancy that was rivalled only by 
 the ever-steady compass. 
 
 Fame, weali b, friends, and all the other cov- 
 etable enjoyments of life he sought for oiily 
 as a means of elevating this lovely boy into 
 a manhood tliat might find its pi ics am.ong 
 the [)rouJest of the land, and insure for 
 many generations living evidences, readily 
 obtaining high fortune and distinction, that 
 the name of Shakspeare was not of a per- 
 ishablj SO! t. 
 
 Oft and off, would his musings take unto 
 themsL'lves shapes whereof the purport was 
 his son's greatness in some one way or 
 another ; and he would further delight bis 
 humor by imagining such glorious scenes 
 wliereof this most precious boy was the 
 chief feature, as one of such wondrous 
 qualities of heart and mind could alone 
 conceive. 
 
 As he grew up, so grew the love with 
 which he was regarded by his proud, affec- 
 tionate, and exceeding sanguine father. His 
 wants were ministered to with a hand that 
 left no room for an unsatisfied desire of ;iny 
 sort to have a moment's existence. The 
 anxious parent, when he last parted from 
 him, not only charged divers his zealous 
 friends at Stratford and thereabouts, to watch 
 over his safety and happiness, as was his 
 wont on sucii occasions, but provided that 
 his education should be carried on with all 
 pos-iblo advantages, having secured as an 
 instructor for biin that excellent ripe scholar, 
 the learned Vicar of Stratford, Master Rich- 
 ard Bilield. 
 
 Hamnet, now — no longer the romping 
 child who loved far better than aught else 
 in the world beside a tumble in tbe grass 
 with Talbot, who had lieen his faithful friend 
 and ready playmate from earliest infiincy — 
 was a thin tnll boy, in his thirteenth year, 
 who, as regularly as any clock in the parish, 
 might be met on the road to Stratford every 
 
 morning and afternoon with his satchel 
 stripped over liis jerkin, intently conning 
 of a book that was in his hand, halting not, 
 nor turning to the risrht or lelt, let th re be 
 what attraction fori. neof his age there might, 
 but proceeding direct to the vicarage, there 
 to say his daily tasks to Master Bilield. And 
 on his return home — it was not as other boys 
 would, when let loose from school, in disor- 
 derly rioting — and, like enough, any mis- 
 chief that looked easiest to do, but walk- 
 ing the same serious pace, and as earnestly 
 studying his book as on his leaving home. 
 Even when, on approaching the village, his 
 old favorite came bounding towards him 
 with his well-remembered joyful bark, the 
 only recognition he had of the studious boy 
 was an ali'ectionate pat or two from bis dis- 
 engaged hand, as the dog leaped on him, 
 and, without moving his g:izefrom the page, 
 he would continue his walk to his mother's 
 door, his hnnd resting on his four-footed 
 friend, who now walked sedately at his side, 
 ever and anon casting a glance at the pale 
 face of his once rosy playfellow, and giving 
 a low whine, that seemed to express a very 
 monstrous concern at the change that had 
 taken place in him. 
 
 The amusements to which his sisters in- 
 vited him, with abundance of sweet entrea- 
 ties and caresses, and the sharp dissatisfac- 
 tion of his mother, at ever finding him poring 
 over some book or another, were as little 
 effii acious in making any alteration in his 
 excessive studiousness. '1 he commendation 
 he had of his excellent instructor, for his 
 diligence and forwardness in all manner of 
 learning, and the exceeding pleasure as 
 Master Bifield told him frerpiently, it would 
 be to his loving father to find him so good a 
 scholar, made him so exert himself to ad- 
 vance rapidly in his studies, that, morning, 
 noon, and night, he seemed intent on noth- 
 ing but the learning of everything he could 
 be set at. 
 
 Proud was the master of such a pupil. In 
 truth, he was too proud of him to be suffi- 
 ciently discreet. He had been a scholar all 
 his lite long — poor in this world's gear, but 
 rich in virtue, learning, and all iiood gifts ; 
 and so conspicuous were his merits, that, 
 when the former schoolmaster was summa- 
 rily sent from an office he had too long dis- 
 graced, such recommendation of his fine 
 parts was made to the patron of the vicar- 
 age, as caused that very estimable, pious 
 gentleman to bestow it on him, to the great, 
 and lasting profit of the parishioners. 
 
 Long and severe study had made sad in- 
 roads in his health, ere he commenced his 
 new duties ; and the heavy labors lie set 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 33 
 
 himself, to undo the many mischiefs caused 
 by the disrepiitabb acts of his predecessor, 
 wrought on liis constitution still fartiier evil 
 He disregarded severity of weather, and all 
 other inconveniences whatsoever, in the do- 
 ing of tae v.irious pious oifiees he might at 
 any time or season be called upon to per- 
 form. This, in time, reduced him to a mere 
 skeleton in appearance ; an J, though yet in 
 the prime of life, so feeble in body was he, 
 he was scarce ever able to do more than 
 the least laborious of his customary duties. 
 As he complained not to any one, and was 
 ever of a clieerfal disposition, none took him 
 to be in so bad a case as he was ; but the 
 sunken cheek and eyes, emaciated frame, 
 and coast mt teazing cough, were signs that 
 ought not to have been disregarded. 
 
 At last he got so much worse, he was fain 
 to take to his bed. Nevertheless, such was 
 his love for Hamnet, he would have him say 
 his tasks at hiS bedside with the youiu 
 scholir's accustomed regularity, and co.n- 
 meiid him, and set him farcher lessons, and 
 discourse with him on all milters wherein 
 he licked intelligence, though the sick min 
 was scarce able to move a Innb, or use 
 his voice above a whisper. Surely such a 
 sight hath rarely been seen as presented 
 it-self every morning and afternoon in the 
 vicar s antique chamber. 
 
 Perchance, on his first entering, the boy 
 would have with him some choice fruit of 
 his own plucking, or dainty posie of his own 
 githering, or some other choice thing or 
 ano:her to jilease tie sick mm's eye or pal- 
 ate, and with these in his hand he would 
 first dut. fully present them to his master, 
 not forgetting the while to ask earnestly 
 whether he was mending ; and then, having 
 received all proper thaniis and the necessa- 
 ry reply, he would put the l^owers, or wiiat- 
 ever it might be, wtiere he thought his mas- 
 ter would be best pleased to have them, and 
 then take his accustomed place and beg n 
 his proper task. In sooth, ir then became 
 a scene of no ordinary interest. 
 
 There was the zealous master, pale as 
 any ghost, lying supported by pillows, one 
 shrunken arm and bony hand resting on the 
 coverlet, his eyes brightening as he^noticed 
 the exceeding aptness of his ddigent scho- 
 lar, who, with visage having but litde mnre 
 warrant of health m it, stood by the sombre 
 tapestry at the bed's head, atFectionately and 
 reverently regarding his excellent instruc- 
 tor, as he repeated without a fault the vari- 
 ous lessons he had been tasked with. This 
 done, Hamnet would seek to do the sick 
 man all manner of loving offices, which tlie 
 other tooic as though he would have them 
 
 done by none other than he ; and, whefl 
 there was nothing left to do, the scholaf 
 looked as loth to go as was the master td 
 have him depart. iJut at last came an af- 
 fectionate fear, e.xpressed by the sick man, 
 th.it the boy's mother would needs be mad© 
 more anxious for his safety than was right 
 he should make her, delayed he his depar- 
 ture any longer ; and, with heartfelt bles- 
 sings on the one side, and as fervent pray- 
 ers on the other, the two would separate for 
 that day. 
 
 This went on for some weeks, Master 
 Bitield making so.ne small progress towards 
 recovery, though still too feeble to leave his 
 chamber, when it chanced that one morn- 
 ing, at the usual hour, marvellous as it wasy 
 tae punctual scholar made not his appear- 
 ance. The worthy vicar at first thougat he 
 might have been stayed by his mother ; 
 then he fancied he had gone with his sisters 
 to some distance, and had not got back ia 
 ti.ne to get to the vicarage; and then made 
 for hiin some other excuse equally reasona- 
 ble. Bat still he came not. 
 
 Hour after hour p.issed by, to the prodig- 
 ious surprise of tne good priest, anJ almost 
 to the exiiaustiug of a very plentiful stock 
 of reasons for Hamnet's absence, and yet 
 the boy was no nearer his pi ice by his mas- 
 ter's bedside than at lirst. Tnui proceeded 
 the day — a most uneasy one to Mj.ster Bi- 
 iield, and it was succeeded by as restless a 
 night. 
 
 The morning found him not less san- 
 guine ol the coming of his beloved scholar 
 man he had been the day previous ; but, 
 wuen the school-hour arrived, and Hainnei 
 came not, his master became exceeding 
 troubled, and at o.ice despatched his at- 
 tached, out somewiiat too querulous, doiiios- 
 tic to Siiotteri, to inquire tae cause of tha 
 boy's extraordinary atjsonce. 
 
 Master Eitield had been lying in his bed^ 
 monstrously troubled in his tiioughts con- 
 cerning the absence of his diligent and af- 
 fectionate young scholar, wait.ng vvita pro 
 digious anxiety the return of Estiier, when 
 he heard a step he knew to be hers; but, to 
 his huge disappointment, the ligiiter and 
 more welcome sound of Hamnet's footsteps, 
 did not accompany it. Presently the doof 
 of his chamber opened, and there entered 
 thereat the tall, giunt rigure of Esther, clad 
 with her usual extreme neatness, and wear- 
 ing a visage of more than ordinary serious* 
 ness and melancholy concern. 
 
 As soon as the vicar caught sight of her* 
 he raised himself up a bit, with a look of 
 exceeding alarm. " Hast seen him ? Why 
 doth he not come ? Doth aught ail the boy ? 
 
34 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Pryfhcc sit down and rest thyself, {^ood Es- 
 tlier, after tliy walk; and let ino know, as 
 gpoodily as thou canst, what keeps Ilamnet 
 from the vicarage. When will he come ? 
 f lath he his lesson ready ? I trust he will 
 he here anon." 
 
 Esther (fid not sit. She saw something- 
 In the arrangrnient of the things nighest 
 her master she liked not. She busied her- 
 self awhile in piitiing them more conven- 
 iently, and of all the questions asked of her, 
 she replied but to the last, and that was with 
 a shaking of the head, that looked of such 
 bad import to the sick man, he seemed 
 etruck with a sudden fear. 
 
 "Nay, I trust in God's love no ill hath 
 happened to him !" cried he, with all the 
 fervor of tiie excellent, proper Cliristian he 
 was ; but seeing that his messenger con- 
 tinued her euipliiyment as though she 
 would delay uttering what she liked not to 
 say, and that her aspect took on it a more 
 painful shade of seriousness, he caught her 
 by the arm, and added, in the most moving 
 accents ever heard : " I prythoe, good Es- 
 tlier, tell me what aileth the boy ? Some 
 slight tiling or another of which he shall be 
 well presently ? I may expect his coming 
 a week hence at the farthest ?" 
 
 This elicited not the reply he wished, for 
 Esther was too moved to commence her 
 task as an intelligencer. The anxiety of 
 the sick man mounted to an agony, and, with 
 features blanched witli aftVight, he gasped 
 out " Esther, Esther! jTythee tell me not 
 that sweet boy is dead !" 
 
 " Nay, master, it hath not come to that 
 yet," replied she, in a tone she intended 
 ehoulJ be consolatory. " But," she added, 
 thinking, now it had come to this push, it 
 were better the truth should be known at 
 once, " an if 1 know aught of such matters, 
 %he poor boy's days are nuuibered in this 
 world. God help him!" 
 
 She then proceeded to state how evident 
 to every one's observation the young scho- 
 lar's health had been rapidly sinking under 
 his too great study, and that, after getting 
 wet to the skin in a sudden rain, on return- 
 ing home, he sat in his damp things study- 
 ing his morrow's lesson, till he was taken 
 with a terrible shivering lit. He was put 
 to bed, but in the morning he was in so bad 
 a state, the apothecary was sent for from 
 Stratford, who pronounced him to be in the 
 most imminent danger, since when he had 
 been getting worse every hour, and, to all 
 appearance, could not live many days. 
 
 " This is all that is to be got of poring 
 over books," added Esther, emphatically. 
 * And tliis, Master, hath brought you to a 
 
 bed of siclaiess, and hath been this many a 
 year wearing out your life by inches, as I 
 have warned you so oft. But, alack ! alack ! 
 my paini-taking hath been to such small 
 profit, that you have not only been destroy- 
 ing of y(un'self with such [lestileut things, 
 but have allowed this poor boy, under your 
 own eyes, to waste his sweet young life 
 away, after the same horrible fashion." 
 
 Hitherto the sick man had kept staring at 
 his companion, too bewildered at the sudden 
 blow to have the use of any sense save that 
 of hearing. But, as she finished her speech, 
 the truth of what she had stated flashed 
 upon his mind, and the enormity of the mis- 
 chief he had done presented itself to him so 
 overpovveringly, that he, with a sharp cry, 
 clasped his hands together and sunk in a 
 swoon on the bed. 
 
 Esther flew to him on the instant, and 
 with the tender interest of a mother adminis- 
 tered such remedies as she knew were of 
 mo.'^t efficacy in such cases. As soon as 
 he recovered his senses, he seemed to have 
 a strength he had not known a long time, 
 and called for his apparel. In vain his faith- 
 ful attendant attempted to dissuade him from 
 his intention, but he would attend to no sug- 
 gestions or apprehensions. Dressing him- 
 self as quickly as he might, talking the 
 while as though to himself, now bitterly con- 
 demning his own negligence of Hamnet's 
 health, and then breaking out into tlie fond- 
 est praises of his promising scholarship, he 
 took his stafl' in his hand, left his chamber, 
 w:ilked out of the vicarage with a step he 
 had not known any so firm these ten years, 
 and proceeded the directest way to the cot- 
 tage at Shottery. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 If thou be scorn'd, 
 Disdaine it not : for preachers grave 
 
 Are still dispis'd, by faces hornde, 
 When they for better manners crave. 
 
 That hap, which fails on men divine, 
 
 If thou feele, doe not repine. 
 
 A Gl,ASSE TO VIEW THE PrIDE OF VaIN-GLOKIOUS 
 
 Women. 
 
 " A FEW words, John, and wc must needs 
 part. Heaven only knoweth whether it 
 may be our fortune to meet again ; but, 
 however it shall chance, I am fully per- 
 suaded — I thank God very heartily for an 
 assurance so comfortable tn a mother — you 
 will do no discredit to your bringing up. In 
 sooth, you are a notable good youth, and 
 seem like enough to keep your honored fa- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 35 
 
 ther's name — blessed be his memory ! in 
 fair repute as long as it shall be in your 
 keeping." 
 
 " I trust so, good mother. I will do all 
 ihat I needs can that you shall have not one 
 minute's discomfort from my behavior." 
 
 " I doubt it not, my dear boy. In sooth, 
 the knovvled^je of your well-disposedness is 
 my great solace and conteatation in this 
 trying hour. I have provided you, without 
 sparing cost or care, with such learning as 
 you had the greatest liking for ; and you, 
 having made choice, of your own free will, 
 of the calling or profession of medicine — as 
 excellent proper choice as could have been 
 made — I have, as is already known to you. 
 entered into sucli arrangements with one of 
 the notablest London physicians, for your 
 sojourning witii him until you have com- 
 pleted your necessary studio.s in the treatnig 
 of diseases, in the nature of simples and the 
 like — for the which I think it but right I 
 .sliould tell you, I have taxed my means to 
 the utmost, that you may use whatsoever 
 diligence you have, they be not rendered un- 
 prohtable." 
 
 '• That will I, rest assured. It would be 
 a villanous ill return, methinks, for your ex- 
 quisite sweet goodness to me at all times, 
 were I to be amiss in any thing." 
 
 " You know not what temptations may 
 assail you in that great city whereto you 
 are going — the whicli, I grieve to say, hath 
 the horri blest bad character ever heard — for 
 you have been brought up so homely, in 
 these retired parts, no bruit of such could 
 have reached you." 
 
 " r faith, it mattereth not, sweet mother. 
 You have taught me — I give you my very 
 iieartiest thanks for it — to know good from 
 evil, to ibilow the one and eschew the other ; 
 and that will suffice, let me go where I 
 will." 
 
 " I hope and trust, with all my heart and 
 spirit, it may." 
 
 Tims spoke mother and son on the eve of 
 a parting tlrat seemed like to he of some 
 duration ; and, alter entering more into par- 
 ticulars in the way of cautions, the anxiuus 
 parent allowed her son to receive her last 
 caress and her blessing ; and, in company 
 with a steady, middle-aged, serving-man, 
 that had, in better times, lived at livery at 
 his father's board the best part of his life, he 
 was allowed to go his way. 
 
 Simon Stocktish had managed to get the 
 loan of two steeds lor their journey ; one 
 for his young master, and the other for his 
 own riding. He had d^ne all that he could 
 to make them worthy of the occasion, but 
 with exceeding small profit, for Dapple and 
 
 Jack were two as worthless and misshapen 
 brutes as were ever rode. Dapjile — the one 
 liis master chose, was an iron-gray, as an- 
 cient a piece of horseflesh a-< you shall see 
 any day, rising nigh upon sixteen hands, 
 and so bony withal, the poor youth looked 
 to be striding a tombstone ; and his head 
 was so long and narrow, his ribs so ])ro:ni- 
 nent, such a goose-ruinp iiad lie, and his 
 tail was so short and stiff, for it was nothing 
 but a stump with two or three hair.-, it may 
 well be imagined the horseman was not en- 
 vied of other equestrians. 
 
 Simon followed, on Jack, a little, black, 
 stifF-necked, rough and ragged c.irt-horse's 
 colt, with long mane and tail, pretty well 
 oiT for flesh, but so heavy and unwieldy 
 withal, that when he trotted — which seemed 
 his only quick pace, and one not easily to 
 get him into — his hoofs clattered on the 
 ground like monstrous hammers on an an- 
 vil. As Simon was a sturdy kn ive, whose 
 belt encompassed a fair rotundity of body, 
 his weight was not like to make his steed's 
 paces any the lighter, added to which, he 
 carried behind him his master's wardrobe, 
 at his holsters a brace of heavy pistolets, 
 and at his side a formidable rapier ; but the 
 joking he got, and the unseemhiuv-s of the 
 anim:il he bestrode, seemed not tj incon- 
 venience him in any manner. 
 
 He retained an imuioveable visage of 
 such dignity as he thought best bo^auie one 
 who was entrusted with the guirdimship ? 
 of his young master, and ridiag at a re- 
 spectful distance, yet near enoagii to be at 
 hand when need required it, he cultivated 
 his ordinary humor of taciturn. ty whilst 
 cogitating on the constant attentiveness ne- 
 cessary on his part to secure his old mas- 
 ter's only son from the dangers which, he 
 believed, were sure to beset lura on iiis jour- 
 ney to London. 
 
 But all this time, what were the reflec- 
 tions of John Hall ? The young student of 
 medicine was now fairly on his road to for- 
 tune. Was he anticipating his career, and 
 seeing a brilliant prospect of court patients, 
 and liberal fees ? Was his mind turm-d the 
 other way, recalling the many admirable 
 pleasant hours he had enjoyed in tiie famil- 
 iar scenes he was now leaving ; perchance, 
 never to see again ? Was he regret:ing the 
 parting with his fond mother, or fixing on 
 his attention the excellent advice he had 
 )ust heard from her, touching his behavior 
 with such young persons of her sex as he 
 might be about to associate with ? 
 
 He was neither thinking of the past nor 
 the future ; lamenting his separation from 
 a doating parent, nor caring in the least 
 
36 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 whether ho was or was not to mingle with 
 women of any sort. In honest truth, he 
 was m.oroly intently qnestioninfj of himself 
 whether mnstird, made with verjuice, very 
 sharj), and somewhat tl)ick, was tlie proper- 
 est remedy for a quartan-ague. 
 
 Thus proceeded the two for sundry miles, 
 not without exciting souie curiousness from 
 every one they met, and a few jeers from 
 such rude and rustic persons as are sure to 
 be found in every highway, conducting of 
 tliemselves as though they had a patent for 
 sauciness. The young physician was often 
 roused from his deep studies by some un- 
 mannerly waggoner, or insolent groom, 
 sho.iting out certain inquiries as to the 
 number of years that had elapsed since his 
 steed had had a feed of corn ; and a sturdy 
 beggar clapped liis dish on his head, and 
 fell on his marrowbones, in a seeming 
 ecstasy of devotion as the youth passed him, 
 crying how blessed he was in being allowed 
 a sight, of one of the very cattle with which 
 Nebuchadnezzar had gone to grass. 
 
 At first, John Hall had given no thought 
 of the ajipearance he cut on so sorry an an- 
 imal ; and, as regarded his own apjiarelling, 
 was well content with the cap and feather, 
 the sober suit of russet, and the stout boots 
 and gloves he had on ; but at last, hearing 
 of so many scurvy terms applied to his 
 horse, he got ashamed of it, and Vv'ould have 
 preferred going the journey on foot, had it 
 been possible. He knew, however, there 
 was no help for it, but to make the way as 
 short as possible ; therefore he put his spurs 
 to the lank sides of the poor beast, and 
 iirged him to the top of his speed. 
 
 If it was ridiculous to see the tall, gaunt, 
 mis-hapen thing that had been provided for 
 the young traveller's riding, proceeding at a 
 walk, it was a thousand times more so when 
 he was displaying his anatomy in his awk- 
 ward attempt at a canter, rendered the more 
 ludicrous when Simon Stockfish came after 
 on the ugly brute he had under him, the 
 which he was urging hnn to use his heavy 
 heels with such expedition as would serve 
 to keep him at a convenient distance from 
 the other. Whether it was the clattering 
 of this brute's iron hoofs, or the loud shout 
 set up when passing them by a miller and 
 his wife going together on one horse to mar- 
 ket, that startled the old grey, is not known ; 
 but certain is it he took fright, and put his 
 old bones to such good use, as made all who 
 behold him marvel exceedingly. 
 
 Simon Stockfish, in no small alarm, strove 
 all he could to get nigher to his master ; 
 and, what with the spur and the horrible 
 discordant noises set up by all who were in 
 
 sight of the travellers, the young horse got 
 as much fri ^htened as the old one, and set 
 ofT after him, striking fire from his hoofs 
 every time they came on the hard ground, 
 and making such a din with his heels as 
 was deafening to hear. 
 
 Simon pulled his statute cap over his 
 brows, that it should not fall off his head ; 
 and then, digging his knees into Jack's fat 
 sides, and grasping his long mane with one 
 hand as the other held the reins, kept his 
 gaze fixed upon the figure of his young 
 master, who sat firmly in his seat. The in- 
 creased clattering behind him, and the 
 shouts and screams by which he was as- 
 sailed on all sides, did not, as may easily 
 be believed, serve to lessen Dapplo's fear ; 
 and, therefore, the two continued their 
 course to the huge amusement of some, and 
 the no less alarm of others, for many miles. 
 
 As they passed through the villages, the 
 casements were thrown open, and aspects 
 of alarm and wonder projected through them. 
 The pigs rushed one way, the geese fled 
 another. The parish bull galloped bellow- 
 ing to the gate that looked inio the road, 
 with the cows at his heels. Tiie sheep hud- 
 dled together to what they thought the safest 
 corner of the field. The tinker's ass set up 
 a hideous bray, as he rose affrighted from 
 his bed of nettles, in the pound, and the 
 fowls took refuge on the top of the cage ; 
 whilst the children got out of the way with 
 all possible speed, and, when the danger 
 was passed, saluted the cause of it with the 
 lull energy of their lungs, and, like enough, 
 the more mischievous sort took to throwing 
 of stunes ere the horsemen were well out of 
 their neighborhood. 
 
 At last the travellers came to a wide 
 heath, through which was a road that con- 
 tinued for several miles. And now, as they 
 were not assailed by the screams and shout- 
 ings which accompanied their fiight, be- 
 cause of their nor meeting any one, save an 
 old woman, driving her pig to the next town, 
 who fled opposite both ways over the heath, 
 as soon as Dapple and Jack became visible, 
 and both the horses, being horribly tired of 
 tlie exertions they had made, never having 
 being so put to it all their lives before, they 
 gradually slackened their speed till each 
 resumed the sober pace with which he had 
 started. 
 
 John Hall looked for his attendant, and 
 spying him at the customary distance, w^ith- 
 out a word said, for from a natural shyness 
 he was not much given to speech with any 
 one, he returned into the train of studious 
 reflection the running away of his goodly 
 steed interrupted. Simon Stockfish beheld 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 37 
 
 his charge in safety ; and he was so con- 
 tent, lie also, wiUiuut any manner of ditti- 
 cuity,and witii as little coaiinoaity of phrase, 
 iell aj<ain into tiiiiikmg of llie dangers 
 that tmvatjned his young master, whereof 
 tha imuiinent one, trom which he had but 
 now escaped, he marvelled iiugely he had 
 not expected. 
 
 So intent did they soon become in their 
 several tiioiights as to be totally regardless 
 of all around. 'I'he studejit of medicine 
 was canvassing, in his mind, the question 
 Wiietiier Galen or Hippocrates were the bet- 
 ter autlioriiy in the treatment of fevers, 
 when, of a sudden, he felt himself rudely 
 seized by tiie arm and leg, and in a moment 
 was on tue ground, and completely in the 
 power of two exceeding suspicious-looking 
 tatterdemalions. Simon Sicjckrish, at the 
 sa.iie tune, was cudgeiiing of his brains to 
 find die best meJiod of securing his young- 
 charge m safety to his journey's end, when 
 he was pounced on in a like manner ; and, 
 ere he couU touch a weapon, was complete- 
 ly at the mercy of his rude captors. 
 
 The incautious travellers looked mon- 
 stiouoiy astoniilied, as may readily be sup- 
 posed, at linding of themselves in a situa- 
 tion so littb to be coveted. 'I'hey had not 
 noticu'd that daikn:!ss was fast approaching, 
 andtliey seemed to have bjen quite regard- 
 less of the many miles of desolate heath 
 they had to pass ere they could arrive at the 
 place appointed lor taeir nig, it's lodging. It 
 siandeth to reason also, tiiat they were 
 equally ignorant ot the neighborhood ot the 
 rude knaves who had so suddenly sjjrung 
 upon tnem out of alioKow made by digging 
 for sand, that was close upon their patli, 
 where they apparently had lain in ambush. 
 
 Neitaer spoKe a word, their ordinary po- 
 verty of speech being in no way improved 
 by the unexpected peril in which they found 
 tiiamselves, uut gazed with looks uiade up 
 of astonisinnent, doubt, and fear, at each ot 
 the scowling, villanous countjnances of 
 which t.iey nad just made the unwelcome 
 acquaintance. i\othing there were they 
 likely 10 find to aftbrd them comfort of any 
 Bort ; nor, fiom a glance of their soiled, 
 patched, and rent appareling, could it be 
 supposed they would gam any greater de- 
 gree of contjntation. And wuen their eyes 
 met the threatening weapons, each viUian 
 hi'ld over them huge knives and heavy 
 clubs, they presently gave themselves up to 
 be as dead men as ever were measured for 
 tlieir coltins. 
 
 It w.ts not long before their rude captors 
 proved to ihe.n wnat little beiieht Ihey were 
 like to receive at their hands ; lor, with di- 
 
 vers horrible oaths and demands to each, 
 wliii-h WLre but too intelligible to them, and 
 wiJi sundry strange pliras^_s to each other, 
 neither Simon nor his young mister could 
 tell the meaning of, they took to plun^'ering 
 them, the which they did with such fimous 
 expedition, that in a minute or so, man and 
 master were as naked as ever they were 
 born. 
 
 After some discourse, however, amongst 
 ihemselves, the robbers made them put on 
 garments tliey threw off for that ])urpose ; 
 and when the young physician had got his 
 legs into a pair of greasy slops big enough 
 lor a Hollander, and a tattered jerkin, that 
 looked to have been measured for the Colos- 
 sus of Rhodes, and Simon Stockhsh had 
 placed over his limbs a suit of faded velvet, 
 exceedingly ragged, patched, and soiled, 
 that might have suited one half his size, 
 they were savagely bid to go with their 
 plunderers, on their peril making any noise 
 or attemj.ting to escape. 
 
 All then left tue ordinary road, and struck 
 into a narrow track, numbers of which ap- 
 pealed to traverse the heath, crossing each 
 other in all directions ; and this taey lol low- 
 ed, through the innumerable windings 
 whereof it seemed to consist, for a good 
 mile, keeping a perfect silence tiie whilst. 
 'J^> prisoners so surrounded, escape was 
 out of the question. Taey came, at lust, to 
 a stagnant pond, whereat they haUed a mo- 
 ment ; and one of the knaves, on whose vis- 
 age gallows was written in as legible char- 
 acters as ever wire met with, put his 
 knuckles to his mouth and blew so shrill a 
 whistle, it seemed to Simon and his master 
 to pierce their very ears. This had sc .rce 
 been done when, at a great distance, an- 
 other was heard in reply. John Hall look- 
 ed in the direction whence it came, but 
 nothing met his eye but a wide expanse of 
 heaih, all beyond being wrapped in mi-t that 
 looked as tuoiigh it would shortly shroud 
 the whole neigliborhood in darkness. 
 
 At this the thieves turned into another 
 bye-path, two of their company, as before, 
 ridmg tiie tired steeds of their disconsolate 
 captives, and the others kee|)ing close to 
 their elbows. Having proceeded thus, nigh 
 upon a quarter of a mile without sight or 
 sound, beyond what hath already been des- 
 cribed, Sauon Stocklish was startled by the 
 sudden rising from the ground close behind 
 him, where lie had hitherto lain concealed 
 in the chick fern that grew there, a boy, who 
 appeared scarcely to have reached his tenth 
 year. His visage was exceeding dusky, 
 with piercing black eyes, and having an 
 abundance of dark hair hanging confusedly 
 
88 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 about Iiis nock and sloulclers. His feet and 
 legs Wc'ie bare, his lie;id witliout covering ol 
 any suit, and such pitiful nijrs as lie had on 
 couLl O.irely be called garments. 
 
 Saying soniething- which was very He- 
 brew Lo t:ie captives, but was answered in 
 a like jargon by one ol' their dishonest coiii- 
 panious, the child instantly made a loud 
 noisj so like the barking of a sliepherd's 
 dog, tliut the young student of meGit\,. 
 iiiicigiiKd some aniuial of the sort was at 
 his iic^l.-i. He had not done this a minute 
 when a like cry was heard at a distance — 
 the boy tueii dropped at his length into the 
 fern as ijuickly as he had risen Irom it, and 
 the rest proceeded along a path scarcely 
 visible, iiiey met with no one, and little 
 hkelihuoJ was there, as it seemed to the 
 poor uistivssL^d prisoners, of such meeting ; 
 wueii, as tiiey came under an ancient tree 
 whereof a few branches bore leaves its 
 witiijied stjin gave no sign of, a shaggy 
 grey head and grizzly beard were thrust 
 out of tiie roUen trunk, and the leader of 
 the pally was addressed in tiie same strange 
 language that Simon Stocktish and his 
 young mj.sLt;r had so recently heard. 
 
 Soiii-j conversation followed betwixt the 
 conicdeT.itJs, whereupon the person in the 
 lioiicv tree loo.i to hooting like an owl, 
 which he did so to the life, any one might 
 have believed an owl was close at hand. 
 "J'ne sound njid haruly been uttered, when it 
 Was replied to as t.iough a siuiilar bird 
 was not far oiF, and then, with a few unin- 
 tehi^ib.e wortls, which doubtless comprised 
 6omj direction, tlie grizzly head and beard 
 were wiuiurawn into the tree, and once 
 more the parry proceeded. 
 
 They went not a hundred yards before 
 they apijroached a deep sand-pit, concealed 
 from view till any onj came close upon it, 
 by thick brushwood growing all around the 
 brink. Tiie leader pushed liis way through 
 this, by a track it looked impossible could 
 be discovered by any who knew it not. 
 All at once a voice demanded something, 
 and so Close at hand was it, it appeared to 
 come fro.h auiongst them, yet was no one 
 visible, notwithstanding both the captives 
 glinced in all directions. A reply was given 
 by iha one Wuo had actud as leader, and 
 shortly aller John Hail and his serving-man 
 found themselves descending a narrow zig- 
 zag path of great steepness. The barking 
 of dogs below bacame now audible even to 
 the deate.-.!, of the party ; and tli<n the deep 
 voice of a man callingthem roughly to hold 
 their peace. 
 
 As ill 7 got lower down, they might have 
 beheld two or three tents of soiled and 
 
 ])atched canvas, rendered almost blark by 
 long exposure to all sorts of weathers. Then 
 in one place there was peicej;tible a huge 
 rire ourning, with a monsirous kettle over 
 it, and several figures grouped around ; 
 further oil" a large mast'.ft-bitch chained to 
 a stake, with two or three meaner dogs at 
 large close by, barking with all their luight, 
 till a terrible tall iellow left the tire, and 
 with a huge wliip belabored them so heart- 
 ily, it stopped their tune presently ; never- 
 theless, as the strangers approached, they 
 one and all kept ever and anon -nappiiig, 
 snarling and growling, as though, us ihey 
 dared, they would do tliem some horrible 
 mischief. 
 
 Upon reaching level ground, the thieves 
 and their prisoners were welcomed wilh a 
 rioloiis chorus of shouts and acclamations, 
 sundry scurvy jests were passed and an- 
 swered, but no violence was offered to the 
 captives save by an old hag, who was su- 
 perintending the cookery, and hit Simon 
 Stockhsh a smart blow over his pate with a 
 wooden ladle slie held in her hand, because 
 he replied not to some question of hers, he 
 could not understand a word of, the which 
 seemed exquisite pleasant sport to divers of 
 her associat-s of both sexes, for they set up 
 a loud laugh. The claumr tliey made 
 suddenly brought out of the betterinost of 
 the tents a person who had evidently some 
 authority over tiieni, for, as soon as they 
 heard his voice, as it appeared abusing 
 ihein for creadng of such a uin, they at cnje 
 became as dumb as fishes, and slunk out of 
 the way as quietly as they could. 
 
 This man by his look and bearing assum- 
 ed to be of a superior sort. He was of a 
 dark visage, somewhat of the Moorish cast, 
 with beard and hair of a deep black, and 
 eyes of a like tint, but so terribly piercing, 
 the horriblest swaggerer that ever was se.n 
 inFinsbury Fields must have been awed by 
 a glance of them. In figure he was as 
 well limbed as the finest gallant at Court, 
 and though his apparelling was nothing 
 more than a stout suit of buckram, it sat 
 on him better than did the prodigalest show 
 of braveries on many of greater state. He 
 looked not to be more than thirty at the 
 most, and was in the full pride of vigorous 
 manhood, till, stout of limb, with an eye 
 like a hawk, and the tread of a conqueror. 
 
 Examining the strangers with a search- 
 ing glance, as he ajiproached them, he 
 sliarply addressed the man who had appear- 
 ed the leader of the party by whom they 
 had been attacked. The answer he re- 
 ceived seemed only to set him on a severer 
 scrutiny, and he regarded tiie student of medi- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 39 
 
 cine for a few moments in, silence. His 
 black brows at first were knit fiercely, and 
 his swarthy visage wore an aspect of mis- 
 trust and disquietude ; but as his gaze 
 rested on the pale, tiiouglitful countenunce 
 of John Hall, his look grew gradually less 
 threatetiing, vintil there aj)peared in it so 
 much ot sympathy as would have given 
 contiJcnce to the youth had he observed it. 
 This, however, he could not have done, see- 
 ing that, with a sense of apprehension his 
 situation gave some warrant for, as soon as 
 he belield the flashing eyes of tiie person so 
 intently observing him, lie tixed his own on 
 the ground. 
 
 The other then turned his gloomy visage 
 towards Simon Stocklish, but the honest 
 serving-man slirunk not from his tiery gaze, 
 as his master had. He put his ordinary 
 grave f ice on the matter, as though he was 
 as much at home under such sharp glances 
 as under the mild looks of the studious 
 youth beside him. Nevertheless was his 
 mind exceedingly busy. 
 
 " How now, knave !"' exclaimed he of the 
 dusky visage, hnding the man kept a coun- 
 tenance under his scrutiny, as if it was iron 
 or stone, and took not his eyes oil" for a sin- 
 gle iiiomeut. '• ril warrant thou'lt know me 
 again after this long perusal of me." !ii- 
 mon still steadily gazed on the terrible 
 bright eyes before him, but said never a 
 word. 
 
 '•Fool!"' continued the man, savagely 
 enr^iged as much at Simon's taciturnity as 
 at his iiiditi"ereiice to his threatening looks. 
 " Hast never a tongue in thy head ? Speak, 
 fellow, or 1 11 have thy coxcomb mauled in 
 such fishion as will make thee have cause 
 to hold me in remembrance thy life long. ' 
 
 " What dost want of me .'" asked the 
 other, in a quiet tone without altering his 
 features a jot. 
 
 " Ifaitli, not much, seeing that my hawks 
 have left not a feather on thee woitli pluck- 
 ing," repl.ed his queslioner, a smile passing 
 over his comely features. " I merely seek 
 at thy hands some small intelligence, which 
 thou hadst best give, and give quickly. 
 Whence coinest thou, and where art going '?" 
 
 Simon Stocktish paused ere he answer- 
 ed. He thought that the safety of his be- 
 loved master's only son now depended on his 
 prudence, and was determined to be won- 
 derfully cautious, that nolhing he said 
 ghould bring the youth into any jeopardy 
 
 '■ I came whence I was sent," said Simon, 
 very quietly, "and I am going on a lawful 
 journey." 
 
 " Why, thou peremptory slave, dost dare 
 give such words to me !" exclaimed the 
 
 other, his dark visage instantly becoming a 
 thousand times more gloomy. 
 
 It was evident that Si.uon's notions of 
 jirudence were of a strange sort. However, 
 he now thought to anger a man in whose 
 power his young master was, ought to bo 
 avoided, ami, by a plan that looked to liiin 
 wondrous politic, he sought to put himself 
 on better terms with him. 
 
 " I ask not thy business, and see not why 
 thou shouldst demand mine," observed the 
 serving-man, with his ordinary gravity^ 
 " notwithstanding there be divers thy very 
 worshipful good friends, to wdiom any cer- 
 tain intelligence of thee would be right wel- 
 come, or I am hugely mistaken." 
 
 " Ha ! dost know me, fellow ?" 
 
 '• Exceeding well," answered Simon, dis- 
 regarding the angry scowl now hxed on 
 him. '■ 'J"'hou art Black Sampson, king of 
 the gipsies — at least, so thou wert called at 
 the 'sizes, where 1 saw thee tried for sheep- 
 stealing — but 1 was heartily glad atterwards 
 when 1 heard, by the Hue and Cry, that 
 thou hadst broke prison the day before they 
 were to have hanged thee." 
 
 Simon Stocktisli was not a whit happier 
 in his notions of what was poliiic, than ho 
 found he had been in his ideas of prudence. 
 'I'he scowl of the recognized gipsy grew 
 every moment more tureatemng, anj his 
 eyes Hashed feari'ully, when he heard the 
 ignominious fate alluded to, which had so 
 neaily overtaken him. Widi a horrible 
 iiiijjrecation, he seized the astonished ser- 
 ving-man by the throat — and it looked at 
 tirsL terribly as though he would throttle him, 
 but he suddenly gave him a swing that sent 
 him forcibly to tlie earth, several paces dis- 
 iant from where he had stood, and, after 
 shouting in a savage mood, some directions 
 to his lawless associates, Black Samjjson 
 turned on his heel, and presently disappear- 
 ed within the tent whence he had come. 
 
 The command was obeyed almost as soorj 
 as uttered, and the hapless travellers found 
 themselves rudely seized, and their hands 
 lightly bound beinnd them by a group of the 
 most villanous, hang-dug, rascal tiiieves that 
 could be met witli any where. Juhn Hall 
 uad heard all that had passed, but was so 
 taken by suri)rise, he could make no interfe- 
 rence in behalf of his thoughtless compan- 
 i' n, and sutiered himself to be roughly 
 handled by the gipiies without either comf 
 plaint or resistance. 
 
40 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Why, thou simple parish ass, thou, didst thou 
 never see any gipsies .' These are a covey oi 
 gipsies, and the bravest new covey that ever 
 constable flew at. 
 
 Ben .To.vson. 
 
 For, when Dame Nature first 
 
 Had fiaiudc hir heavenly face. 
 And thoroughly bedecked it 
 
 With goodly gleames of grace, 
 It lyked her so well ; 
 
 Lo here, quod she, a piece 
 For perfect shape that passeth all 
 
 Apelles' work in Greece. 
 
 Gascoigne. 
 
 The two sat for some time on the ground 
 in silence, with reflections none of thj plea- 
 fiantest. All the gang appeared to liave left 
 them, when tliey iiad grown tired of the 
 pastime they had found in tiieir unresisting 
 victim.^. Jeers unanswered, and ill-usage 
 unresisted, soon becomes sorry sport : and, 
 after the roughest of their company had put 
 them within the length of the savage nras- 
 tifl-bitch, sijing of certain words to the 
 brute — which she seemed to understand on 
 tiie instant, for she crouched down ami 
 fixed her eyes on them, as though, moved 
 they an inch, she would tear thein to pieces 
 — they drew off", all of them to another part 
 of the pit. 
 
 The young student, by degrees, recovered 
 from the amazement and fear in which he 
 liad bjen thrown, and began to consider the 
 perilous situation in which he was placed. 
 He had ascertained that he was a jjrisoner 
 in an encampment of the Rommanees, or 
 gipsies. Of their leader he had heard, for 
 his name was the terror of all the country 
 round for twenty miles. He was called 
 8ampson, from his huge strength, and 
 Black, from his dark visage; and i his name 
 was as well known in cottage and hall as 
 Guy of Warwick, or Robin Hnod. He had 
 the subtlety of the fo.x, and daring of the 
 lion ; and so skilfully did he commit his de- 
 predations, that nothing could be traced to 
 him, although there never was any hesita- 
 tion in pronouncing Ulack Sampson to be 
 tlie malefactor. 
 
 There was much of mystery and romance 
 in the tales that were circulated over thecoun- 
 try about him, which his handsome features, 
 noble figure, and courteous bearing of him- 
 self, whenever at fairs and wakes he chose 
 to ming'e with the villagers and townsfolks 
 6uch festivals always brought together, were 
 cure to increase. He won all the prizes 
 at cudgel-play, wrestling, and all country 
 eports whatever ; and he had ever borne 
 
 his good fortune with such exceeding good- 
 humor, it seldom gave umbrage to any. It 
 so chanced, however, that his ordinary good 
 fortune once forsook him — not in games, 
 tor that would not iiave mattered so much, 
 but in crime. 
 
 There was a shepherd on a neighboring 
 farm named VVattie Elliott, from over the 
 border, as fine a I'ellow of his inches as the 
 race of Elliotts ever boasted of. He had 
 missed one of his flock. Nothing could ex- 
 ceed his vigilance and care, yet it was barely 
 a week when he missed another. 
 
 Wattie had many reasons for wishing 
 to capture the depredator of his master's 
 flock. His own honesty might be suspect- 
 ed, were the knave allowed to escape with 
 his booty a third time. He was as certain 
 Black Sampson was the thief as he was of 
 his own existence, and his inclination to 
 catch him was wonderfully sharpened by 
 the recollection of the broken head he got 
 of him at the last cudgel-play. Wattie was 
 a shrewd fellow, and feared nothing in 
 human shape, and he had a son now close 
 upon manhood, as strong, as active, as sharp, 
 and as bold as himself, on who-e crown 
 Black Sampson had left a similar token of 
 his mastery at cudgelling. 
 
 Th(! fatlier and son kept watch almost 
 day and night, and put in practice certain 
 not.ible, clever schemes for the detection of 
 the sheepstealer ; but the king of the gipsies 
 was a match for both of them ; and tired, as 
 it were, of their useless labors, they seemed 
 all at once to slicken in their vigilance. 
 They gave out t!iey were going that night 
 to the next town to bring an addition to 
 their master's Hocks he had purchased of a 
 farmer there, leaving their place to be hlled 
 by a lad, whose carelessness was well 
 known, and were seen at dusk proceeding 
 in the direction they had stated. 
 
 Two hours afterw irds, whilst the boy was 
 intently amusing himself hunting water-rats, 
 a man was stealthily approaching tiie foliied 
 flock. Nothing could exceed the caution he 
 exhibited as he crept along the shadow of 
 the hedges, stopping frequently to listen. 
 Save the bleating of the sheep, he could 
 hear nothing but the barking of the dog, .set 
 on by the boy to catch the vermin, and his 
 occasional shouting — but both boy and dog 
 were completely hid from view. 
 
 After awhile, he lightly threw himself 
 over the gate, and di -covered his prey in the 
 adjoining field, to get at which there was 
 but one way — by leaping the only part of 
 the fence that was not impassable. He 
 was the best leaper in the whole country 
 round ; bitt the high thick hedge and deep 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 41 
 
 ditch that surrounded the field, except in 
 this placo, was not to be attempted. 
 
 Before leaping it, he seemed to think it 
 necessary to examine the otlier side, and, 
 by great dithculty, attained such a place on 
 tlie bank, tiiat he had a fidl view of the 
 place where he must alight, and the sheep 
 close at hand, in the most convenient place 
 po-sible for abstracting one without attract- 
 ing attention. After, as it seemed, satisfy- 
 ing his extreme caution, he wont a few 
 paces back, took a quick run, and sprung 
 over the gap without touching a twig; 
 neverth d :ss, on coming to the ground, the 
 turf broke from under him, and he found 
 himself in a pit that had with extreme cun- 
 ning bjen prepared by the viyilant shepherds. 
 
 " Hurrah ! VVe lia' gotten liim at last !" 
 shouted (he elder Elliott, springing I'rom his 
 concealment in the branches of a pollird, 
 close on the spot, at the same moment wiih 
 his equally active son; and then both flung 
 themselves upon the athletic gipsy. "Hold 
 thee grip, lad! Hold'n last! Body and 
 bones, keep'n under thee !" 
 
 There was a fearful struggle. The gipsy 
 was taken at a disadvantage ; but never was 
 his immense strength seen so palpably as 
 in his efforts to throw otf of liim his two 
 powerful assailants. They held him as 
 dogs do a bull — the liither encouraging his 
 son, and the son putting forth all his 
 strength to assist ids parent. A few impre- 
 cations only burst from the detected sheep- 
 st^aler, as he strove with the force of a 
 giant to free hims If from the grasp of the 
 shepherds. Th? perspiration stood in big 
 drops on his dusky forehead, and every limb 
 was strained till the desh seemed to take on 
 itself the hardness ot iron. 
 
 Young VVattie Elliott appeared to dis- 
 commode the struggling gipsy tiie most. He 
 had obtained a powerful hold, in which he 
 commanded both his captive's arms, and the 
 tremendous exertions the latter made to roll 
 over him, and free his pinioned limbs, were 
 bathed by the young man's caution and 
 strength. 
 
 " ila 1 Sampson, n:iy mon," said old 
 Elliott, •' thou art in the grip o' the Philie- 
 tines, and if thou dost ever get free, except 
 with the hangman's help, thou mayst split 
 thy wame with laughing at all o' the name 
 o' Elliott." 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" shouted the gipsy, in tones 
 like some devil incarnate, as the scream of 
 death from the youth, who had held him so 
 long and well, mingled with it. " That 
 laugh thou hast now heard !'' He had at 
 last, by one desperate effort, disengaged his 
 right arm from the young shepherd's em- 
 
 brace, and in the ne.xt moment the knife the 
 sheep-stealer had in his girdle was buried 
 in the heart of his brave opiKniont. 
 
 But the homicide wns not free. The 
 hold young Elliott had had o*" the gipsy was 
 still unloosened, and all in vain were the 
 tremendous struggles the litter made to 
 s!iake it off, tiiat he nught have the better 
 chance of escaping from the lather, which 
 he doubted not he could now easily do. Old 
 Elliott, as he caught a glimpse of his son's 
 blood, raised a piercing cry of agony, and 
 sprung upon his murderer with the fury of 
 a maniac. 
 
 He struck at him with his clenched fists, 
 tore his hair, dashed his head against the 
 earth, as regardless of the severe wounds 
 he received from the villain's knife as though 
 they inconvenienced him not at all. Per- 
 haps, loss of blood might at last have weak- 
 ened his efforts, but tlie fearful cry he had 
 uttered brought to his asiistance some hinds 
 who were, according to the plan he had de- 
 vised for the capture of the sheep-stealer, 
 on their Wiiy to join him, and the murderous 
 eff'^rte of black Sampson were at once put 
 a stop to by a stunning blow on the head 
 iroiU the heavy staff of the first who reached 
 the spot. 
 
 The living Wattie Elliott was with great 
 difficulty drawn from the unequal conffict, 
 and he had hardly been placed on level 
 ground when he swooned away : but it was 
 a still greater difficulty to move the dead 
 Elliott, whose hold was as a vice. The 
 strength of all there could not unclasp the 
 embrace of the corpse, and it was not tij they 
 took unusual means that they succeeded in 
 their endeavors. The youth had done his 
 father's bidding in a terrible carne.-t fashion. 
 He had held so fast, Black Sampson could 
 not have released himselt of his own means 
 had he strove ever so. 
 
 The gipsy was tried for the murder, not 
 for sheep-stealing, as Simon Stockfish had 
 said — perchance thinking the truth might 
 be unpalatable — but, as the serving man 
 had rightly declared, had escaped from 
 prison the day preceding that appointed for 
 his execution. Wattie Elliott recovered of 
 his wounds, but when he heard the mur- 
 derer of his son had escaped, he swore a 
 deadly oath he would hunt him night and 
 day until he had had his heart's blood. 
 
 Black Sampson, previous to this, had 
 been, as hath already been stated, popular 
 with every one ; but now he dared not show 
 his face, so general was the execration in 
 which his name was held. In truth, he had 
 become a changed man. He had lost his 
 cheerful humor, that had made hini such 
 
42 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 pleasant company, and liad jxrowii gloomy, 
 savage, and distrnsll'ul of all around liim. 
 Ocf.asionilly, to those lie alTccted, he would 
 appear in a better mood ; but he was ordi- 
 narily sullen, capricious, and given to tits of 
 ungovernable j)assion. 
 
 John Hall had heard what hath here been 
 stated, and k^-pt ruiiiinatingon these matters 
 without drawing from them anything of 
 pleasure or consolation. Siinon Stockfish 
 had heard all tliis and much more to boot. 
 The gossip of the whole country round, 
 concerning certain marvellous adventures 
 of tiiese llommanees, in which figured a 
 most lovely creature of that strange race, 
 and was, as may be supposed, the subject 
 of infinite speculation to such as could get 
 the slightest knowledge of her. Simon's 
 thought? were busy with a thousand strange 
 stories, and the unpleasantness they created 
 was not a whit lessened by the beiiavior of 
 the savage brute that kept guard over him 
 and his young master. 
 
 There seen.ed such a fascination in the 
 snake-like eyes of the mastitF-bitch, that he 
 could not take his own eyes off her. To 
 the curious spectator, the brute might have 
 seemed to have been carved out of the 
 marble stone, so motionless did she stand ; 
 but Simon could see something in the 
 steady glare of her organs of sight he felt 
 assured might in a moment prove — in a 
 manner he liked not at all — that not only 
 was she fiesh and blood, but those she kept 
 watch over were of a like material. In 
 sober truth, Simon was horribly afraid the 
 the tierce-looking animal would spring on 
 him and tear him to pieces ; therefore, for a 
 wonder, his thoughts kept no longer any 
 accoant of his young master's peril — his 
 own seeming so imnnnent he could regard 
 nothing else. 
 
 During this interval, the night had been 
 gradually closing in, and the only light 
 which Illumined tiie scene was from the 
 huge fire, whore stood the caldron already 
 alladjd to. This was at some distance froui 
 the prisoners, w'.io migiit have considered 
 themselves, but for the watchful mastilf so 
 unpleasantly close to them, quite unregarded 
 by the gipsy broUiorhood, whom they could 
 see in various groups ; some sitting, some 
 standing, some lying their lengths on the 
 ground, eating, drinking, playing of cards 
 and tric-trac, but all taking no more heed 
 of the.n than if they had been stocks or 
 stones. Thoy could also hear the murmur 
 of tlieir conversation one with anotlier, now 
 shouting, anon laughing, with presently a 
 silence broken only by one a whistling a 
 
 morrice, or some other murmuring of a pas- 
 sionate ballad. 
 
 How long this state of things might have 
 remained, God only knoweth ; but to the 
 huge comfort of Simon Stockfish, it was 
 suddenly put a stop to by the re-appearance 
 of Black Sampson, wlio strode from the 
 tent, now wearing a slouched hat, and car- 
 rying in his hand a stout cudgel, and made 
 direct to his [)risoners. 
 
 " 1 am sorry yon have met with molesta- 
 tion, young sir," observed he, directing of 
 bis speech to John Hall, with a courteous 
 manner, '• but my rascals are rough and 
 rude, and are like enou::h to meddle with 
 other folks' goods in a way that, I am will- 
 ing to believe, is none of the ci vilest. Per- 
 chance, some amends may be made for the 
 hindrance you have experienced." 
 
 Here he busied himself awhile in un- 
 fastening the chain of the mastiff" who by 
 many canine demonstrations testified her 
 delight at her master's presence. 
 
 " 1 would be right glad," gravely observed 
 the young student, '• to be put in a way 
 for the pursuing of my journey to London." 
 
 " Ah, that he would, worthy Master 
 Sampson — God he knows," exclaimed 
 Simon Stockfish. His fears relieved by the 
 attention of the mastiff being drawn off him, 
 his thoughts turned at once to a considera- 
 tion of tlie proper means to be ein])loyed for 
 the liberation of his young master, and he 
 thought it would hi admirable policy to take 
 advantage of Black Sampson's present 
 amiable mood. 
 
 " Hold thy malapert tongue, knave, or I'll 
 give thee such a rubbing down wiih this 
 goodly napkin, as shall make thee inhnitely 
 careful to avoid such napery the rest of thy 
 days." 
 
 This ominous speech from the murderer 
 of Wattie Elliott, assi.sted by a significant 
 flourish of the very formidable weapon he 
 had in his hand, and a men icing growl from 
 the mastiff, who seemed waiting only for a 
 signal from her master to be at his throat, 
 made Simon Stocktish quake in his shoes. 
 
 " Nay, I meant no offence, o" my life !" 
 cried he, in as humble a tone as he could put 
 on, "and, for mine own part, I am satisfied 
 you are of no such crabbed disposition as I 
 have been told you are, and that Wattie 
 Elliott's murd " 
 
 A heavy blow on the head stopped the 
 incautious serving man's speech, and laid 
 him at his length at the feet of the enraged 
 
 " 'Sblood !" exclaimed he, looking to be 
 in a monstrous passion. '• Dost think 1 will 
 be bearded by such a sorry ass as thou .'" 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 43 
 
 Then, turning to divers of his company, who 
 were appro xciiing the spot, attracted doubt- 
 less by their !eiJer's violence, he shouted, 
 " Keep me these hated Eusne in close prison 
 till I return ; and, mirk me, an ihey seek lo 
 escape, cut their villanous t.iroats." A 
 moaiont after he had unloosed the dog, ana 
 was seen with her rapidly bounding up tiie 
 path that led out of the pit. 
 
 It vvas so.ne time before Simon Stockfish 
 recovered from the stunning blow lie liad 
 received, and then he found niinself stretch- 
 ed on his back, on a rude sort of bed made 
 of fern, that was in one of ttie tents, his 
 head bound up, and his arin bandaged. There 
 was a dull, aching pain in his head, and a 
 strange feeling of sickness, but this vvas ah 
 the inconvenience he experienced. As he 
 opened his eyt'S, they fell on the anxious 
 countenance of his young master, who was 
 standing over him in his own proper gai- 
 monts, feeling his pulse. The oily otner 
 person in the place was an oid crone, who, 
 by tlie lamp she carried in her hand, he 
 could observe was of the peculiar dark vi- 
 sage of the wandering people, into whose 
 power they had fallen, and was dressed 
 somewhat in the Eastern fashion, tiiougii 
 her a,)pireiling was of the co irse.st. Sue, 
 too, was regarding hiiU ; and with an ex- 
 ceeding curiousness. 
 
 " I doubt not, witli my teacliing, thou 
 wouldst m time become ask.lful leecli," ob- 
 served s!ie, turning to John H ill, on noticing 
 the signs of recovery in liis lellow-captive. 
 
 " I doubt it not, good dame !" courteously 
 replied the young piiysician. " Tnou 
 seeaiest especial, y well ver.-ed in the treat- 
 ment of green wounds, and in the employ- 
 ment of simples of all kinds." 
 
 " I warrant you," said the other, with a 
 very evident satisfaction in herself, " and 
 where wouldst seek such knowledge, if not 
 from ilujia, the mother of the Rouimanees, 
 to whon lor three-score years the heavenly 
 influences have been m.xde more famihar 
 than 10 any oJier of our tribe, since we 
 wandered tVoai the sunny clime wherein, as 
 our traditions tell, we were a mighty people. 
 But thou hi,st thyself not been unattentive 
 to the mirvuls that are continually around 
 thee. It vvas well for this poor Bujiio thou 
 wert by, or the stroke of our chief would 
 have spoiled him for this world. As the 
 stars may witness for me, though I have had 
 to mend much of his marring, 1 have not bad 
 one instance of such eminent mischief as 
 this looked to be." 
 
 At tills moment, a gipsy woman hastily 
 entered the tjnt, looking wondrously dis- 
 turbed, anJ, after some few v/ords passed 
 
 between them in their strange language, 
 she, who had called herself Rujia, placinor 
 the lamp in the hand of the young student, 
 and bidding him give the wounded man a 
 posset she had just before made tor him, 
 followed the one who had summoned her 
 out of the tent. 
 
 Joan Hail quietly put in practice the di- 
 rections he had heard, and fcumon Stockrish 
 as quietly submitted to them ; but the one 
 could not keep Irom reflecting upon tlie 
 liuowledge he had got of sunple surgery 
 liom the ancient gipsy-woman's discourse, 
 ao she a,-sisted him in dressing the wound of 
 liis lucKless attend int ; and much he mar- 
 velled tnat neither Hippocrates, nor (ralen, 
 nor iVlatnias Carnax, nor Alexius Pzedo- 
 montanus, nor Canonherius, nor, in short, 
 any writer ot his acquaintance, ancient or 
 uudern, had given any note whatever of 
 such tilings ; vvmlst the other marvefled to 
 liad himself in that strange place, and to 
 hear tae grave discourse that had just pass- 
 ed between his young master and a gipsy 
 Ueldame. Alter mUuiging in all manner of 
 inward questioning as to now these matters 
 came ahout, lie arrived at the interesting 
 discovery that he had got his head broiie, 
 for not being suilicicntly mindful ot his 
 tongue, just as tne posset began to iiave its 
 proper ettect upuii liim, and thereupon he 
 lell into a sounu slvep. 
 
 John Had sat himself down on a stool 
 that was there, over-against his patient, and 
 was deeply intent on a volume oi Aristotle 
 he had long been in the iiabit of carrvinij 
 about wun nun — it was so especial a favo- 
 rite — vviien his studies were suddenly broken 
 in upon by his being seized by the arm, and 
 urgently aesired to go on the instant, with 
 his so recent instructress, in a case of life or 
 deatn. 
 
 The book of the young physician was in 
 his pocket in a moment, and he in readiness 
 to go wiierever he might be wanted. After 
 certain hasty injunctions, seemingly of a 
 mysterious i.aport. which did not in any way 
 cniig'liten iiiin as to the nature of the case 
 that demanded his assist.mce so urgently, his 
 yUide led him out of the tent, and m a few 
 minutes he found himself in anotucr, in ail 
 respects a direct opposite to Lie one ne had 
 left. 
 
 It was furnished not only with all manner 
 of comforts, but tnere was in it even an air 
 of luxury, that, as may be suj^posed, surprised 
 him greatly. There was a iloor of boards, 
 With a small yet rich Turkey carpet in the 
 centre, a hand.-ome bedstead quaindy carved, 
 wun chairs of a like pattern covered with 
 velvet. On a table near the bed, both of 
 
44 
 
 TIIE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 which had the goodliest covers eye ever be- 
 held, were a silver lamp burniiiji, of very 
 ancient make, as was al.-o the deep dish <ii 
 tlie same met;ii close to it with dried fruit, 
 anJ t.ie ria.-k wiiicli stooJ by a tall Vemtcan 
 glass. On one of the chairs was a h.te, and 
 a theorbo siood in the corner. An ewer 
 and basin ol aniiiiue china, with sundry 
 articles fur the toil t, were on a fiiither table, 
 having on it the whitest of napery ; and an 
 empty cradle, with fiuniture of a like white- 
 ness, was c.osj against it. tSoine i'ew articles 
 ol wearing apparel were scattered here and 
 there, aiul on a large oak cliest were a quar- 
 ter statf and a long rapier. 
 
 Bat trie object on which John Hall's at- 
 tention was quickly engrossed was a very 
 beauteous and very young creature, seeming 
 in age to be biit a ciiild. Yet it was evideiii 
 Blie was a mot ler, for none but such could 
 exhibit such terrible deep gnel over ihe babe 
 she held cioie pressed to her breast, ever 
 and anon unclosing of her arms to gaze at 
 the pall.d rigid aspect there pre^eiiteU tj her, 
 and then, Uit^ring a wild cry of distress, and 
 pressing tiie senseless infant still closer tj 
 her biOtst, frantically paced about, making 
 of all manner of moving exel.imations. 
 
 A prolusion of daik glossy hair fell in 
 disorder about iier dusUy necK and shouiders ; 
 she was diverted of her outer garment, and 
 wore but a sort ol ioosj jacuet an J peaicoat, 
 whereof the only tiling worJiy of note was 
 that tne materials were e.xceedingly nne and 
 white. Vet did all this negligence the 
 greater set olf the perfect loveiuieos of her 
 countenance and persuii. tier full darK 
 eyes Orim.uing wuii tenderness, her e.xqui- 
 sile rosy moutli, dehcate pearly teeth,, her 
 dainty sma.l hinds, her rounded arms, and 
 tenUer swelling bosom, were all apparent to 
 the enamored gaze ; added to this, sue shuw- 
 ed a pair ol dusky f^ei, of such marvellous 
 beauty, ihe sight whereof would have ravish- 
 ed an anchorue. 
 
 Tne young physician was sufficiently 
 amazed at what he saw. He gazed curi- 
 ously, anJ with no slight interest, but he 
 would have done tne liKe hail this exquisite 
 object been ere ted of marble or wood. A 
 few words from Kujia quickly put his indii- 
 ference to a hard trial, for scarce had they 
 been uttered, when the young beauty sua- 
 denly rusiied to him, knelt at his feet, and, 
 in the absolutest passion of tears and prayers, 
 besought ol him to restore to her the babe. 
 
 At this he felt wondrously moved. In- 
 deed his heart beat quicker, and a moisture 
 came into his eyes ; and he was so confused 
 by the suddenness and energy of tue appeal, 
 he scarce knew what he would be at. 
 
 Nevertheless, he presently became himself 
 like a grave and careful physician, made 
 certain inquiries, and closely ex.im.ncd the 
 state of his little patient. As the mother 
 leared it was dead, inhiute was the conten- 
 t ition of her, whi n he pnaiounced the child 
 to be in a tit only ; and, waen he bade her 
 to be of good cheer, fur he would recover it 
 presenile , he had such prodigal st( re u I bless- 
 ings, tlie rememhniuce of them bioughthim 
 tcmloit all his hie a:ter. 
 
 Thereupon he issued his orders promptly, 
 and spoke so convincingly, yet so modestly 
 witliai, his directions were followed without 
 a question or doubt, and the still senseless 
 child WdS given into his hands by the young 
 niotuer, with the trust of her entire lieait, 
 to be done with as he thought proper. !She 
 watched him, however, whh an earnest 
 alteutiveness, that looked as though her own 
 Lie hung on the issue, and when, alter the 
 cnild had been placed in a vessel of hot 
 water fur some minutes, he feiched his 
 breath, she seemed herself to breathe for the 
 hrst time. 
 
 How delightedly she beheld the color 
 nturning to Uie pale lips, and aniaiation to 
 the lixeu eyes, words have no power to teil. 
 Her joy, however, at last became so exces- 
 sive, luat on the young physician's declaring 
 ms little patient to be fully recovered, she 
 caught hold of the astonished youih by the 
 hand, and jjressed it to her heart ; then she 
 fetched from olf her hnger a ring of curious 
 worKin iiibiiip, w.th a tor stone set therein, 
 and jjlaced it on one of his, with wondrotia 
 great heaps of thanks and blessings, and 
 imally she snatched her child, now crying 
 lustily in the arms of Rujia, who was intent 
 on dressing it, and, after a prodigio.is deal of 
 crying, laughing, and caressing, she stilled 
 its cries w.tn that sweet nourishment, which 
 Nature, out of her very inhnite oounty, 
 bestoweth on every tender mother. 
 
 Whereupon there was a silence of some 
 few minutes. Joiin Hall was so bevvildered, 
 he seemed to have lo.^t all power of sp.'ech ; 
 Rujia busied herself m striving to put the 
 place in some order, mutter. ng an the while ; 
 anJ the fond young mother was intuo ha[)py 
 a mood to speak. After a few minutes tno 
 young physician became aware that an ani- 
 mated conversation was going on betwhxt 
 his two companions, and, although he under- 
 stood never a word that was said, the youth 
 could perceive by many signs that he was 
 the subject ol the.r talk. 
 
 Presently he was courteously asked his 
 name, and bid to show the palm of his hand, 
 whereupon much no.e was took of it by both 
 women ; the younger in especial tracing the 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 45 
 
 lines upon it with as inucli attentiveness as 
 concern. 
 
 '• Thy pahn t?lleth but a sad story," ob- 
 perved she. " Sore trials await thee. Thy 
 heart wiil be fiercely w rung ; but. take 
 courage, sweet h?art ; though there be much 
 deep .sutf'Ting denoted in these lines, tijere 
 is hap|'in>;s in an ample measure at the end. 
 Nevcrthfless, be assured, whatever ill be- 
 tide thee, Xariqua is thy fast friend, and 
 with all her heart will heljt thee at tJjy need. 
 I |;rytiice take my best wishes, good iVlast.-r 
 Hal, and bj not overcast when thou and 
 mis ry b come bedfellows. VVIien tiiy time 
 comcth, thy good foitune will be so great, 
 all thy previous sufil-ring must be considered 
 as of no account." 
 
 Before ha could recover from his surprise, 
 the oid gipsy woman had led him out of that 
 tent into .hj one he had previously quitted. 
 
 Theie he found Simon .'Stockfish just 
 awaking from a refreshing sle.'p, and when 
 Rujia badj them make iiaste as they loved 
 their lives and liberties, tiie faithful serving- 
 man sprang from his couch, p. it on his own 
 garments, which, like his master's, had been 
 restor.'d, and declared himself ready to start 
 that moment. He had experienced such 
 uncivil trv:'atm?nt since he had fallen into 
 tlie hands ot the bold outlaws, that he was 
 right g ad to take advantage of any oppor- 
 tunity tiiat offered to got his young master 
 away from such rascally compiny. 
 
 Neither was John Hall loath to go. 
 Nevertheless, from souie strange cause or 
 another, he felt e.xcoednig desirous of know- 
 ing something concerning the young and 
 beautiful creature with whom he had by 
 such singular chance become acquainted. 
 He at last got so much the better of his 
 natural timidity as to express his surprise, 
 that one so very young and comely should 
 be a gipsy. 
 
 It would doubtless have been better had 
 he held his peace, for it brought on him so 
 fierce a torrent of abuse from the old hag, 
 for the most part in her own language, and 
 she looked so savagely, he would have been 
 right glad had he not been so bold ; but when 
 she bade them, as they valued their wretched 
 lives, keep close on her footsteps, for she 
 was about to put them in the way of escape, 
 adding something in her own jargon which, 
 had they known its tendency, they would 
 have hesitated trusting themselves with her 
 — they gave themselves, without a word 
 said, entirely to her guidance, and she led 
 them quickly yet cautiously from the tent, 
 out of the pit by a path different from the 
 one by which they had arrived. They saw 
 not a creature of any kind, nor heard sign 
 
 I of such, till, after threading a very narrow 
 and intricale path, they came to a green hol- 
 low, wherein, to the inhnite great jov of 
 Simon Stockrisli,they beheld tiieir two got)d- 
 iy steeds, Dapj.le and Jack, whose loss had 
 added marveflously to tlie uneasiness his 
 master's capture had created in Simon's 
 maid. 
 
 Their somewhat uncivil guide showed 
 them where their harness and other property 
 were hid, and assitted them to bridle and 
 saddle, — the while giving tliein directions 
 as to the road they were to pursue ; then, 
 bidding them to use their utmost speed, if 
 they wished to save their wortiilsss lives, 
 she disappeared behind a clumj) of brush- 
 wood. Simon Stockhsh had just hnished 
 fastening the belt round his body which held 
 fast his master's stock of a])parel, and had 
 got one foot in the siirrup, wlien, hearing a 
 savage gi'owl, he quickly turned round, and 
 tiiere, but a few yards fioui hiui, looking in 
 the moonlight more ferocious than ever, he 
 beheld the mastiff bitch that had so lately 
 put him in such imminent bodiiy fear. 
 
 He was paralysed. He felt sure his more 
 brutal master could not be far off, and the 
 fate of Wattie Eil.ott stared Ihin in the face 
 in all its horrors. Uttering two or three 
 sharp clear barks that rung on his ears like 
 a death knell, the dog was bounding in all 
 its savage fury towards him, when, ere half 
 the distance was pissed, she w.is seen to 
 spring in the air, with a piercing howl of 
 agony, as the loud report from an arquebus 
 close at Hand burst upon tlie ear, and slie 
 fell to the ground horribly mangled and dead 
 as a stone. 
 
 Almost at the same instant there appeared 
 at the opposite sides of the hoilow, two per- 
 sons — one was quickly recognized by the 
 alarmed travellers as tiieir unpleasant ac- 
 quaintance. Black Sampson, — who no soon- 
 er caught sight of the man over-again.^t liim, 
 than, as if seized with a sudden panic, he 
 turned quickly round and ran off at his 
 utmost speed ; whereupon, the other mut- 
 tering distinctly the words, " Elood for 
 blood I" flourished his weapon over his head, 
 and started at a desperate rate in pursuit. 
 
 The latter was Wattie Elliott. Neither 
 the young physician nor his companion cared 
 to watch tlie result of the race, but instantly 
 sprung into their saddles ; and their steeds, 
 alarmed at the report of the piece, put them- 
 selves to their swiftest pace. 
 
46 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 If your worsliippe %ouclisafe to enter the 
 Pchoole (loorp, and wjilke an hour or twaine 
 within for your pleasure, you shall see what I 
 teache, which present my schoole.niy cunning, 
 and niyscife to your worthy patronage. 
 
 'J'UE SCHOOLE OF AbUSE. 
 
 The pretended Master Dulcimer was re- 
 joiciuji:, as such noble iiearts only can, at the 
 siiccLVs which attended his cftbrts to secure 
 tlie heart's wish of iiis young friend and 
 patron, huvinij just witnessed his secret 
 marriage with that admirable fair young 
 creature, Mistress Varnon. He had also 
 another source of satisfaction, having suc- 
 ceeded in cfTjcting the liberation of his friend 
 Ben Joiison, who had been put in prison for 
 the death ol Gabriel Spencer, and was pro- 
 ceeding intent on his ordinary duties at the 
 playhouse in the Blackfriars, amusing him- 
 self monstrously by the way in imagining 
 the distress of that exceedingly starched and 
 antiquated damsel, Aunt Deborah, on dis- 
 covering she had not only been deprived of 
 her beautif.d kinswoman, with whom sho 
 liad so lona" been wont to play the terrible 
 tyrant, !)ut had lost her sworn servant also, 
 wlio h id obtained entire possession of her 
 virgin heart. 
 
 Truly, if ever man looked in a contented 
 mood, that was he, and it shone in his wor- 
 sliipful sweet countenance with such ex- 
 ceeding brilliancy, that such of the way- 
 farers who took note of him as he walked, 
 who knew not his extreme worthiness, eith- 
 er by jiersonal knowledge or general repute, 
 set down in their minds, on the first glance, 
 he must needs be as thoroughly happy as 
 any man this side of Heaven. But few m^n 
 of his day were better known both amongst the 
 citizens and gallants ; and, as he had quitted 
 his disguise of the master of music, he was 
 recognized as he passed along the crowded 
 streets ; and the courteous, cheerful manner 
 in which he doff.'d his beaver to simple and 
 gentle ; the blushing girl and the wrinkled 
 dame, and in sooth to persons of all condi- 
 tions W'ho looked as though they were well 
 pleased at the sight of him, assured them 
 of his infinite happiness and contentation. 
 
 Marvel not. gentle reader, they were in 
 some measure deceived. It is not so huge 
 a wonder as it may appear; for divers in- 
 stances have occurred where the face hath 
 been dressed in smiles, and the heart in sack- 
 cloth and ashes. We cannf)t be said to be 
 masters of ourselves when we are not mas- 
 ters of our atf>'clions, and these are matters 
 the mastery wliercof the wisest men have not 
 
 been able to obtain. There hath ])een notable 
 instances of minds framed inthe bcstschoolof 
 wisdom, teeming with good uiteiit, and full of 
 virtuous rc.-olution, that by a combinalion 
 of ill circums'ances have been forced into 
 the surrendering of their natures to an at- 
 tachment winch cannot be openly encour- 
 aged without a sensible disrespect of the 
 world and of themselves. Such feelings, 
 of a surety are not to be justified, are not to 
 be tolerated ; yet do they come about in such 
 a manner as often to make such as have the 
 ill-ibrtune to entertain them, more to bo 
 pitied than blamed. Methinks there can 
 scarce be any object more worthy of coui- 
 miserafion than a noble nature enslaved by 
 an unlawful passion, struggling betwixt the 
 extraordinary admirableness of the far crea- 
 ture he caimot but devote iiimself to heart 
 and soul, and the natural self-condemnation 
 which he must feel in allowing the existence 
 of a state of things of such infinite improlit- 
 ableness to either party. 
 
 Whether Mas'er Shakspeare had got 
 himself entangled in this hopeless me.^h, our 
 ini'ormation at this time dotli not state. It is 
 but known that occasionally he was given 
 to long fits of perfect abstraction, when his 
 features wore a sad and troubled air ; and 
 he would act as though he were br,t an ac- 
 coiuitable creature, given to wild fancies, 
 and exceeding strange resolves. Anon he 
 would burst out of the gloom which those 
 humors created, and exceed all warrantable 
 grounds in lightness of behavior, enrleavor- 
 ing to excuse his late sadness by athrming 
 he slept ill o' nights, and was tormented by 
 fearful dreams. 
 
 Of a surety he had dreams, and they 
 might well be considered by him of a fearful 
 sort. In part, they were the dreams of his 
 early youth ; but the loving faces that liaunt- 
 ed his sleep many a midsumuicr day by the 
 stream side, beneath an antique tree, or on 
 some mossy bank retired from the public eye, 
 though they wore the same features of ever- 
 lasting beauty, possessed an expression of 
 the very deepest sorrow ; the exq'iisite sweet 
 harmonies which of old were wont to intox- 
 icate his mind with unutterable joy, now, by 
 their mournful and melancholy cadences, 
 filled hiui with a most painful sadness; and 
 instead of the floral treasures which, with 
 every cheerful hue and pleasant form.tiirew 
 around him an atmos|)hcre of light and ])er- 
 fume, he beheld nothing but rue ;uid ro.-^e- 
 inary, willow and cyjjress, nightshade, and 
 the like sort of plants, the gloomy posies of 
 death. 
 
 When he woke, it was with an apprehen- 
 sion of impending evil he could not readily 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 47 
 
 divest himself of; yet, not caring to h^ 
 thou;^ht supsrstitious, h? would strive to 
 CList it onr by giviiiTf himself up to tho very 
 willes!; fliglits of an untimeablj S|iirit. That 
 he hid soin3 secret source of huge disqui- 
 etu lo, a shrewd observer might have pre- 
 (\i -Ae I fro.n th3S3 premises ; alb3it, his b3ha- 
 vior was ever of so noble a sort as to win 
 th3 h3arts of all aroun;! him, and his admira- 
 bl3 cheerful te.iiper did so often and so 
 pleasa itly mike itself manifest. 
 
 Hovvever this may have been, it is certain 
 that t'.ie mood in which Master Shalcspeare 
 went 0:1 his way to the playhouse, after a 
 friendly leave-taking of the young Lord 
 Soutliampton and his loving bride, was, to 
 all app3arance, as contented a one as any 
 hippy man ever had. After sufficiently 
 amusmg of himself with thinking of his 
 antiqaited mistress, he fell into a train of 
 pleasant anticipitions of the prodigal heaps 
 of hippiness in store for his estimible kind 
 friend, and marvellous was the contentation 
 it give him. Froai this he presently took 
 to considering of his own ati'iirs ; and, in 
 the happy humor he then wa-, it was in no 
 way sirprising his thoughts should light 
 up >n t'le most comfortable part of theai — his 
 swe t young son. 
 
 Hi recalled the great solace and pride he 
 hid taken in the handsome boy at his last 
 visit, what rare gratification he had experi- 
 enced in noting his aptness for study, his 
 warm affection iteness and well-disposed- 
 ness in all things ; and, after he had suffi- 
 cientlv basked in the sunshine of the past, 
 he would rind for himself a still more sunny 
 future, and enjoy its glowing horison with 
 more intense transports than he had yet 
 known. 
 
 It so chanced that as he was proceeding 
 thro igh Cheap, nigh unto the conduit, quite 
 regardless of every one thing in the world, 
 save his own pleasant thinking, on a sudden 
 his waking dream was broken in upon by 
 some one seizing him by the arm, and ac- 
 costing him in a Strang;, wild, and contused 
 manner. Oa turning round, he beheld a 
 man of decent apparelling, for all it seemed 
 slovenly put on and travel-stained, with an 
 aspect which, tliough marked in strong linos 
 with exhaustion and alarm, bore in it so 
 much of native benevolence, that the wor- 
 thiness of the owner scarce admitted of a 
 doubt, 
 
 " Master Bifield !" exclaimed his old ac- 
 quaintance, looking on him with a famous 
 surprise and pleasure, " O' the dickens, what 
 hath brought thy reverence in this ungodly 
 place ?" And thereupon he shook hands 
 with him very heartily, and expressed, in his 
 
 exqnisitest manner, his gratification at the 
 sight of him, swearing lie should have no 
 other inn than his own dwelling, in the 
 Clink Liberty, and that not an ordinary in 
 the city should boast of having entertained 
 him, for he would share with none living so 
 covetable a pleasure, and much more of the 
 same courteous sort, seasoned with all man- 
 ner of choice jests and excellent pleasant 
 conceits ; the priest the whilst saying never 
 a word to all his nuaiberless questions and 
 courtesies, for, in truth, he was so bewil- 
 dered at finding him in so happy a mood, he 
 knew not how to begin the task he had set 
 himself. 
 
 " And how goeth on the schooling ?" cried 
 he, in his most joyous tone ; " and, more es- 
 pecially, how goeth on the scholar ?'' The 
 worthy priest winced at the question, and, 
 in huge confusion and distress, coin.nenced 
 staminering out a few unintelligible words. 
 
 " Heart o' me !" exclaiaied the happy 
 father, slapping his companion familiarly on 
 the should 31-, •' 'tis the old story. Himnet 
 is a prodigy and a phoenix, and proaiiseth to 
 be wiser than Solomon, and wortlher than 
 the best saint of them all. Well, if it must 
 needs be, I would as lief see him a bishop 
 as any tiling. He shall to Oxford anon, 
 where I have friends willing to do him any 
 service in getting him snug quarters with 
 that most admirable, bountiful hostess — holy 
 Mother Church. But," added he, '• dost not 
 think the profession of arms better btcometh 
 the name of Shakspeare than that of a 
 clerk ? His ancestor did yeoman service at 
 the bloody field of Bosworth : if Hamnet 
 have a like spirit, which I doubt not at all, 
 I see nought to prevent his becoming a 
 captain. Perchance, if he be one of a 
 greatly adventurous disposition, he shall 
 take to seeking new lands in the far ocean, 
 and, as likely as n it, coaie home a mighty 
 admiral. What dost think — eh, man ? VVhy, 
 thou art mute as a fish !" 
 
 '• Oh, Master Shakspeare !" at last ex- 
 claimed the other, in accents that seemed 
 to come from the uttermost depths of his 
 heart. 
 
 " Why, how now, my old friend !" said his 
 friend. " Were I not used as I am to thy 
 pale visage, I would swear something aileth 
 thee. O* my lif% thou lookest as melan- 
 choly as the stuffed owl in Sir John Clop- 
 ton's blue parlor. But come with me to my 
 lodging, and 1 doubt nut, ere we have emp- 
 tied together a flask of my choice Cmary, 
 I will hive the owl, so thoroughly washed 
 out of thee, tliou shalt be glad to forswear 
 melancholy ever after." Thereupon, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare seemed intent on dragging 
 
43 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 the vicar by the arm, tlio which seemed only 
 to mal<e liim the more distressed. 
 
 " Nay, worthy sir, excuse me, I pray yoii," 
 repUed Master i3itioid. " I have other biisi- 
 nes.s. I am in no iiiimor — I — I — " 
 
 "A fig for thy innnor !" cried his com- 
 panion, his face irradiated with the spirit of 
 gooJ fehowsliip, as lie still strove to pull him 
 along. "If I cannot, of mine own accord, 
 make thy humor lit the cntertainirent, the 
 which 1 have doivj so oft, why there is Will 
 Ke.iipe, again4 whom the most unsocial of 
 humors standeth not the tit^ie of a minute ; 
 and Ned Allen, who is good company for 
 my Lord Justice and I know not how many 
 more clioice ones, who shall be as familiar 
 with thee as sworn gossips. Prythee, coaie 
 at once." 
 
 " J would to God there were no reason for 
 my denial " muttered the vicar, in increased 
 tro.ible of mind. 
 
 " That there cannot be," answered his 
 friend, '" for thou hast no unreasonable scru- 
 ples, and thou mayst be assured, where J 
 lead thee, there shall be nothing discreditable. 
 Come, I am in haste to drink ilamnet's 
 h akh, which I kn;)W tliou wilt pledge as 
 fervently as myself." 
 
 " Oh, iMaster Shakspeare !" exclaimed the 
 good priest, as he, in a sort of frenzy of 
 grief, convidsively seized the parent ol his 
 beloved scholar by the hand, and pressed it 
 between both his own. " 1 pray you call to 
 your aid all the philosophy and patience ne- 
 cessary for the hearing of ill tidings." 
 
 " Eh, what dost say '?" cried Master 
 Shakspeare, hurriedly. '• 111 tidings ? thou 
 canst have no ill tidings for me."' 
 
 " In honest truth, they are the worst a 
 loving father ever heard." 
 
 " On thy life, man, speak," said the other, 
 as if oppressed with some desperate fear. 
 " Keep me not on the rack. Surely, nothing 
 hath happened to my sweet son ?" 
 
 " There hath, indeed. He hath been ail- 
 ing some time, and — it wringeth my heart 
 to tell it — I saw not that the closeness of 
 his pursuit of learning was secretly under- 
 mining his health. 1 knew not that every 
 triumph he achieved over the difficulties of 
 study was at the expense of his precious 
 life. Perchance, my neglect was culpable. 
 Believe me I shall never cease to accuse 
 myself for my fatal remissness ; but had I 
 observed an» thing likely to excite appre- 
 hension, I would have sacrificed my own 
 worthless life a thousand times rather than 
 any harm should have come to him. Alack ! 
 alack! he was heedless, and 1 was blind. 
 He having missed school a whole day, and 
 hearing he was sick, I lost no time in get- 
 
 ting to Shottery. Oh, worthy sir, T saw a 
 terrible moving sight. I beheld the best, 
 the sweetest scholar master ever had, 
 stretched in a raging fever, with a strange 
 and unconnected speech, pale as a corpse, 
 and wasted to an anatomy. I got me a 
 horse as soon as I might, to bring you to 
 him ; for the doctors assured me he had not 
 many hours to live. Master Shakspeare, 
 my excellent good friend !" here suddenly 
 exclaimed the vicar, in a monstrous .state of 
 alarm, " I pray you stare not so wildly at 
 me ! What hath so blanched your cheeks 
 and lips ? Alack ! alack ! the heavy news 
 hath broken his noble heart. Help, masters, 
 help ! I have not strength to save him 
 from falling." 
 
 Assistance was quickly rendered, but it 
 was long before the unhappy father recover- 
 ed sufficiently from the shock to be sensible 
 of what was required of him ; but when he 
 did, he lost not a moment of time. The 
 swiftest saddle horses were instantly sought 
 for; and, accompanied by Master liifield, in 
 as hapless a mood as himself, he rode day 
 and night on the road to Stratford, at the 
 top of their speed. 
 
 He spoke scarce a word the whole way. 
 His faculties seemed to be stunned by the 
 terrible intelligence he had heard, and he 
 appeared to be animated but by one wish — 
 that of getting to Shottery in time to see his 
 son before he died. The good vicar watch- 
 ed liiin anxiously ; performing all friendly 
 offices, but forbearing from speech, seeing 
 how completely his humor lay towards 
 si'ence. 
 
 How difierent was this to all former jour- 
 neyings of his to the fondly cherished 
 scenes of his early griefs and pleasures I 
 There was scarce any noticeable part of 
 this oft-traversed road that could not have 
 called up whole hosts of pleasant remem- 
 brances, and many a fellow-traveller had he 
 entertained with admirable choice stories, of 
 strange adventures he had had, or curious 
 scenes he had witnessed in those parts in 
 former times. Not a village but had its 
 narrative, and hardly an inn of any re- 
 pute, all along the road, but was made 
 to furnish most excellent entertainment; 
 and his fortunate companion at last could 
 not help fancying he had either fallen in 
 with a second Boccaccio, or a twin brother 
 of that exhaustless teller of stories, whose 
 invention supplied continuous amusement 
 for a thousand and one nights 
 
 The case was now altered with a ven- 
 geance. Master Shakspeare was company 
 for no one, not even for himself; and he 
 passed by every famihar place as though he 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 49 
 
 were in a strange land, that had not \}\ it a 
 feature worthy of remark. 
 
 But though he was so scant of speech, is 
 it to be presumed he had a similar lack of 
 thouglit? Perchance, and like enough, his 
 mind was monstrous busy with all manner 
 of miserable reflections, touching the la- 
 mentable state of his dear son. Tlie most 
 subduing fears miglit have got possession of 
 him, and the imminence and unexpectedness 
 of the danger have given to such fears a 
 profound and entire sway. Mayhap he 
 might allow himself to hope things were 
 not so bad as they were represented, and 
 then, as in the usual course, small hopes 
 leading to large ones, his thoughts would 
 presently make for themselves a prospect as 
 fair as that which he had at various occa- 
 sions so fondly regarded. But his aspect 
 was not one that hath a reasonable fami- 
 liarity with agreeable anticipations. It ex- 
 pressed a settled grief, such as cannot hold 
 any acquaintance with con:?olation. 
 
 It did not escape the eye of his watchful 
 companion, that he suffered greatly ; and, 
 desirous of shortening the sway of his un- 
 liappy friend's reflections as much as was 
 possible, he made most strenuous exertions 
 to bring their journey to a quick ending. His 
 endeavors met with such success, that, in a 
 space which then appeared incredible, the 
 exhausted travellers reached tie cottage at 
 Shottery. 
 
 As he drew near the object of his deep 
 love, the agitation of the miserable father 
 became so great that it was with much ado 
 the worthy priest could keep him in any 
 sort of governance ; and, when they vv'ere 
 on the threshold of the sick chamber, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, though but a minute since 
 so terribly impatient, feit as though he dared 
 not enter. He was overpowered with his 
 apprehensions. A sickness of the soul 
 smote him so terribly, the strong man was 
 subdued, and all the father in him seemed to 
 lay with so heavy a load upon his heart, he 
 could neither breathe nor move. 
 
 His excellent pious friend saw in how sad 
 a taking he was, and administered to him 
 such ciieering encouragement, that, in a 
 brief space, he felt sufficiently invigorated 
 to proceed. The latch was raised, and, 
 like one embarking on a perilous venture, 
 he entered the chamber of his sick child. 
 A glance at that wan face would have as- 
 sured any but a doting parent that deatii 
 had there set his seal, and was nigh at hand, 
 waiting to place the instrument in his 
 greedy coffers : but, seeing him alive, after 
 such dreadful agony of fear as he had scarce 
 a moment since experienced, appeared to 
 
 render Master Shakspeare unconscious of 
 his son's imminent danger ; and, as Ham- 
 net, immediately his father approached, re- 
 cognised him with a joyful cry, his appre- 
 hensions left him, he dropped down beside 
 the bed, took the outstretched little hand, 
 and, with an exhanstless prodigality of fond 
 exclamations, covered it with kisses, whilst 
 tears of exquisite sweet pleasure rushed 
 from the fountains of his love, and did freely 
 force their way over his manly cheeks. 
 
 The poor fond father was for awhile left 
 to the full enjoyment of such feelings, and 
 was only roused from them by noting some- 
 thing strange pushing against him, and his 
 hand quickly after touched by something 
 warm. It was the faithful hound, Talbot ; 
 who, seeing his master, instead of the rio- 
 tous demonstrations of joy with wliich he 
 was wont to greet liim, by that wondrous 
 instinct often shown by these sagacious 
 brutes on like occusions, had noiselessly 
 moved towards him, and began licking of 
 his hand, soon after which he showed the 
 same affectionateness to the hand of his at- 
 tjiched playmate — the whilst, as though he 
 knew die misfortune that was impending, 
 he wore the pitifullest look eye ever saw — 
 now turning it towards Master Shakspeare, 
 and anon towards Hamnet. 
 
 "Poor Talbot! Brave Talbot !" exclaim- 
 ed his master, patting liim on the head — for, 
 in very truth, that was all he could say or 
 do, he was so moved. 
 
 " Poor Talbot !" murmured the sick child, 
 the only words he had uttered, that showed 
 he was conscious of what was going on 
 around him, since he had been ill ; and, at 
 hearing which, the faithful dog seemed 
 marvellously disturbed, for he whined in a 
 low voice, once more licked the hands of the 
 father and son, and then proceeded slowly 
 to the foot of the bed, where he placed him- 
 self so that he could see the faces he had 
 regarded with so fixed a sorrow. 
 
 Ever since his playfellow had been con- 
 fined to his chamber, Talbot had fixed him- 
 self in that place, whence neither threats, 
 not caresses, nor temptations of any sort, 
 could remove him. He refused his food, he 
 took no notice of any of the family, or of the 
 different visiters who entered and went out. 
 His eyes were upon the visage of his fast 
 friend and pleasant associate in so many 
 rare sports, with a disturbed and anxious 
 expression ; and, though all this time the 
 sick boy had taken no manner of notice of 
 his devotion, in consequence of not being 
 sensible of his presence, he continued his 
 vigilant watching, night and day, as though 
 
50 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 he were as handsomely rewarded as liis 
 fidelity had so often been. 
 
 After this long disreoard of him, it may 
 easily be imagined with what feelings he 
 heard himself recognized by the sick boy, 
 and the exceeding comfort with which he 
 returned to his jih\ce of watching : never- 
 theless, lliough he wore for a moment a 
 look of infinite contcntation, as he continued 
 to gaze upon the features he loved so well, 
 whereon the animation that had been given 
 to them by the entrance of Master Shak- 
 speare was rapidly disa|)))earing, and they 
 were assuming an aspect of the most terri- 
 ble sort, it was easy to see the poor brute 
 was getting fearfully anxious, and his look, 
 no less strongly than his movements, be- 
 spoke the greatness of his distress. 
 
 This change in Hamnet had not been re- 
 garded by his fond parent ; for his attention 
 had been taken off his son by his weeping 
 mother, who, with a total abandonment to 
 sorrow, had thrown herself into his arms. 
 Such passionate lamentations broke from 
 her as soon as she could find her speech, 
 that, though her husband strove with all the 
 affection of better times to bring her to 
 reason, it was to marvellous Uttle profit. 
 
 To .add to his trouble, at this trying mo- 
 ment, he found himself in a like manner 
 called upon by the no less lively sorrow of 
 a fair young girl who was with her, whom 
 he could not fail of recognizing as his 
 daughter Judith, the twin sister of his be- 
 loved Hamnet. He pressed both of them 
 in his arms, and strove to console them with 
 the best arguments at his commandment. 
 
 He looked about him as though he missed 
 some one, and his gaze presently lighted 
 upon the lovely countenance and graceful 
 person of his elder daughter — the same who 
 made the acquaintance of the courteous 
 reader, at the dwelling of her kinsman, little 
 Tommy Hart, in Stratford. She stood at 
 some distance, with no other sign of grief 
 in her than a most anxious countenance ; 
 regarding, witli deep attention, the sallow 
 visage of a little man in a threadbare suit 
 — no other than the Stratford apothecary — 
 who was in another part of the chamber, 
 conversing with Master Bifield ; and it was 
 easy to see, from the effect of his speech 
 on the worthy vicar, that what he heard 
 troubled him exceedingly. 
 
 Pothecary's stuff had done him no man- 
 ner of good, and though he was nursed by 
 his sister Susanna witii untiring love and 
 attention — his mother and Judith being so 
 over[)owered with their fears for him, as to 
 be incapable of rendering any useful assis- 
 tance in the sick chamber, it advantaged 
 
 him not, at all. Susanna appeared the least 
 moved at her brother's illness of any about 
 him, but, young as she was, she saw the 
 necessity of keeping her feelings under 
 control, that she might the better be enabled 
 to tend him with that care his case so much 
 required. Therefore, had she been his care- 
 ful nurse, never leaving the chamber, an 
 never closing her eyes, from the first mo- 
 ment she had been made aware of the dan- 
 ger of the case. 
 
 Hearing her name called by her father, 
 she hurried to receive his caresses, and re- 
 turned them with a most devoted heart, 
 though with as sorrowful a one as any pre- 
 sent. She had been as anxious to receive 
 them as her sister, but had stood aloof, that 
 her brother might have all his attention, 
 knowing how much he needed it. She now 
 spoke not a word of lamentation ; indeed, 
 her young heart was too full for speech of 
 any sort, but her straining embrace and 
 tearful gaze touched her father more deeply 
 than did the noisy grief that Juditii and her 
 mother continued. This was not the first 
 time he had observed in her signs of a truly 
 feminine nature — exceeding delicacy, the 
 truest aftectionateness, and the noblest self- 
 denial — and these had endeared her to him 
 exceedingly. The measure of her own af- 
 fection for her father was of the prodigalest 
 sort — the remembrances of his smiles and 
 commendations feeding her love, till it took 
 on it a strength marvellous at her early 
 youth. It may, therefore, be conceived 
 with what absolute affection they mingled 
 their caresses at a time so trying. 
 
 But the intense gratification Susanna ex- 
 perienced whilst receiving such sweet proof 
 of her father's love for her, could not for a 
 moment render her forgetful of her beloved 
 patient, whose features now getting of a 
 deadly paleness, were for a very brief sea- 
 son enlivened with a faint smile, as he 
 gazed on his father and sister ; and she had 
 just succeeded in drawing his attention to 
 Hamnet, when the eyes of the sick scholar 
 turned towards his revered master, who at 
 that moment was directing towards him a 
 glance of the terriblest distress and anxiety, 
 and there seemed a meaning in them, which 
 the good priest quickly interpreted, and as 
 speedily sought to act upon. 
 
 He advanced to the bed with a solemn 
 and distressed air, and knelt beside it. At 
 this moment it was that Master Shakspeare 
 looked again upon his son, and the terrible 
 change his countenance had undergone in 
 the last few minutes his attention had been 
 taken oft" it, seemed to pierce his soul like a 
 barbed arrow. He saw now he must hope 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 61 
 
 no more ; and, with an agony that appeared 
 to be crushing botli heart and brain, he fell 
 on his l<nees, still clasping the little hand, 
 that all this fearful time had rested so 
 quietly in his own. The attention of the 
 rest of the family was by this movement di- 
 rected to the countenance of the dying 
 boy, on seeing which his mother covered 
 her face with her apron, and sunk in a 
 swoon on the nearest chair, and Judith fell 
 on her knees before her, hiding her face in 
 her lap. 
 
 Susanna had softly and quickly made her 
 way to the other side of the bed, where, 
 kneeling down, with the remaining hand of 
 her beloved brother clasped in both her own, 
 she joined fervently in the fervent prayer 
 Master Bifield had commenced. How mov- 
 ing was the scene the chamber of the sick 
 scholar then presented ! There were on 
 two or three shelves he had himself fixed on 
 the panel, the books he had conned with such 
 loving, yet such fatal diligence. It was as 
 simple a chamber as scliolar ever had, hav- 
 ing nought in it but the truckle-bed whereon 
 its poor occupant then lay, a small table at 
 which he was wont to write and study, now 
 having on it in divers vessels certain medi- 
 caments of the apothecary's compounding, 
 and a chair whereon the child sat during 
 his long studies. 
 
 The only casement it had looked into 
 the orchard, where he had got many a task 
 by heart, poring over it at the foot of a 
 tree ; and the door opened into his mother's 
 chamber, wherein were now several rela- 
 tions and friendly acquaintances, some of 
 whom were peering in with grave and dis- 
 tressed visages. Hanging upon a peg was 
 his satchel, and nigh it the gay cap and 
 feather his fond father at his last visit had 
 brought him for holiday wear. The rest of 
 his apparelling had been neatly folded up 
 by his good sister Susanna, and put away 
 in a chest that stood at the furthest corner 
 of the room, from which the apothecary had 
 gone to take his hat and stick, seeing the 
 case of his patient was now beyond all re- 
 medy, but, on hearing the solemn words of 
 Master Bitield, he reverently bent his knees, 
 and stayed where he was. 
 
 The countenance of that excellent good 
 man was elevated, and bore the expression 
 of a martyr passing from life to immortality, 
 with a joyful hope that holdeth pain at de- 
 fiance. The light fell full upon it, and the 
 ravages that disease and care had made 
 there were painfully visible. Yet, as with 
 clasped hands and uplifted eyes, he implor- 
 ed the Divine custody for the spirit that was 
 about to pass away, his passionate moving 
 
 eloquence appeared so to excite him, that 
 to those who beheld him from the next 
 chamber, he seemed to possess a greater de- 
 gree of strength than they had seen in him 
 for many years past. 
 
 Then with a still greater heartiness he 
 prayed for forgiveness for the great sin he 
 had committed by his negligence, and broke 
 out in a confused passion of grief and self- 
 condemnation, whereof the burthen was, he 
 had sacrificed the sweetest excellent scholar 
 master ever had, and thereupon the tears 
 ran down his cheeks — the pitifuUest sight 
 eyes ever looked on — and, lastly, he finish- 
 ed his discourse with a like urgent appeal 
 as that witli which he had commenced it, 
 dilating on the child's worthiness of Heaven, 
 with such a power of language, that at last 
 it became evident his feelings were over- 
 powering him. He could only at intervals, 
 and with a sort of frenzied earnestness, ut- 
 ter a few words of loving praise, which be- 
 came fainter and fainter, till at last his 
 head sunk on his hands, and he seemed to 
 be continuing the prayer in silence, too ex- 
 hausted for further speech. 
 
 There had been no other sounds during 
 this discourse, but the sobbing of some of 
 the women, and the laborious breathing of 
 the sick boy. His look had been cast up- 
 ward from the first moment Master Bifield's 
 voice became audible ; as it grew interrupt- 
 ed, the breathing grew less distinct, and as 
 the former ceased, there was heard in the 
 deep silence that then reigned throughout 
 the cliamber, the horri blest of all sounds, the 
 death-rattle. Master Shakspeare uttered a 
 cry of agony, and took to be so frantic, 
 three strong men were necessary to tear him 
 from the cliamber, and at the same instant, 
 the faithful Talbot set up a long and pier- 
 cing howl, which never left the remem- 
 brance of those who heard it. 
 
 Yet the saddest thing of all remains to be 
 told. After the chamber had been cleared 
 of the atflicted relatives, Master Bifield still 
 remained in silent devotion, which, as might 
 be supposed, none liked to disturb. At last 
 the apothecary said something to one of 
 Master Shakspeare's friends who was pre- 
 sent. On this hint they both approached to 
 where he knelt, and, not receiving any an- 
 swer to certain words with which they ad- 
 dressed him, they each took him by the arm, 
 and hold back his head. 
 
 A long and wasting illness, followed by 
 several days' violent exertion to both mind 
 and body, had brought him to so low a state 
 that the suffering and labor he had put him- 
 self to during those last few moments, had 
 sufficed for the utter extinction of his feeble 
 
62 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 life ; and, as it looked to those who witness- 
 ed, tlie master so Iionorcd, and the scholar 
 so doted on, concluded tlieir iovinof studies 
 by taking their wa}- lo heaven hand in iiand. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 We present men with the ughness of their 
 vices to make them the more to abhore them ; 
 as the Persians use, who, above all sinnes loath- 
 ing drunkennesse, accustomed in their solemne 
 feasts to mnke their servants and captives ex- 
 tremely overcome with wines, and then call 
 their children to view their nasty and loathsome 
 behaviour, making ihem hate that sinne in 
 themselves, which shesved so grosse and abho- 
 minable in others. 
 
 An Apology for Actors. 
 
 don, which place, it was like enough, they 
 intended surprising ; whereof, the conse- 
 quence was, a hue and cry was ])resently 
 despatched to the Privy Council, describing 
 the appearance of tlie enemy in the most 
 imposing array, and messengers sent to 
 alarm the district for miles round, and take 
 measures for its defence. 
 
 Perfectly unconscious of the sensation 
 they were creating, the travellers continued 
 their course ; tlieir desire to place them- 
 selves out of the reach of Black Sampson 
 occupying their thoughts, to the exclusion 
 of all other things whatsoever ; and they 
 did not begin to feel secure till, just as the 
 day began to break, they rode into the yard 
 of " The Golden Dragon," at Uxbridge. 
 
 A lame ostler was perceived, with the 
 assistance of a lantern which he carried, 
 grooming a horse. A heavily-laden waggon 
 stood at the bottom of the yard, and divers 
 goodly packages, with pack-saddles, and 
 Doubtless the 
 
 Whether D.tpple and Jack liked as lit 
 tie the neighborhood of the gipsy encamp' 
 
 ment as their riders, there is no knowing other stable-gear, lay about, 
 for a certainty ; but, judging by the unac- whole inn was in as peaceable a state as 
 customed pace at which these two goodly ever inn was a minute since ; but, directly 
 steeds went, and the extraordinary long : Dapple and Jack rushed clattering over the 
 time they continued it, there seemeth some : stones, all show of quiet was at an end. _ 
 grounds for so thinking. It may readily be | Half a dozen carriers' dogs began bark- 
 imagined no effort was made to check their ; ing and yelping, as though trying against 
 fleetness. In sooth, if ever horse and man i each other the fierceness of their noise, and, 
 were of one mind, the old grey and the ; presently after, out rushed their several 
 youthful physician were, out of all doubt, : masters at ditferent doors, each with a lan- 
 and in this agreement of opinion they were ' tern and a heavy cudgel, fearing nothing 
 
 closely copied by the stalwart serving-man 
 and his rough, heavy-heeled colt. 
 
 They made so huge a clatter in the dead 
 of the night, as to cause infinite alarm to 
 some of the rustical sort of people whose 
 habitations they passed by, divers of whom 
 fell readily into the conceit that it could be 
 no other than an army of bloodthirsty Spa- 
 niards intent on ravaging the whole king- 
 dom. Others took it to be a rising of the 
 Papists for the cutting of Protestant throats. 
 A few were no less certain that it was no 
 other than an army of thieving Scots ; 
 whilst certain, who affected a greater wis- 
 dom, put it down to witchcraft, and shook 
 in their beds for an hour after. 
 
 Whilst passing through one straggling 
 hamlet, an alarm-bell was rung by the sex- 
 ton, who happened to be returning from a 
 roaring carouse with the parish clerk, at 
 the neighboring sign of " The Foaming 
 Tankard ;" and these worthies took their 
 oaths on it, a few hours after, before the 
 borough reeve and his equally frightened 
 partners in authority, that they had witness- 
 ed a ho.st of liorsemen, nigh upon a thou- 
 sand or two, dashing along with full speed, 
 armed to the teelh, on the highroad to Lon- 
 
 less than that their bales were being rifled. 
 The shouting and uproar they made had the 
 effect of bringing into the gallery which 
 went round the yard, and at every one of 
 the doors and casements, mine host and 
 hostess, with all their guests and servants, 
 with spits, guns, rapiers, and various other 
 deadly arms — some but half-dressed, and 
 others with nought on but what they were 
 sleeping in — here and there one carrying a 
 light, believing they were about to be robbed 
 and murdered at the least. But, when the 
 carriers held up their lanterns to the intru- 
 ders, who were as mucli astonished at the 
 strangeness of their reception as were the 
 people of the inn alarmed by their sudden 
 appearance, and saw in what peaceable 
 guise they came, and, moreover, when they 
 heard the chorus of loud laughter, and the 
 various rude jests which' came from the car- 
 riers, as they observed the goodly speci- 
 mens of horseflesh on which the travellers 
 were mounted, they presently returned to 
 their beds, assured of the safety both of their 
 purses and tlieir lives. 
 
 Simon Stockfish was by no means of a 
 quarrelsome liumor — perchance the perils 
 his young master had already escaped im- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 63 
 
 pressed the more deeply on his mind the ne- 
 cessity of keeping- out of broils — so that, 
 whilst John Hall, under the guidance of 
 mine host, went his way into a comfortable 
 chamber, the careful serviny-man, unheed- 
 ing the taunts that were levelled at his 
 skill in horseflesh, proceeded to get his 
 beasts the nourishment and repose they 
 needed equally witii their riders. 
 
 The young physician soon found himself 
 discussing a pleasant meal, and relating to 
 a circle ol marvelling listeners of both sexes 
 the strange adventure that had befallen him 
 with the king of the gipsies. Thereupon 
 arose amongst them much curious talk re- 
 lating to Black Sampson and his comely 
 leman ; and many marvellous things were 
 said of both, and the outlaws also, which 
 greatly increased the astonish.ment Master 
 Hall had experienced from the knowledge 
 of them he had himself with so much peril 
 obtained. 
 
 In the end, a soldier-sort of man, who had 
 a patch over one eye, and a complexion like 
 unto the bark of a tree, and whose pate was as 
 bald as though it liad just been cleanly shaved, 
 though his grey beard was as ample as 
 need be, promised the youtliful traveller his 
 protection on the remainder of his road, 
 vowing, fore gad, he would make any vil- 
 lanous Rommanee meat lor dogs, who should 
 venture to touch a hair of his head whilst in 
 his company. This being said with a terri- 
 ble tierce air, and a blow on the hilt of his 
 rapier that sent the blade into the scabbard 
 with a great noise, as the captain turned on 
 his heel, and marched with imposing strides 
 to his own chamber, was not without its due 
 effect. Although this personage was a 
 stranger to the travellers, he was none to 
 the reader. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Simon Stockfish was 
 doing his best for the comfort and conveni- 
 ency of Dapple and Jack, apparently pru- 
 dently heedless of the sauciness of his rude 
 associates. It may here be remembered 
 that his having had his crown so recently 
 cracked by his endeavoring to show his no- 
 tions of what was most prudent and politic, 
 had a wonderful influence towards shaking 
 his opinion of the excellence of such 
 notions, to say nought of the little good 
 they had done the object for whose peculiar 
 benefit and security they were entertained : 
 therefore, he held his peace, as a secure 
 means of otfending none, and in no slight 
 degree prided himself on the subtlety of 
 such behavior. 
 
 Alack-a-day ! such subtlety appeared to 
 be poorly estimated by his unmannerly 
 companions, who, enraged by what they 
 
 called his sullen humor, at hearing of their 
 merry jests at his expense, one jostled him, 
 and then another jostled him, and in a mo- 
 ment they all commenced pushing him vio- 
 lently from one to another, with a huge up- 
 roar of sportive shouts and cries, till there 
 seemed no spot where he could be allowed 
 to stand, and every bone in his body was 
 as tender as. an over-boiled chicken. Then 
 a tall strap])ing fellow emptied upon him a 
 huge bucket of water, and, after fixing the 
 vessel on his head, the carriers, one and all, 
 set up a loud horse-laugh, and led their 
 several beasts, as quickly as they might, 
 out of the inn-yard. 
 
 Poor Simon, soaked to the skin, and sore 
 in every limb, whilst drying of his garments 
 at the kitchen-fire, and breaking his long 
 fast on the goodly meal provided for him, 
 was sadly puzzled at the difiiculty he found 
 in behaving so as to scape harm, and was 
 fast inclining to the conviction that he was 
 living in a villanous world, where no honest 
 serving-man could hope to exist with whole 
 bones. 
 
 As the valiant personage alluded to in a 
 preceding page intended leaving the Golden 
 Dragon by nine of the clock that morning, 
 that he might be in the good city of London 
 at a convenient hour of the same day, for 
 the transacting of a certain important busi- 
 ness, with no le.ss a person than the Lord 
 Mayor, on which he was bound, our tired 
 travellers were allowed a fair rest ; and 
 whilst one is sleeping in the chamber set 
 apart for him, and the other is obtaining as 
 sound a slumber stretched on a hard bench 
 in the chiuuiey-corner, metliinks it will be 
 an admirable opportunity for making this 
 worthy better known to the courteous reader 
 than he is, which cannot, in common policy, 
 be let pass. 
 
 Titus Swashbuckler, sometime an an- 
 cient, above which dignity he never rose, 
 notwithstanding it hath been his good plea- 
 sure nigh upon a score of yettrs to be styled 
 captain, was as well known in every ordin- 
 ary in the city as the conduit in Eastcheap. 
 How he lived was oft a mystery to many, 
 but that he did live, and with very tolerable 
 accommodations, the many who beheld him 
 on his customary stool, in one or other of 
 these houses of entertainment, eating and 
 drinking evidently to his heart's content, 
 were satisfied there was no manner of 
 doubting. 
 
 Certes,his apparelling never looked to be 
 of the newest, and his linen often showed a 
 marvellous inclination for the buck-basket, 
 but as he took on himself the character of a 
 cast-captain, these signs vv'ere never regard- ' 
 
54 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ed as marvellous, and as he had tlio faculty 
 of making liimself aorceable to any one wlio 
 seemed capable of paying his reckoning, 
 and never attempted to offend such as look- 
 ed in good odour witli the rest of the com- 
 pany, he grew speedily to be as well liked 
 as any one of his calling. 
 
 It is said that liis principal source of sub- 
 sistence was teacliing the use of the rapier 
 and dagger ; for in l*aul"s Walk his bills 
 might often be seen, offering to teach any 
 kind of weapon, and challenging all comers 
 at fence for a thousand crowns. Where he 
 was to tind a tiiousandth part of this sum 
 was, si-x days out of seven, as complete a 
 puzzle as ever was the sphinx to the learn- 
 edest scholar in Christendom, but greater 
 difficulties never troubled the valiant cap- 
 tain. His challenge was repeated as often 
 as it got defaced and torn down ; and as 
 none of the celebrated swordsmen in Eu- 
 rope, Asia, Africa, and America, to whom it 
 was particularly directed, seemed desirous 
 of obtaining the said handsome wager of 
 him, he, doubtless very disconsolately, was 
 forced to content himself with teaching the 
 youth of London, for the trifling considera- 
 tion of sixpence a lesson, those marvellous 
 tricks of fence which had got for him so ex- 
 ceeding terrible a name, none dared enter 
 the lists with him. 
 
 This teaching, therefore, was considered 
 to be his chief means of living, though it 
 had been noised abroad that the cast-cap- 
 tain, whenever there was a likelihood of 
 gain, would have recourse to numberless 
 other arts in less credit with the world. He 
 pretended to teach all the delicate mysteries 
 of the duello, as practised in the first courts 
 of Europe, and was ready, for a proper re- 
 compense, as had been the case with the un- 
 fortunate player, to be the second of any 
 gentleman desirous of showing the most ex- 
 act familiarity with these important obser- 
 vances : nay, if he had lilting remunera- 
 tion, he wt luld be glad to take up any man's 
 quarrel, nn matter how bad a cause he had. 
 Then, shoukl any gallant want a blade of 
 exceeding good repute, lie would have one 
 ready at your hand in a presently ; one of 
 a thousand, so sweet a temper, so rare an 
 edge, neither Damascus nor Toledo had seen 
 such choice metal ; indeed, on his honor, it 
 was given him in such a famous battle, by 
 some great general of the enemy, whom the 
 fortune of war had made his prisoner, and 
 he would not part with it did he not esti- 
 mate your worth and valour so highly. 
 Tliereupon he would ask, perchance, hfly 
 gcjld pieces, swearing the whilst it was of 
 inestimable value, and, noting your indiffer- 
 
 ence to purchase, would speedily bring 
 down his demand to a matter of a few shil- 
 lings, insisting on it he'd let you have it at 
 so poor a price out of pure aflcction. JMay- 
 hap, you are at last induced to buy it, and 
 in good time discover this matchless weapon 
 to be as good a blade — for toasting cheese 
 withal — as any you are like to meet with. 
 
 Such was Titus Swashbuckler, as he 
 rode out of the yard of the Golden Dragon 
 by the side of John Hall ; after having, as a 
 matter of especial favor, allowed his new 
 acquaintance to pay his score of tvvo shil- 
 lings !ind eightpence, at the inn, protesting, 
 very heartily, on the honor of a soldier, he 
 had not so much as a doit in his purse, he 
 having thoughtlessly, the night before, on 
 being applied to, emptied its contents into 
 the hat of a poor fellow, who had fought by 
 his side at the taking of Cadiz, and was 
 then in the utmost extremity of want. 
 
 As they jogged on togetlier, the captain 
 entertained his young companion with the 
 most v>onderful tales of battles and sieges ; 
 in the which nothing appeared so evident 
 as the narrator's exceeding valor. Among 
 other things, he stated how he had lost his 
 eye, when with a few other daring spirits 
 he was in the act of boarding a galleon in 
 the Spanish main — a villanous Spaniard 
 having tin'ust it out with a pipe — but, find- 
 ing his listener did not enter into these spir- 
 it-stirring recollections with the interest he 
 expected and desired, and did not show the 
 least anxiety to become possessed of the in- 
 comparable weapon that had been the favor- 
 ite rapier of no less a hero than Sir Philip 
 Sidney, and had been presented by his 
 widow to her deceased husband's brother in 
 arms. Captain Titus Swashbuckler, at that 
 hero's particular request in his dying mo- 
 ments, the valiant captain felt a wish to 
 learn something more of his fellow-traveller 
 than the little he at present knew, before he 
 expended any more of his eloquence upon 
 him. 
 
 Such an inclination was easily gratified, 
 being directed upon one so candid and un- 
 suspecting ; and the young student of me- 
 dicine, in a few words, told the valiant cap- 
 tain who he was, for what object he was 
 travelling, and whither he was going. 
 
 " By this sword, this is strange indeed !" 
 exclaimed the master of fence, with every 
 appearance of excessive astonishment. 
 '• How exceeding fortunate it is that I have 
 met you on your journey. Master Hall." 
 
 " Why so, good Captain?" inquired the 
 youth. 
 
 " Fore George ! if there be one man with 
 whom 1 am more familiar than another, it is 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 55 
 
 mine estimable worthy friend blaster Doc- 
 tor Posset. Why, we are sworn brothers ! 
 Many a gay carouse have we had together, 
 I promise you ; tor the Doctor, i'faith, be- 
 longeth to the fraternity of jolly dogs, and 
 doth the order no small credit." 
 
 The young student did not think this 
 character any recommendation ; for his 
 opinion of what a skilful physician should 
 be did not harmonize at all with the im- 
 pression made by his companion's descrip- 
 tion of the man with whom he was about to 
 commence a tinishing course of study in 
 medicine, previous to seeking a degree. 
 
 " I tell you, my worthy youncj Escula- 
 pius," continued the valiant captain, " you 
 have met with especial good fortune in 
 having made choice of so admirable proper 
 an instructor. He is a rare fellow, this 
 Doctor, and one in as absolute repi>te for 
 his skill witli the sick, as for his pleasant- 
 ness with the hale. Many a bottle have we 
 cracked together, and shall again as long 
 as there shall be any virtue in good wine." 
 
 '■ Hath lie many patients ?" inquired John 
 Hall, very coolly. 
 
 " By this sword, he hath such store of pa- 
 tients, I know not they who have not, at 
 some time or other, sought to obtain benefit 
 at his hands." 
 
 The young student began to feel more re- 
 conciled. 
 
 " You cannot help being wondrous con- 
 tent with your condition, my young friend," 
 remarked the ancient. " You will find the 
 Doctor such excellent company, and one so 
 learned, withal, in the flavor of choice wine, 
 you are not like to meet, search where \'ou 
 will." 
 
 " I do not much need such knowledge,'' 
 answered the young physician, gravely ; 
 " and, methinks, a practitioner of physic 
 ought to have studies of a very diflerent 
 sort." 
 
 " Fore George, well said !" cried the 
 soldier, who was of so amiable a disposi- 
 tion, he never differed with a person on 
 whose purse he had any design. " This 
 same drinking- must needs be of huge detri- 
 ment to the proper study of medicine ; and, 
 for mine own part, I cannot believe one jot 
 of what the idle world reports concerning 
 the doctor's fondness for good wine. Indeed, 
 this world is so villanously given to lying, 
 it must needs be the safest policy never to 
 believe a word one hears. On mine honor 
 as a soldier, I take the doctor to care as 
 little for wine, as the gravest physician of 
 them all. He would scorn to take more 
 than became him. But if you are not like 
 
 to meet temptations to intemperance, you 
 will find in his house seductions less easily 
 to be withstood." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the youth, in some 
 alarm. 
 
 " Out of all doubt. Master Doctor !" cried 
 the other, in a joyful tone. " This learned 
 physician, let me tell you, hath a daughter 
 just of an age, a form and countenance that 
 would make a man's heart melt within him, 
 were he ever so little given to the dear sex. 
 And the little fiery god play not the very 
 devil with you ere you have been a week 
 under the same roof with her exquisite 
 lustrous ej'es, I am no master of fence." 
 
 " I care little for these things," quietly 
 replied the student, on whom his mother's 
 grave entreaties touching his behavior, which 
 were almost the last words she spoke to him, 
 now exercised their fullest influence. 
 
 The valiant captain stared with all his 
 solitary eye. To meet with a young man 
 for whom martial stories had no interest, 
 wine no attraction, and who was indif- 
 ferent to the charms of woman, seemed so 
 extraordinary that he could scarce credit his 
 senses. Believing that no good was to be 
 got by exercising his talents upon such in- 
 sensible materials, he was about to enter- 
 tain the idea of getting rid of such unj)rofi- 
 tabie society, when the remembrance of the 
 two-and-eiglitpence he had already ])ocketed 
 induced him to continue his exertions. 
 
 " I doubt not you are a master of your 
 weapon," observed the cast cajjtain. " Nay, 
 that warlike look and bearing you have with 
 you telleth me you arc as perfect a swords- 
 man as any one of your years. Fore 
 George, here is a pretty soldier spoiled !" 
 
 Now, John Hall had as little of the soldier 
 in him as you might hope to find in an apple 
 custard ; and, instead of a warlike look and 
 bearing, wore the peaceablest air possible. 
 
 " Perchance, you have killed your enemy 
 now already," added his companion. " Heart 
 o' me, I am sure on't!" 
 
 " In sooth, you misjudge me hugely," 
 replied the student. " My vocation is to 
 cure, not to kill ; and so little do I know of 
 the soldier's art, that I am as ignorant of 
 the sword as the babe that hath not yet seen 
 the light." 
 
 " This is strange indeed !" observed the 
 captain, as though monstrously astonished. 
 " As I live, I would not have believed a tittle 
 of it, had you not told it me yourself. Why, 
 how dost intend to live, sweet sir ? A youth 
 of your goodly appearance, that must needs 
 associate with gallants of the court, and 
 young citizens who are as familiar with their 
 
56 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 weapons as witli their tootlipicks — why you 
 cannot but be a lost man, know you not how 
 to stand on your defence." 
 
 " 1 will take lieed I give offence to 
 none ; then, of a surety, I must escape 
 harm."' 
 
 " Fore gad ! such a thing was never 
 known," added the master of fence, vehe- 
 mently. " It be as necessary for a man to 
 know his weapon as to know his alphabet ; 
 nay, in mine opinion, the weapon deserveth 
 to be considered the most essential of the 
 two, for with it a man shall not only be able 
 to keep his life secure, but shall carve for 
 himself a way to fortune, reputation, and his 
 mistress' favor, which the extremest cun- 
 ning in letters cannot effect. " 
 
 The young student rode on, apparently 
 but little interested in his companion's argu- 
 ment, but he offered no oj)position to what 
 he had just advanced. 
 
 " I will give you an instance, Master 
 Esculapius," he continued, " of the e.xceed- 
 ing importance of being skilled in noble 
 swordmanship. When I was in Spain, with 
 the forces of my very excellent good friend 
 and admirable commander, the Earl of Essex, 
 who with that valiant admirable Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, the thrice noble Sir Philip Sidney, 
 and in short nigh upon all our chiefest offi- 
 cers, had of me their well known cunning 
 of fence, I was sent on a mission of import- 
 ance, being considered one of the few fit to 
 bj employed on such high occasions, as 
 much for my daring valor, as for my ripe 
 experience in martial affairs. I was pro- 
 ceeding alone through the outskirts of Cadiz, 
 intent on the performing of my mission with 
 credit, when, as I turned the corner of a 
 convent, I became aware of an ambuscade 
 of villanous Spaniards — nigh upon a dozen 
 — in soolh, I will not assert there were not 
 tliirteen — but they were the horriblest cut- 
 throat dogs I had ever met. I promise you 
 my rapier was in my hand in a second, and 
 ere you could count one, 1 had stretched two 
 of my assailants at my feet." 
 
 " Still your foes were too numerous for 
 one man to combat with ;" said John Hall, 
 innocently. " Methinks there could be no 
 great difficulty in some of them taking you 
 from behind, whilst you were defending your- 
 self in front." 
 
 " Under ordinary circumstances, I grant 
 you," readily returned the cast-captain. 
 " But you should take into consideration my 
 wonderful mastery of my weapon, which 
 liatli enabled me to triumph over all the 
 most distinguished swordsmen from every 
 part of the civilized globe, whom I have 
 overcome by a secret stroke it is not possible 
 
 for any one to withstand., however great a 
 master of fence he may be." 
 
 "I knew not that, valiant captain," ob- 
 served the young physician, seemingly in 
 some surprise. 
 
 " Fore George, I could have guessed as 
 much !" replied the rodoutable Swashbuck- 
 ler. " But to the telling of my tale. Such 
 was the quickness of my eye, and the e.x- 
 cellence of my guard, that my opjionents 
 could not touch me any one of them, and 
 their numbers, by their jostling together, 
 made them unable to defend themselves, as 
 they otherwise might, against my quick and 
 fatal thrusts. One by one they dropped 
 around me, till three only were left, when, 
 feeling somewhat tired by my great exer- 
 tions in this unequal fight, I sought some 
 mean or another of bringing the combat to 
 a speedy close. And what think you, sweet 
 sir, I did ?" 
 
 " In sooth, I know not," said the student. 
 
 " This was it," answered the ancient, with 
 a very commendable gravity. " I employed 
 all the strategy of which I was master to 
 set my assailants in a line, and then, sudden 
 as a flash of lightning, with one terrible 
 lunge, I pinned my three Spaniards against 
 the wall." 
 
 " That was marvellous indeed !" exclaim- 
 ed John Hall, with a tone and look of pro- 
 digious surprise. 
 
 " By this sword, I held them as easily as 
 so many larks on a skewer," added the 
 master of fence. " Now this shewelh how 
 absolutely necessary it is for every one to 
 have a perfect knowledge of his weapon. 
 I must needs have the teaching of you, Mas- 
 ter Hall. It must not be allowed that one 
 who holdeth himself so handsomely, should 
 be at the mercy of every lewd fellow, who 
 chooseth to pick a quarrel with him. When 
 you have so little chance with one, if you 
 should be set upon by numbers, as was I, 
 you would be cut to pieces presently." 
 
 " Methinks, I ani little likely to be in such 
 peril," said the youth, " seeing I am not a 
 valiant captain like yourself, and, having no 
 intention of voyaging to Spain, I must needs 
 be safe from Spanish ambuscades." 
 
 " I doubt it not, Master Hall, I doubt it 
 not;" quickly replied Swashbuckler. "But 
 a man who hath not a proper diigree of skill 
 in the handling of his weapon, standeth no 
 better chance in England than elsewhere. 
 The highways are beset with villanous cut- 
 purses — desperate unruly thieves, who get 
 together in companies and despoil the travel- 
 ler, both of his life, and of whatever he hath 
 about him." 
 
 " Can skill with the sword avail the travel- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 57 
 
 ler if these cut-purses be armed with pis- 
 tolets ?" inquired the young physician. 
 
 " Out of all doubt," answered the other, 
 with as perfect a confidence as ever was 
 seen. "If you will be taught, 1 will show 
 how one may defend himself at any odds 
 against such rascal fellows, and run every 
 one tlirough the body, by my infallible secret 
 stroke, ere he have time to pull a trigger." 
 " I knew not the use of the sword could 
 bo made of such advantage," observed the 
 young physician. 
 
 " Truly, tliere is no telling the marvel the 
 skill I teach can be made to perforin," grave- 
 ly asserted the master of fence. " One fact 
 is wortli a volume of discourses. I have so 
 often stretched these cut-purse villains in 
 the dust, when they have set on me in a 
 body, that, be they ever in such great num- 
 bers, they durst not come a near me. The 
 last acquaintance I had of them was in Tot- 
 hill Fields, when two sturdy knaves set on 
 me with a sword and dagger, and two more 
 took to their pistolots, seeking to get a sure 
 aim. What think you I did in this strait ?" 
 " It seemeth to me past telling," said the 
 other. 
 
 " Like enough, good youth ;" answered 
 Swashbuckler. '• I thought a long time 
 how I could with great de.xterity escape from 
 tliese miscreants, and made use of a master- 
 stroke of policy for that purpose." 
 
 " After what fashion, valiant captain ?" 
 " This was the manner of it, Master Hall. 
 I did so skip and so jump, and so dodge 
 about, that they with the pistolets could get 
 no aim at me, without putting their fellow 
 rogues to imminent danger : so they all 
 spread themselves to have at me, and were, 
 as I could see, exceeding eager for my 
 destruction. Seeing they with the pistolets 
 right over-against each other, I gave them 
 good opportunity for aiming, whilst I allow- 
 ed the sword and dagger men, whom I had 
 got in a like opposite situation, to prepare a 
 fatal spring at me. Watching my time, on 
 a sudden 1 jumped clean away from them. 
 And what think you followed ?" 
 " Perchance, they made after you." 
 " Fore George, they were in no case for 
 moving a step ! The sword and dagger 
 men fell thrust through by each other's hands 
 at the same moment of time they with the 
 pistolets shot each other through the head." 
 " As I live, a most strange thing!" ex- 
 claim3d the youth very much astonished. 
 " But what sort of company have we 
 here ?" he added, pointing to some men 
 who seemed to be making towards them in 
 the direction they were proceeding : " now, 
 if they chance to be cut-purses, valiant cap- 
 
 tain, methinks they had best away with 
 themselves as they are wont to do at the 
 sight of you, as quick as they can — else 
 your exceeding skill with your weapon must 
 needs be their entire destruction." 
 
 Captain Swashbuckler at this directed his 
 gaze where he was required, and, after a 
 few minutes sharp scrutiny, suddenly put 
 spurs to his horse and turned at full speed 
 down a bye lane ; but wliilst John Ilall was 
 marvelling at this strange behavior, he notic- 
 ed the men who were approaching quicken- 
 ing their pace towards him, and seeing they 
 were armed and of a very vagrant-like ap- 
 pearance, he looked to his weapons. As 
 they rushed towards him with tlireatenings 
 and imprecations, he had just time to be on 
 his guard, and, one of the villains attempting 
 to seize his bridle, he let fly at him presently, 
 and, doubtless wounded him, for he fell back 
 into the arms of one of his associates. 
 
 It was evident that neither Dapple nor 
 Jack had ever so slight an acquaintance with 
 the munitions of war, for, as in a previous 
 instance of a similar sort, on the instant they 
 heard the report of the pistolet, they started 
 off with a desperateness that rendered futile 
 all attempts on the part of the cut-purses to 
 lay a hold on tlieir riders ; the old horse 
 giving one of the rascals so sharp a kick as 
 sent him to the ground, yelling like a dog 
 that hath got his tail jammed in a door-way. 
 Simon Stockhsh had not passed unprofi- 
 tably the time taken up by the discourse of 
 his master with the cast-captain. He had 
 been thinking with a wondrous intentness 
 on the best means of securing his young 
 master's safety till he got him securely hous- 
 ed in the dwelling of the famous Doctor 
 Posset, in Barbican ; after imagining all 
 sorts of evils it was possible for him to meet 
 during the remainder of his journey, and 
 every possible kind of remedy for one and 
 all of them, he had just come to the sage 
 conclusion, founded on the little profit he had 
 got, of the ability to help him in his need, 
 that it would be discreetest to let things take 
 their course, when the tiring of the pistolet 
 and the uncontrollable fuiy of his steed put 
 an end to his reflections. For some time, he 
 had quite enough to do to endeavor to keep 
 his seat, and probably this inability to inter- 
 fere secured his master's safety and his own. 
 They pursued the rest of the way without 
 any adventure worth naming; not, however, 
 without Dapple and Jack creating a vast 
 deal of attention wherever they appeared; 
 and, after some dithculty, the young phy- 
 sician found out the place of his destination. 
 Those goodly steeds were at once sent to 
 proper stables, that they might have a suffi- 
 
68 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 cient rest previous to thoir return to their 
 owners the next day, in the careful custotly 
 of Simon Stocktitsli. 
 
 John Mali was so fortunate as to meet 
 his instructor in tlie art and mystery of medi- 
 cine, witliin a few doors of his dwelhng. 
 Dr. Posset appeared to be a little man, of a 
 lively temperament, having grey hair, grow- 
 ing very thin, carefully curled ; his short 
 beard being looked after with equal atfection. 
 His eyebrows were very thick, and jutting 
 out exceedingly, under which were a pair 
 of keen, hawk-like eyes. A thick and mis- 
 shapen nose, and a mouth of a moderate 
 size, drawn in by loss of teeth, completed 
 the list of his principal features. His dress 
 was a sober suit of plum-colored cloth, with 
 falling band and rutHes ; hose of the same 
 color ; a velvet cap, without a feather ; and 
 square-toed shoes, without roses ; and these, 
 with a long staff in his hand, tipped with 
 ivory, made up the distinguishing marks of 
 his apparelling. 
 
 On lirst spying him. Dr. Posset, as though 
 in no manner of doubt as to his man, gave 
 him a hearty welcome, inquired after his 
 good mother, and how he had borne the 
 journey, and hoped they should be e.xcellent 
 friends, and that the youth might find with 
 him as pleasant a home as the one he had 
 left. 
 
 The house wherein the student was about 
 to find a dwelling seemed to him a fair edi- 
 fice, though bearing an antique and some- 
 what gloomy aspect. The chambers above 
 the ground floor projected into the street, 
 and much rude carving was observable 
 round the door and over the lower casement ; 
 a rude figure representing the goddess Hy- 
 geia, carved in oak, was displayed at full 
 length, with all her proper attributes, in a 
 prominent place above the door ; whilst a 
 head of Galen, in monstrous dingy colors, 
 was slung in an iron frame in front of it. 
 Above the front story projected another, with 
 much the same sort of wide casements, all 
 black with time and weather stains ; and in 
 the shelving roof, there seemed to be one or 
 two more, though of a much smaller sort. 
 
 The houses adjoining were of the same 
 respectable sort, belonging to persons of 
 substance and credit, most of them having 
 some sort of sign to distinguish the calling 
 of the tenant; and, as bravely-apparelled 
 gallants, discreet gentlewomen, and citizens 
 of fair repute, were seen going in and out 
 of them, there could be no manner of doubt 
 but that Barbican was a place peopled by 
 thriving and respectable citizens. 
 
 John Hall followed his conductor through 
 the door, which he opened with a latch, and 
 
 found himself in a capacious hall, having 
 chambers to the right and left, distinguish- 
 able by the open doors which led into them ; 
 and there was a staircase at the further end, 
 the lower part being seen through another 
 open door at the left, corresponding with a 
 closed door, or rather wicket, at the right, 
 formed in an oaken partition of some eight 
 or ten feet high ; the upper part of the stair- 
 case being visible above it ; the wicket lead- 
 ing to the back premises, and the other door 
 to the chambers above. 
 
 John Hall had scarcely time to notice 
 these particulars, when his attention became 
 completely engrossed by a number of persons 
 grouped about the foot of the stairs. Stretch- 
 ed at her full length on the steps, her head 
 supported in the lap of an elderly female of 
 a monstrous sharp visage, a younger one 
 sitting at her feet, whilst a stout youth had 
 firm possession of her arms, lay a girl, 
 evidently just entering upon her career of 
 womanhood. 
 
 She appeared rather of a tall stature, with 
 limbs somewhat large, though by no means 
 ungraceful, well-rounded arms and bust, 
 being in a low, tight bodice, were at least 
 sure of being regarded admiringly ; and her 
 dainty farthingale disclosed sufficient of her 
 ancles to prove they were no less commend- 
 able. Her features bespoke nothing of a 
 singular comeliness, hut they were seen to 
 no sort of advantage, the eyes being fixed, 
 the nostrils dilated, the mouth opening and 
 shutting as though with sudden spasms, 
 and the complexion pallid, whilst the abun- 
 dance of her glossy hair strayed in confusion 
 over her forehead and shoulders. 
 
 She made a strange mumbling sound, and 
 threw out her arms by sudden starts, which 
 he who grasped them — albeit he did not 
 seem to lack strength — had much ado to 
 keep under his commandment. Anon she 
 I would strive to overthrow those who held 
 her, by some prodigious efibrt of strength, 
 which it was with exceeding difficulty tiiey 
 could withstand ; and failing in this, burst 
 out into a monstrous passion of laughter so 
 long and loud, it was as though all Pande- 
 monium were moved by some devilish je.st ; 
 and, after this, straightway commenced talk- 
 ing eagerly the strangest stuff ever heard, 
 the which was only brought to an ending by 
 a sudden and mighty dashing of herself as 
 though to escape, which was soon followed 
 by another wild scream of laughter more 
 fierce than ever. 
 
 Near her stood one with a vessel of water, 
 which was being sprinkled on her face, 
 whilst another held burnt feathers to her 
 nose, and a third was approaching with 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 59 
 
 soma kind of medicine in a glass. Other 
 remedies were suggested by her distressed 
 companions, but slie minded them none at 
 all, for she struggled, and screamed, and 
 gabbled, and laughed with increasing fury. 
 Whilst John Hall gazed on this scene 
 with the most absolute astonishment, it 
 seemed to fill his conductor with nothing but 
 vexation, for he spoke impatiently, now 
 wringing his hands and casting up his eyes, 
 and anon pacing up and down with his 
 hands behind him. 
 
 All at once she seemed to be in a less 
 tearing humor. At this the young man bent 
 his head near the ear of the sick girl, and, 
 whispering with an impressing earnestness, 
 as though calling to her, the name of " Mil- 
 licent." He had scarce done so, when she 
 re])lied, in a fiiint and languid voice, and 
 thereupon commenced a dialogue between 
 the two. the one asking how she felt, and 
 what she would have done for her ; and the 
 other answering she was better, and desired 
 nothing so much as to be taken to her 
 chamber. 
 
 Preparations were soon made for carrying 
 her wishes into effect, the youth seeming to 
 take nearly ail the burthen of her conveyance 
 upon himself. 
 
 It was easy to guess that the sick girl 
 was the physician's daughter ; the elder 
 female was a neighbor, following the trade 
 of a capper, in Golden Lane ; the other was 
 a young friend ; the youth was an appren- 
 tice to Dr. Posset of more than a year's 
 standing ; and the others were certain ac- 
 quaintances of the physician's — neighbors 
 and gossips — invited by him, to welcome 
 amongst them the young scholar, whose 
 studies he was about to superintend. 
 
 As the young physician watched the re- 
 treating form of the fair Millicent up the 
 stairs, was he recalling the seductive charac- 
 ter of the one who was about to be his near 
 associate for a long period, which he had 
 heard from the estimable Captain Swash- 
 buckler ? It did not recur to his mind, for 
 & single moment. He thought only of what 
 was writ in a certain part of Galen on the 
 subject of epilepsy. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 You neede not goe abroade to bee tempted '■ 
 you shall bee intised at your own windowes. 
 The best oouncel that I can give you is to keepe 
 at home, and shun all occasion of ill speech. 
 The Schoole of Abuse. 
 
 We may not tarry with the bereaved fath- 
 
 er longer than will suffice for the reader's 
 proper understanding of his unutterable sor- 
 row. By the death of his so deeply beloved 
 son, Master Shakspeare's heart was smote 
 a.s though the king of terrors had dealt 
 therein his fiercest dart. He recovered so 
 far as to follow to its last resting-place all 
 that remained of the form which had so long 
 been the chiefest object in every ambitious 
 dream, with a seeming marvellous calm and 
 patience ; but when he heard the clods of 
 earth rattle against the little coffin, there 
 rushed into his mind so vast a sense of the 
 sumless love there buried and lost for ever, 
 that his oppressed brain could not bear the 
 burden of it, and he straightway fell into 
 such a passionate frenzy, it was with a mon- 
 strous to do he could be got home ; and only 
 with many strong men's help, day and night, 
 could he be kept to his chamber. How 
 wildly he raved ; how piercingly he called 
 on the remorseless tomb to give up its 
 youthful tenant ; how fiercely he waged war 
 on divers shadowy powers, which, in his 
 fantasy, kept from him his heart's best 
 treasure ; and how urgently he prayed to 
 what seemed to him the unnatural callous 
 natures that set at nought a father's agony, 
 and could not be movjd by a father's love — 
 it passeth the skill of my rude pen to say. 
 Perchance, of those whose eyes wander over 
 these pages, there shall be some whose af- 
 fections have been uprooted after the rude 
 fashion which marked the love of this noble 
 gentleman for his sweet Hamnet, and can 
 readily conceive the manifold workings of 
 so terrible tempestuous an earthquake of the 
 heart ; but, doubtless, there shall be many 
 who know nothing of these things. God 
 keep them, to their lives' end, in so proper 
 an ignorance ! 
 
 We must, however, state that, partly from 
 the sympathy which this huge atfliction cre- 
 ated for miles round, now directed to the 
 promising scholar, anon to the diligent and 
 well-pleased master, and then to the doting 
 father, and, from the respect felt generally 
 for one of such blameless life as the de- 
 ceased vicar, and for one of so many ad- 
 mirable qualities as William Shakspeare, 
 there was at the funeral so numerous an 
 assemblage as had never been known be- 
 fore to have congregated on such an oc- 
 casion. 
 
 Not only did the gentry of the neighbor- 
 hood attend, but every one of the corporation 
 of Stratford, from the high bailiff to the 
 humblest of the burgesses, with every proper 
 sign of mourning, joined in the melancholy 
 procession. Honored with the sincere re- 
 grets of rich and poor, and such a bountiful 
 
60 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 store of tears from man, woman, and child, 
 as tIioui>h their deaths wore regarded as a 
 public calamity, they, who had been so long 
 and intiiuatoly connected by a nuitiial love 
 of learning, were on the same day consigned 
 to their narrow homes. Thougli it may be 
 said of thom, that tliey brought their studies 
 to a most sorry ending — that their eager pur- 
 suit of wisdom led them only to that un- 
 mat'jhable dreary state where alone wisdom 
 hath no privilege — who shall aver that, in 
 those groves of everlasting verdure, which 
 hath in so many good men's minds been con- 
 sidered the abiding-place of all intelligent 
 spirits that have passed away from this 
 lower world, that diligent and affectionate 
 scholar is not at this very moment of time 
 enjoying the inestimable lessons of the mas- 
 ter by wliom he was so truly loved ? 
 
 It was long after the churchyard was de- 
 serted, when every one of that goodly as- 
 semblage by whom it had been tilled were 
 in their own more enviable homes, reflecting 
 on the affliction that had visited the cottage 
 at Shottery, one mourner still lingered about 
 the grave of Hamnet Shakspeare. It was 
 Talbot. 
 
 The poor hound had managed to escape 
 from the outhouse — where, since the death 
 of his young playmate, he had been care- 
 fully yet kindly confined — by taking advan- 
 tage of the absence at the funeral of the 
 affectionate creature who had shewn such 
 friendly heed of him. Talbot never failed 
 to recognize the attentions and caresses of 
 the gentle Susanna, but the food she brought 
 was left untouched, and the tears with which 
 the sorrowing girl mingled her persuasions to 
 take the tempting morsels she put before him 
 elicited no other sign of his attention than 
 an uneasy whine. 
 
 By what singular instinct it was, on 
 breaking from his bonds and displacing a 
 loose board, he made direct for the church- 
 yard, cannot be explained any more than his 
 immediately selecting the exact spot beneath 
 which lay all that remained of one with 
 whom he had had such heaps of pleasant 
 sport. A short time after he was discover- 
 ed howling the piercingest tones ever heard, 
 whilst making prodigious efforts to tear up 
 the soil that rested on Hamnet's coffin. To 
 drive him or coax him out of the church- 
 yard was found impossible, till Susanna, 
 having discovered his escape, on her pro- 
 ceeding at her return homo to tempt him 
 once more with some nice morsel, hurried 
 in search of him, and, with infinite trouble, 
 at last succeeded in getting him away. 
 
 It was only by the constant care and exqui- 
 site loving kmdness of this gentle girl that the 
 
 li fe of the poor hound was saved. For a long 
 time Talbot looked but the skeleton of what he 
 was. Deeply must he have grieved for the 
 loss of his fast friend and playmate. He 
 never again ventured near the churchyard ; 
 but, when allowed to wander where he 
 chose, he would take every possible pains to 
 avoid it. And, after the lapse of many 
 months, having accompanied some of the 
 family in that direction, he stopped at one 
 of the gates, and set up so pitiful a howl, it 
 moved all who saw him. 
 
 Advancing somewhat in time, it must now 
 be stated, that, stretched on a bed in a cham- 
 ber, the which may readily be recognized as 
 the one in which young Hamnet died, al- 
 though it had since seen divers alterations, 
 lay the heart-broken father, slowly recover- 
 ing from the moral and physical effects of 
 the fatal blow at his happiness he had so 
 unexpectedly received. His eyes were open, 
 and, though dimmed by sorrow and long 
 sickness, still shone with that fine spirit 
 whereby so many worthy actions of his had 
 been influenced : his face was exceeding 
 pale and much wasted ; but the benevolence 
 that might be read in its expression, like a 
 written language, was as visible as ever; 
 and the intelligence that spoke as intelligi- 
 bly from his noble forehead as though it were 
 the powerfullest eloquence ever heard, was 
 such as neither grief nor illness had any 
 power over. 
 
 He gazed about him somewhat strangely, 
 leaning his head upon his hand, perchance 
 for obtaining a better survey of his cham- 
 ber, and his eyes wandered over all its ob- 
 jects, but could not bo said to rest on any, 
 till it fell upon a plot of pansies that grew 
 in a box outside the open casement^ and 
 were then in full b'oom. A yellow butter- 
 fly — that common sign of summer and sun- 
 shine — was hovering over the pretty blos- 
 soms, on which it presently descended. 
 
 These familiar shapes, that speak, too, so 
 cheerfully of life and its most exquisite 
 sources of enjoyment, did not present them- 
 selves to the mind of the sick man without 
 bearing with them those marvellous lessons 
 with which Nature, in her exceeding love, 
 refreshes the weaiy and heals the wounded 
 spirit. Though the goodliest edifice that 
 doting affection ever raised out of the most 
 e.xcusable feelings of pride and ambition 
 had been overthrown to its very foiuidations, 
 and the poor architect stood overwhelmed 
 and stunned with the completeness of his 
 ruin, scarce had he recovered the faculty of 
 seeing, when ho became sensible that life 
 had still hopes, and Nature bounties, and with 
 such help more secure fabrics might be built 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 61 
 
 up of nearly as fair proportions and lofty 
 elevation. 
 
 As ho continued his gaze on the pansies, 
 Master Shakspeare's thoughts fell out of 
 that disordered state in which they had so 
 long been left to wander, and gradually grew 
 into a wholesome regularity. That they led 
 him to the pleasant mossy banks, and the 
 sweet shady nooks where, in times past, he 
 had first sought to indulge that sympathy 
 for the beautiful whicli had linked so indis- 
 solubly all his exquisitest feeling to nature, 
 can be no marvel ; that they convinced him 
 that all the enjoyments sought by him out 
 of the wide rangp of unrivalled pleasures 
 she offers to such as devote themselves to 
 lier service, were not only profitless, but 
 deeply mischievous, is likewise no more than 
 natural : and that, at last, they directed him 
 for the future to place his whole reliance on 
 those means of happiness still at his dis- 
 posal, as having in this pursuit neither vex- 
 ation nor trouble of any sort whatever, is 
 the probablest tiling that could be thought of. 
 
 Whether this happened or not, certain it 
 is thai a more cheerful aspect took posses- 
 sion of the sick man's features. He seemed, 
 by some effort of his will, to lift his mind 
 from the earth, and, extricating it from the 
 fearful wreck which death had made of his 
 affections, elevate it on tliose proud aspira- 
 tions which had so often borne it out of sight 
 of base earthly things. Then it was that the 
 fluttering insect rose from its flowery resting- 
 place beside the casement, and soared into 
 the air, rising gradually before the sick 
 man's eyes, till it had gone out of sight, as 
 though aiming at the very highest heaven. 
 
 Wliilst pondering on this apparent prom- 
 ise. Master Shakspeare vv'as aware of a door 
 opening, and with a step so soft, she seemed 
 to be treading on the very air, and a look 
 of deep interest, that gave but another gentle 
 touch to the gentle expression of her beauty, 
 Susanna entered the chamber. At the first 
 glimpse he had of her he recognized the 
 graceful form that had been wont to pre- 
 sent itself in so many affectionate ways to 
 jiis bewildered senses, but he could not have 
 known the admirable attentive nurse she had 
 been. 
 
 It was marvellous to behold the exceeding 
 care with which the fond girl had watched 
 over her parent throughout his terrible mal- 
 ady ; of a truth, he owed his recovery to her 
 patient and unceasing regard of him. A 
 conviction of such an obligation entered 
 his mind as she carefully approached the 
 bed, and with it came the consoling thought, 
 so much love would go far to replace the 
 monstrous loss he had sustained. 
 
 As she took note of the improvement so 
 visible in her patient's appearance, she 
 smiled in such sort as plainly proved how 
 greatly it was to her contentation. The 
 father unclosed his eyes — which he had shut 
 at his child's approach — and the affectionate 
 joy that shone so brightly in her sweet coun- 
 tenance had so powerful an effect on him, 
 that he presently threw his arms round her, 
 and pressed her in a fond embrace. Al- 
 though Susanna was somewhat taken by' 
 surprise, the endearing expressions she heard 
 soon assured her, and she speedily gave her- 
 self up to the full enjoyment of those deli- 
 cious moments. 
 
 To be loved was all her gentle nature de- 
 sired, but had hitherto desired in vain. Her 
 mother's affection was fixed exclusively 
 upon her sister. Judith appeared to love 
 no one, not even her too indulgent mother. 
 Hamnet's whole soul was engrossed by his 
 books, and her father, though always kind, 
 seemed to have no affection to spare out of 
 the heap he lavished on her brother. Fail- 
 ing in these quarters, she had strove hard to 
 endear herself to Talbot, but the heart of 
 the noble hound was so entirely that of his 
 playfellow, that she found her exertions to 
 win him to herself were fruitless. Disap- 
 pointed though she was in her desires, it 
 made not the slightest change in her dispo- 
 sition ; whilst every one seemed cold and 
 careless to her, she was gentle and kind to all. 
 
 It may, therefore, be imagined, that the 
 pleasure with which she received the ca- 
 resses of her fatlier was of as perfect a sort 
 as ever existed. She had not dared to hope 
 to be made so happy. Indeed, she had al- 
 most despaired in her pursuit, knowing how 
 little was to be expected from her mother and 
 sister, and believing her father's affections 
 to be buried in the coffin of his beloved 
 Hamnet. But the conversation by which 
 the well-pleased parent now skilfully brought 
 out his daughter's disposition, assured her, by 
 the commendation of her it elicited, that there 
 was at least one heart in the world whose 
 love she might obtain. 
 
 After this he mended fast, and bid fair to 
 be a whole man again speedily ; which, to 
 be sure, was in a great measure owing to 
 the loving care and heedfulness of his 
 daughter Susanna — the only one in the 
 house who troubled herself about him in 
 any way worthy of notice. To be sure, 
 her mother did, at times, pay him some at- 
 tentions, and Judith would stay with him 
 awhile when there was no great temptation 
 to entice her away ; but to a heart such as 
 his, affection of this sort gave him anything 
 but satisfaction. 
 
62 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 It was about a week or so after tliis col- 
 loquy, that three old dames, cacli equally 
 short of stature and stout of flesh, witli 
 visages alike in the marvellous tieryness 
 that shone in them, like so many yulekigs in 
 a blaze, and a similar showiness in their 
 several apparellintj, sat in the kitchen of the 
 cottage at Shottery, as though they had just 
 come in, and were intent on resting them- 
 selves ailer a walk. These were near rela- 
 tives of Master Shakspeare's wife ; three 
 sisters, somwhat notorious for causing strife 
 wherever they went. 
 
 Susanna was making bread at a goodly 
 sized dough-trough on one side of the 
 chamber, standing on a stool the while, and 
 her mother and sister were tiring of them- 
 selves as though about going on a journey. 
 But though the old dames were resting their 
 limbs, their tongues got no rest, I promise 
 you ; nay, it more than once chanced, they 
 all talked together, and so fast withal, it 
 looked as though they Jiad each got so much 
 to say. Aunt Prateapace in especial, and so 
 little time to give it utterance, all must needs 
 out at once. In this chorus they were, ever 
 and anon, joined by the mother and daugh- 
 ter, Susanna alone holding her peace ; and 
 she, too, continuing her labors apparently 
 as little regarded of the rest as though she 
 were a good thousand miles away. 
 
 " By my halidom, Anne, an I had a hus- 
 band, I'd see him hanged ere I would be 
 plagued by his humors !" said she in the 
 •yellow bodice with a crimson kirtle, tossino- 
 up her pincushion nose in a monstrous dis- 
 dainful manner, as though she had smelt 
 carrion. " A tine thing, truly, for a poor 
 woman to be the slave of every tyrannical 
 tearing fellow it may be her ill hap to have 
 married ! It is lit a wife should have her 
 recreations and her pleasures, and have ever 
 about her those who are her true friends 
 and gossips, and engage in all manner of 
 sports and revels she can get to ; and in no 
 case is it jjroper for her to be kept to her 
 home like a rat in a trap, making herself a 
 worthless, pitifid, poor drudge from day to 
 day, and from year's end to year's end. All 
 saints' days and holidays, and all manner of 
 festivals and merrymakings, she ought to 
 enjoy to her heart's content ; and, if any 
 pragmatical, peremptory husband sought to 
 prevent it, she should value him no more 
 than a cracked flea — that's mi] thinking," 
 and the old dame laid an emphasis on her 
 last words, slapped her closed tist against 
 her open palm, and, looking as fierce as a 
 ferret, turned short round on her stool to- 
 wards her associates, as though there could 
 be no appeal to so famous an argument. 
 
 " Truly, Aunt Gadabout, we poor women 
 are hardly used," observed the still fair Anne, 
 eyeing her comely features com))lacently in 
 a small mirror she held in her hand — an ob- 
 servation they had heard from her when on 
 the same subject any time this dozen years. 
 " Hardly used, quotha !" mumbled ano- 
 ther, as, with her hands resting on her knees, 
 and her body bending forward on the settle 
 where she sat, she shook her head, as 
 though it was took with a sudden ague. 
 " Had Peter Prateapace ventured on such 
 unbearableness, I'd a used him, i' faith !" 
 
 " Now it should be known that the said 
 Peter, whilst he was in tli^; flesh, would as 
 soon have ventured on taking on himself the 
 very slightest appearance of a husband, as 
 of claiming kin with the Pope. It so 
 chanced, however, that once having grown 
 valiant by sitting over-late at his cups, with 
 a noted scorner of scolds and termagant 
 shrews, he came home, and dared to bid his 
 wife bring him a pot of small ale, and, on 
 her refusing, bade her go hang for a jade. 
 The next morning, on his coming to his so- 
 ber senses, the consequences looked so terri- 
 ble, he went and incontinently drowned him- 
 self in the mill-stream. 
 
 " Hardly used, quotha !" she continued, 
 in the same triumphant strain. " Lord war- 
 rant us I an all women had my will, Anne, 
 they should follow their own humors with 
 such infinite perfectness, they should have 
 nothing to wish for in that matter, and snap 
 their fingers on all men whatsoever. B\ 'r 
 lady ! methinks 'tis a good thing for wives 
 to be held in subjection of their husbands — 
 to be thwarted, and vexed, and put upon as 
 though they were fit for nought but to bear 
 fardels enough to break their backs, whilst, 
 forsooth, their precious helpmates are to look 
 on and find fault. Were the best man that 
 ever wore a head to attempt ordering of me, 
 or interfering with my pleasures, ere he were 
 a day, an hour, a minute older, an his i'ace 
 were not as well scratched as tliongh it 
 had been thrust through a bramble-bush, it 
 should be a marvel indeed, I promise you 
 — I warrant he should be in no mood for a 
 second attempt of the. sort." 
 
 " But I have such an infinite lack of spir- 
 its," added Anne, " and am so weak and fear- 
 ful withal, such violent courses would only 
 succeed in doing me a mischief." 
 
 " Alack, poor lamb !" cried tiie other, in a 
 commiserating mood. " But this is the 
 real grounds of it all. Were she not of such 
 poor health, she would be more kindly used, 
 but he taketh advantage of her weakness to 
 treat her scurvily. I never could affect the 
 fellow. He was ever a proud, bombastical. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 63 
 
 fustian knave. I protest I liked him not from 
 the first hour I saw him ; and, since he hath 
 been a player — save the mark — he hath be- 
 come so intolerable fantastical and indiffer- 
 ent, and putteth on himself so monstrous 
 nice a behavior, and so smooth a discourse, 
 I would as lief lie in a butter-woman's bas- 
 ket as within earshot of him." 
 
 Susanna heard this disparagement of one 
 whom her young heart regarded as the kind- 
 est and best of human beings, with pain ; — 
 but she said never a word, continuing knead- 
 ing of the dough as though she had no in- 
 terest in the discourse — even her mother 
 seemed to like not such plain speaking. 
 
 " Nay, Aunt Breedbate, you do him 
 wrong," she said, " I have seen no such be- 
 havior in him." 
 
 " Ah, child ! I warrant me there is a good 
 deal thou hast not seen of his goings on," re- 
 plied the old dame, with an air of exceeding 
 mystery. " Wished I to speak, I could say 
 something on that matter marvellously to 
 the purpose ; but I am not like to cause mis- 
 chief betwixt man and wife. To be sure, it 
 is said, ' What God hath joined let no man 
 put asunder,' which hath no allusion of any 
 sort to women, so they may be left to do as 
 they please in it. Nevertheless, I am so 
 great an enemy to evil speaking, I hate any 
 one who cannot keep what they know of ano- 
 ther's ill deeds to themselves. Monstrous 
 mischiefs have come of the idle employment 
 of slanderous tongues, and the fair fame of 
 the best are at the mercy of such. For mine 
 ov.'n part, ere I would take to speaking ill 
 of any one, albeit, though he were as vil- 
 lanous as a Jew, and there should be no 
 other subject for speech, I would be dumb 
 for a week. Therefore, the horrible wick- 
 edness your notable fine husband has fallen 
 into must go untold forme." 
 
 " What horrible wickedness hath he done. 
 Aunt?" inquired Anne, in a tone of alarm. 
 " Prythee, let me know it. Nay, I will not 
 stir a step till I have heard it all." 
 
 " 'Tis but sailor's news, child," observed 
 Aunt Gadabout, consolingly. " Knewest 
 thou men as truly as do I, thou wouldst 
 marvel at no news of this sort, were it ever 
 so black. There is no treachery they will 
 not act to the spoiling of us poor women — 
 there is no injury they will not do against 
 us. One and all, they are a vile, abomina- 
 ble, uncivil, abandoned set of profligate mon- 
 sters and wretches — that's my thinking,'' 
 and again the old woman twisted herself 
 half round her seat with a slap against her 
 palm, and a look that conveyed in it her con- 
 viction that what she had stated there could 
 be no gainsaying. 
 
 " But I must and will know what he hath 
 done amiss," exclaimed Anne, determinedly 
 — a mood by no means unusual to her. 
 
 " What matters it ?" cried the relict of 
 Peter Prateapace, as she again poked her 
 body forward, and commenced shaking of 
 her head with an air of wondrous meaning. 
 " Be assured, Anne, that there never yet was 
 any thing done by our precious partners 
 worth a woman troubling her head about. I 
 warrant you they know better than to be 
 doing of any mischief. Marry, an any such 
 essayed to play his tricks upon me, I would 
 so maul him he should not know whether he 
 stood on his head or his heels for the rest of 
 his days." 
 
 " A plague on you all !" cried Anne, .ve- 
 hemently. " Tell me, on the instant, what 
 hath been done, or I will have no more to 
 say to either of you from this hour." There- 
 upon in her passion she tore her dress, after 
 several idle attempts to make it please her. 
 Susanna still continued intent on her bread- 
 making, but she was terribly ill at ease. 
 
 " Well, if I am so commanded, I cannot 
 get off saying it," observed Aunt Breedbate, 
 with a look of as absolute indifterency as 
 ever was seen. " But it nnist on no account 
 be bruited that you had your intelligence 
 from me, for I would not have it thought I 
 could speak ill of any one for mines of wealth. 
 Though I like him so little, I should be loath 
 to set you against him. For my own part," 
 she added, with a marked emphasis, " /hate 
 meddling and mischief-making." 
 
 " Marry, yes, and so do other folk. Sister 
 Breedbate, quite as much," observed Aunt 
 Prateapace, rather sharply. 
 
 " Sister Prateapace," exclaimed the other, 
 evidently taking some offence at the inter- 
 ruption, and regarding the interrupter with a 
 monstrous severe look. 
 
 " Ay, I maintain it !" cried Sister Prate- 
 apace, so little abashed as to meet the gaze 
 with one of a like severity. " / hate med- 
 dling — perchance, a wondrous deal more 
 than they who are ever a boasting of their 
 misiiking it, and yet all their lives long are 
 in the constant humor of meddling." 
 
 " Why, thou slanderous jade thou, how 
 darest thou affirm I am in a constant humor 
 of meddling ?" screamed Sister Breedbate, 
 her red face turning purple. Here seemed 
 a great hkelihood of quarrelling betwixt the 
 two sisters ; nevertheless, no one interfered. 
 In truth, these squabbles were such every- 
 day matters betwixt these two, that had they 
 met without disputing, it would have been 
 accounted a marvel. 
 
 " Prythee hold thy peace. Sister Pratea- 
 pace !" said Aunt Gadabout, turning round 
 
64 
 
 THE SECRET PASkSION. 
 
 towards her, with a sour visage. " Thou art 
 ever making words." Sister (Jadabout, 
 whenever tiiese squabbles took place, was 
 famous for sitting still, and ever and anon 
 saying something to one or other, which add- 
 ed exceedingly to the existing ill feeling be- 
 twixt them. Mayhap, this was as pleasing 
 to her as was the constant quarrelling agree- 
 able to the other two ; for, it cannot be ima- 
 gined, they would take so much trouble to 
 find a cause of strife, preferred they a more 
 peaceable living. " I know not, in this 
 world," continued she, " one of so cursed a 
 temper." 
 
 " Cursed enough, truly !" added Aunt 
 Breedbate. " Heaven preserve me from 
 such shrewishness, say I !" 
 
 " So said Goodman Breedbate a week 
 after his marriage, when he could no longer 
 abide the horrible misery he had fallen 
 into," replied Aunt Prateapace, with a fa- 
 miliar nod of her head to her angry sister. 
 " Doubtless, since his precious helpmate 
 drove him away from his home, by her intol- 
 erably violent tongue — forty year come Lam- 
 mas — he hath had no inclination to return, 
 and have more of it. Truly, he hatli had a 
 blessed escape !" 
 
 " Blessed escape, quotha !" cried the other, 
 scarce able to speak, she was in so deadly a 
 rage. " Methinks thou hast had a blessed 
 escape of the hangman. It is not all wives 
 who push their husbands into mill-streams, 
 who are so fortunate." 
 
 " I marvel, Sister Breedbate, thou shouldst 
 utter so horrible a slander," exclaimed Aunt 
 Gadabout, turning as sharply to her as she 
 had a minute since, to the other. " Of 
 all villanous traducers, thou art surely the 
 worst." 
 
 " There cannot be a doubt of it," said the 
 widow of Peter Prateapace, as coolly as you 
 please. " But as it is in her nature, it can- 
 not well be helped. Nevertheless, it is 
 greatly to be lamented she should be so in- 
 tent on mischief as to injure her nearest of 
 kin, rather than refrain from evil speaking. 
 If she must needs have some villany to talk 
 of, I doubt not she would hnd enough for 
 her complete contentation in certain scanda- 
 lous proceedings that took place, I know not 
 how many years since, wherein one Barna- 
 by Rackstraw, a club-footed thatcher, of no 
 great repute, from Wilmington, was en- 
 gaged with a notable shrew, well known in 
 these parts, who drove her husband from liis 
 home, and " 
 
 " Why, thou horrible malefactor, thou !" 
 screamed the other, jumping off her seat as 
 though bitten sharply by some hungry cur, 
 and shaking her clenched fist so furiously, it 
 
 seemed like to loosen her knuckles for the 
 next mouth to come. '■ Dost dare to say 
 such monstrous things of me. Had I been 
 as fiimiliar with Barnaby Rackstraw as 
 wert thou with Ephraim Clods, the one- 
 eyed delver " 
 
 " Ephraim Clods !" observed her sister, 
 like one who is striving to recollect some- 
 thing. '' Ah ! I remember me. The poor 
 man hath been dead this thirty year. A 
 worthy soul and an honest. He liked a 
 race of ginger in his ale as well as ere a 
 man in Warwickshire, and was smothered 
 by the falling of the earth when he was dig- 
 ging a well for Sir Hugh Clopton, at the 
 New Place. What of him, good sister ?" 
 
 " What of him !" cried Aunt Breedbate, 
 getting more passionate from observing the 
 other's composedness. " What, is it not 
 notorious " 
 
 " His one eye ?" inquired Aunt Pratea- 
 pace. " r faith, yes. It was almost as 
 much talked of as a certain club-foot after 
 it had been seen in the grey of the morn- 
 ing " 
 
 What further scandal might have been 
 said cannot now with any accurateness be 
 ascertained, for a stop was suddenly put to 
 this sharp speech, and to the sharp reply 
 which it was easy to see was on the point 
 of breaking forth, by the opening of the 
 door, and the appearance there of a noble- 
 looking, soldier-like gentleman, very bravely 
 apparelled. He seemed to have passed the 
 best of his years — his hair and beard being 
 plentifully sprinkled with those tokens of age 
 to which the rich are subject equally with 
 the poor. Nevertheless, his eyes had a mer- 
 ry, wanton twinkle in them, which, with the 
 careless expression of his tine mouth, and 
 somewhat prominent nose, showed such to- 
 kens gave him no manner of uneasiness. — 
 His visage was of a fresh, sanguine com- 
 plexion, and wrinkled somewhat — but of all 
 doubt belonging more to the court-gallant 
 than to the country gentleman — the which 
 looked more apparent when the obser\'er re- 
 garded his goodly hat and feather, with a 
 jewel set in it of the last fashion ; his hand- 
 some doublet, and rich satin trunks, with 
 other bravery of a like sort, not forgetting 
 the very soldier- like quality of his rapier and 
 dagger. 
 
 In his company was a fair youth, of some 
 sixteen or seventeen years, nearly as tall as 
 he, and quite as bravely clad. Nevertheless, 
 though so young, his look lacked the bash- 
 fulness and ingenuousness which are wont 
 to be seen in a youthful face. 
 
 " With your leave, mistress !" cried the 
 elder, very gallantly, as he stepped up to 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 66 
 
 Anne, then fully equipped for her journey, 
 and gave her a rifjht courtly salute. 
 
 " With your leave, mistress !" cried the 
 younger, quite as gallantly stepping up to 
 Susanna, and favoring her in a like man- 
 ner. 
 
 " By Ovid, mistress, thy lips are very su- 
 gar !"' exclaimed the old gallant, in a seem- 
 ing passionate manner. 
 
 " Worthy Sir George, I am much hounden 
 to you," respectfully replied Anne, with her 
 best courtesy. Thereupon the knight pro- 
 ceeded, with the same courteous manner, to 
 salute her three aunts, who were standing 
 up, all smiles and courtesies, striving as 
 hard as they might to look as innocent as so 
 many lambkins : and, at the compliments Sir 
 George uttered, dropping a courtesy to the 
 ground, and each, as simple as a maid, spoke 
 her thanks. 
 
 " By mine own captive heart, mistress, 
 there is no honey like to those most ravish- 
 ing sweet lips !" exclaimed the young gal- 
 lant. The gentle Susanna, however, took 
 not her salute as quietly as did her mother. 
 Her face and neck were pre.sently the hue 
 of the rosiest flower eye ever beheld ; and, 
 instead of acknowledging the compliment in 
 some simple maidenly phrase, she stood as 
 if ready to sink intotiie ground with shame- 
 fulness, and fixed her beautiful, fair eyes on 
 her taper fingers as though the flour vv'hich 
 clung to them was some villanous thing or 
 another that might witness against her very 
 disparagingly. 
 
 " What, Cousin Hugh ! — art planet- 
 struck ?" cried Sir George, slapping the 
 youth on the back, as he approached the 
 abashed maiden, doubtless with the intent 
 of behaving to her in the same courtly fa- 
 shion as he had used to the others. " I' faith, 
 but methinks thou hast good cause for it," 
 added he, gazing on her blushing beauties 
 with no less admiration than had his young 
 cousin ; then, addressing her with more 
 show of sincerity than he had employed to- 
 wards the others, he continued, " I pray you 
 suffer an old soldier, who liath just returned 
 from a long and arduous service amongst 
 barbarous Irish kerns and gallow-glas.ses, as 
 a fit recompense for all the dangers he hath 
 passed, to taste so tempting a cate as that 
 most delicate rosy mouth." Thereupon the 
 knight drew Susanna towards him, and, 
 stooping down as he took oti his jewelled 
 hat, saluted her with as great an air of re- 
 spect as she had been the daughter of a so- 
 vereign prince. 
 
 " And who is this tercel gentle ?" inquired 
 Sir George. 
 
 " An it please you, Sir George, she is no 
 
 other than mine own daughter," replied 
 Anne. 
 
 " What, a child of my excellent worthy 
 friend Will ?"' asked he, turning to her again 
 with a pleased astonishm.cnt. 
 
 " Indeed is she, an it please your lord- 
 sliip's goodness," said Aunt Pratcapace, 
 bustling forward with some officiousness ; 
 " which cannot be gainsayed of any man, 
 gentle or simple, seeing they be as like as 
 are two peas in the same pod." 
 
 " He must needs be a marvellous happy 
 man," observed the knight. 
 
 " Ay, that is he, I'll be bound," here put 
 in Aunt Gadabout with some eagerness. — 
 " Your honorable worship doth not know tlie 
 happiness he hath. F faith, he shall be as 
 happy as a sand-boy, an it will be your wor- 
 ship's desire." 
 
 " Truly, my good dame," answered Sir 
 George, " if he be as happy as he deserves 
 to be, he can have nothing to wish for." 
 
 "Lord warrant us, there is a notable 
 sweet saying now !" exclaimed Aunt Breed- 
 bate, her harsh features subdued as nearly 
 into an expression of cheerfulness as was 
 possible. " I would the worthy man were 
 here, to hear your honor's estimation of 
 him." 
 
 " Tell me where he is, I prythec, for I 
 must needs have speech with him," said the 
 knight. 
 
 "Judith !'" cried Anne to her younger 
 daughter, who stood at her side, striving in 
 vain to court the notice of either of the gal- 
 lants, " shov/ those noble gentlemen to the 
 orchard, where your father is." 
 
 But Juditli seemed not inclined to do any 
 thing of the sort. Indeed, fancying herself 
 to have been neglected, she immediately de- 
 termined not to stir a step. She was again 
 requested by her mother, but seem.ed as 
 though she heard it not, for she kept making 
 folds in her dress, as though that should be 
 her only employment. 
 
 " Nay, an it be your good pleasure, dame," 
 said Sir George, observing tiie child's reluc- 
 tance, " let our guide be our sweet acquaint- 
 ance here." 
 
 "An it please you, noble sir," murmured 
 Susanna, who had recovered somewhat of 
 her confidence, and was desirous her sister 
 should be noticed, " my sister Judith will 
 willingly fulfil your honorable wishes." — 
 She had, however, scarce uttered the words, 
 when the spoiled child no less rudely than 
 briefly, put a negative on her assertion. Su- 
 sanna then, to take off" all attention from 
 such uncivilness, at once led the way out 
 of tlie house, and, opening the wicket of the 
 orchard, pointed to a figure seated reading 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 beneath i treo at some distance, and with a 
 humble yet eTaeofiil courtosj', returned to 
 put her bread into the oven. 
 
 The two gallants procrded quickly to- 
 wards the tre3, and there assuredly was 
 Master Shakspeare, and there also at his 
 feet was Talbot, each apparently, in the 
 other's society, forgetful of the great loss 
 they had sustained. Both rose at the ap- 
 pearance of strangers, with a manner as 
 though, in their secret hearts, they took 
 their cominrf as an unseasonable interrup- 
 tion to their meditations, the poor hound re- 
 tiring backward a littlr; as though he was in 
 no mood jjr any familiarities : a touching 
 coi-itrast to the chc^erful manner with which 
 he was ever wont to welcome any of his mas- 
 ter's frietvls. 
 
 " Sir George Curew !" exclaimed Master 
 Shakspear?, his pallid features brightening 
 under the influence of the most cheerful of 
 smiles, as he seized the hand that was 
 stretched out far him, and shook it very 
 heartily. 
 
 " And your fast friend, he assured. Will," 
 said Sir (ieorgo, witit a famous sincerity ; 
 "and here is cousin Cloj;)ton, who is going 
 with me to court, and, if it please her maj- 
 esty, he shall smell powder anon — that is, 
 if he hath stomach for fighting, and liketh 
 his kinsman for his commander." 
 
 " I am assured Master Clopton will do 
 credit to his ancestors," observed Master 
 Shakspeare, courteously ; " and, with so 
 notabl' an example before him for all the 
 qualities of good soldiershij), as he hath in 
 Sir George Carew, his career in arms must 
 needs be a glorious one." 
 
 " That is kindly said. Will," replied the 
 knight, " and kindly meant, I will wager my 
 life for it, else it would not have been spoken 
 by so generous a spirit as Will Shakspeare. 
 But cousin Clopton must to the wars, and 
 endeavor witli his sword to gain what divers 
 of his famdy have lost. Hero hath 'the 
 New Place' been sold that hath belonged to 
 them .since old Sir Hugh built it in the reign 
 of Henry the Seventh, all for the lack of a 
 little pestilent coin. There is strange news 
 at court, Will," added Sir George, taking 
 Master Shakspeare by the arm, and walk- 
 inor with him apart. " My Lord South- 
 ampton " 
 
 " What of him?" eagerly cried the other. 
 " He hath been so rash as to wed Mis- 
 tress Varnon, despite lier Highness's com- 
 mands to the contrary." 
 
 " Well ?" said I\Idster Shakspeare, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "And the Q,ueen in great wrath hath 
 lodged them both in the Tower. I fear me 
 
 neither will escape easily, for it is said she 
 IS more furious against tliem than was she 
 with Raleigh ibr a like ollence. I grieve 
 for the sweet lady he hath chosen, and I 
 grieve for him also, for in truth I liked him 
 well." 
 
 " He had a heart. Sir George, as noble as 
 his name !" cried his companion with a deep 
 earnestness. , 
 
 " Ay, that he had, I am assured. And he 
 was a true friend to you. Will, for I have 
 oft heard him speak of you, as though no 
 other man was so well esteemed of him." 
 
 " He had a most princely disposition, and 
 ever acted towards me no less worthily than 
 he spoke," said his friend. 
 
 '• Well ! I wish him well out of his pres- 
 ent lodging !" 
 
 '• Auien, Sir George, with all my heart!" 
 
 " There is the most singular business 
 connected with this marriage that ever was 
 heard of," added the knight, in a livelier 
 tone. " It is said my lord could not have 
 succeeded in his measures, had he not got 
 important assistance from a certain master 
 of music, who — mark the exquisite policy 
 of it. Will — got admittance to the house of 
 the lady's kinswoman — as ancient a piece 
 of goods as ever was met with ; and, what 
 think you ? by this hand, he brought my 
 lord with him, and by means of some dis- 
 guise passed him off as his boy ; and, to 
 keep the old gentlewoman's attention from 
 the lovers, did pursue a suit of his own to 
 her with such vehemency, that speedily she 
 had neither eyes, heart, nor tongue, for 
 any but the master of music. She hath 
 made such bitter complaints to the Queen 
 of the jest that hath been played her, that 
 her Highness became in a towering passion, 
 and issued orders for his instant apprehen- 
 sion — vowing he should smart for it ; but 
 the wonder of it is, search hath been made 
 throughout the kingdom with a most minute 
 description of this Master Dulcimer's per- 
 son, manners, and dress, and there hath 
 been no such a musician seen or heard of." 
 
 Master Shakspeare had a great to do to 
 maintain the unconcern and gravity of his 
 aspect, during this speech. At last he mas- 
 tered his inclination for mirth, and quietly 
 inquired if those who had been in search 
 of the master of music had found trace of 
 him. 
 
 " None, and the mystery is such, it hath 
 been shrewdly hinted, my lord hath had re- 
 course to the powers of darkness, and the 
 ancient damsel is now frightening herself 
 out of her seven senses with the horrible 
 apprehension she hath been enamored of the 
 devil." 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 67 
 
 At this Master Shakspeare could contain 
 himself no longer, but he b«rst out into as 
 hearty a laugh as ever was heard, in thj 
 which Sir George Carew joined in as per- 
 fect an abandonment, and they too contin- 
 ued for some time longer making light ot 
 Aunt Deborah's passion. Nevertheless, one 
 was more concerned than he appeared, for 
 the news of Lord Southampton's imprison- 
 ment in the Tower, with the exquisite sweet 
 creature he had married, was exceeding ill 
 news to him, and lie scarce heard of it, ere 
 he fell to considering the best means for se- 
 curing his liberation. 
 
 The penalties he had already drawn up- 
 on himself in seeking to secure his friend's 
 happiness, he thought not of for a moment. 
 He remembered only tlie prodigal kindness 
 with which tliat friend had regarded him, 
 when such behavior was of the liighest con- 
 sequence to the advancement of iiis fortunes, 
 and that the generous spirit to whom he 
 was so indebted was chafing within the mis- 
 erable compass of four stone walls. 
 
 All this time Master Clopton was striving 
 earnestly to be on good acquaintance with 
 Talbot, but for a long space his commenda- 
 tions and pattings were little heeded. In- 
 deed, as though the poor beast wanted no 
 such company, ho more than once removed 
 himself from the young Squire's neighbor- 
 hood ; but the latter would by no means be 
 so easily kept at a distance, for he liked the 
 noble appearance of tlie dog. Talbot had 
 too good a heart to resist long any seeming 
 kindness where he suspected no ill, and at 
 last the "Ho Talbot!" "Brave Talbot!" 
 - was listened to with the wave of the tail 
 which denoteth satisfaction in such animals, 
 and a little while after he allowed himself 
 to be handled with more familiarity than 
 he would previously have suffered. In the 
 end, the two seemed to have come to a toler- 
 able understanding. 
 
 After Sir George Carew had — for he 
 would take no denial — made Master Shaks- 
 peare promise to join a few I'riends on a cer- 
 tain day, who were coining to eat venison 
 with him at Clopton Hall, ere he returned 
 to the wars, they walked leisurely to the 
 house, young Clopton and Talbot following 
 at a little distance. They were in he gar- 
 den, when they were suddenly stopped by 
 hearing through an open casement close to 
 which they had approached, a musically 
 sweet voice carolling the following ditty. 
 
 THE BEGUILING OF THE BIRD. 
 
 ''What ho, silly wanton! why woulJ'st thou 
 away. 
 With thy feathers so glossy and fine ? 
 
 Here are cates of the best, come and taste them 
 I pray. 
 Come enjoy tins brave feast whilst 'tis thine." 
 So spoke a bold fowler — (in sooth a fair speech) 
 
 His nets the while spreading with care ; 
 But the bird 'mongst the branches kept out of 
 his reach. 
 And would not be caught in the snare. 
 
 " Ah me, what a carol !" he cunningly said, 
 
 As her throat gave its tones sweet and clear. 
 " Oh, I would, uiiitchless singer, thou wert not 
 afraid. 
 
 Half thy skill now escapeth mine ear." 
 Well pleased with his praises, now closer she 
 drew. 
 
 Her song in his hearing to get ; 
 As he flattered, still nearer and nearer she flew. 
 
 And, lo ! was enclosed in the net !" 
 
 Sir George peeped through the casement. 
 There was no one in the chamber bat Su- 
 sanna. She was left alone as usual, whilst 
 her aunts and her mother and sister were 
 gone a-pleasuring and there was she solac- 
 ing herself at her spinning-wheel with a 
 spirit as blithe as her voice was melodious. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Eche is not lettred that nowe is made a lorde. 
 
 Nor eche a clerke that hath a benefice : 
 They are not all lawyers that plees do recorde, 
 All that are promoted are not fully wise, 
 Ou suche chaunce now fortune throws her 
 dice. 
 
 Barklay's Ship of Fools. 
 
 Oh ! sister An, what dremes 
 Be these that me tormente ! Thus afraide. 
 What new come geSt unto our realme ys come ! 
 Surrey's Virgil. 
 
 " Launcelot !" bawled a sharp voice, in 
 as loud a pitch as ever angry woman used. 
 No reply followed. " Launce, I say ! ihou 
 lazy varlet," continued she, lowering of her 
 key not a jot. '■ Here it be five o'clock, and 
 thou abed. An thou art not a stirring in a 
 presently, I'll cudgel thee within an inch of 
 thy life!" 
 
 " Coming, mistress !" replied a boy, rais- 
 ing himself on his elbow from a heap of 
 rushes and shavings in the corner of an 
 upper chamber in the roof of the house, 
 lighted only by a small window. The coarse 
 coverlet that fell from his shoulders disclos- 
 ed to view the same fat, foolish visage, that 
 was made known to the reader in the open- 
 ing chapter of this volume, as belonging to 
 , a boy known throughout Stratford as Rag- 
 
68 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ged Launco. His moutli now was extend- 
 ing itself in a yawn which threatened to 
 maiie tlie little no.so above it — the point 
 whereof, by nature, liad a singular inclina- 
 tion upwards — dissolve into tlie chubby red 
 cheeks, that with no pnrticular show of 
 cleanliness pressed against it on either side. 
 An arm, wrapped in a shirt sleeve, no less 
 soiled than ragged, was about the same time 
 drawn out, and the hand commenced scratch- 
 ing, with a lazy motion, a head, evidently 
 unused to otiier comb or brush than the 
 owner had store of at liis fingers' ends. 
 
 There was scarce light sufficient to dis- 
 tinguish the candle-end stuck in a bottle 
 that was upon an old box, the ballads against 
 the wall, or the rude drawings, with a bit 
 of charcoal, that covered every side of the 
 room, whereof the principal seemed to be 
 that of a woman in divers ridiculous atti- 
 tudes, and undesirable situations. Never- 
 theless, besides these, a few articles of 
 wearing-apparel lay in disorder upon the 
 floor, with a goodly commodity of nut-shells, 
 apple-cores, cherry-stones, small bones, bits 
 of crust, cheese - parings, and the like, 
 doubtless the remnants of sundry feasts 
 gone by, which the sole inhabitant of the 
 chamber had enjoyed in solitary contenta- 
 tion. 
 
 Launce still reclined on his elbow, in a 
 state half asleep and half awake. Yawn 
 followed yawn with little intermission; and 
 the scratching of the head was only occa- 
 sionally varied by a slight rubbing of the 
 knuckles against the eyes, or a stretching 
 out of the arm to its full extent. In short, 
 he went through all the manoeuvres of one 
 who hath been disturbed in his slumber ere 
 he hath had enough of it, and is marvelous- 
 ly inclined to obtain the deficiency. In the 
 last yawn, his elbow slipped from under 
 him, and iiis head quietly dropped upon it ; 
 the outstretched arm sunk at his side, and 
 in a moment he was in as deep a sleep as 
 tired apprentice ever had. 
 
 Mayiiap he was dreaming of some good 
 sport with his fellows, in a holiday stroll 
 to Pimlico Path, or a famous pennyworth 
 for his own pnrticular delectation all among 
 the pleasant fields of Islington. Yet it mat- 
 tered not of what his dream might be, for he 
 was scarce well into it when he was dis- 
 turbed with so main a cry that he jumped 
 clean out of the coverlet, to the manifest 
 disclosure of certain lower garments of 
 coarse texture, much the worse for wear, 
 of the which he had not taken the trouble 
 to divest himself when seeking of his proper 
 rest the previous night. 
 
 " Launce ! Launce ! thou lazy catiff ! 
 
 I'll rouse thee, I warrant me, ere thou art a 
 minute older.'Jfc 
 
 " I be tiring myself, mistress, and shall be 
 down straight, and it please you," replied 
 the boy, in a mild, deprecating kind of voice, 
 as he left off awhile scratching, and rub- 
 bing, and stretching of himself — ever and 
 anon giving a slight shiver, as though he 
 were none of the hottest, to twitch up his 
 darned hose and patched breeches, bearing 
 witness of many a soil and much hard ser- 
 vice. 
 
 " I'll tire thee, by the rood !" exclaimed 
 the same female who had spoken before. 
 " Did I not tell thee over-night to be up be- 
 times, because of my desiring to go with 
 my worthy neighbors to see the Queen's 
 Highness enter the city returning from a 
 progress, and, as I'm an honest woman, this 
 is the lifth time thou hast played me the 
 sluggard's trick since my first calling. But 
 an I be tricked any more in this sort, I'll 
 give my head to play at bowls with." 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, mistress, I be puttintj 
 on my jerkin !" cried the apprentice, with a 
 very monstrous earnestness, as he caught 
 up that part of his apparel from the floor, 
 and proceeded to put his arms through the 
 sleeves with sometliing more of wakeful- 
 ness than he had shown heretofore. Whilst 
 so employed, he seemed to listen attentively. 
 Apparently all was quiet in the lower 
 chamber, for he slackened considerably in 
 his hurry of apparelling himself, and the 
 earnestness of his features gave place to a 
 roguish impudency and boyish cunning. 
 
 " The old liawk sticks to her perch !" mut- 
 tered he, with a grin of exquisite self-con- 
 gratulation. " Rateth as she may, she liketh 
 no more leaving her roost thus early, of a 
 pestilent raw morning, than do I." 
 
 Saying this, he sauntered leisurely tow- 
 ards the small window that looked out into 
 the street, whicli he opened carefully ; then, 
 suddenly spying of a boy, who looked to be 
 about his own age, on the opposite side, 
 leaning on his arms on the window-sill, 
 over-against him, watching a couple of cats 
 on a neighboring roof, he snatched up one 
 of tiie sundry rotten apples that lay together 
 on the box, and flung it with all his force 
 at the boy's head ; doubtless the aim was a. 
 true one, for the varlet, with a half-audible 
 ciuickle, hastily crouched down, so as to be 
 out of sight of him he had thrown at, and 
 there for a second or two remained, striving 
 hard to repress a violent burst of mischiev- 
 ous laughter. 
 
 Presently he raised himself slowly, as if 
 with a view of reconnoitering the position 
 of the assailed party ; but, to all appearance, 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 69 
 
 the latter was familiar with his mode of 
 warfare, and was right willing to return the 
 attack, for Launce had scarce got his shag- 
 gy pole over the base of the open casement, 
 when an old cabbage-stump catne whizzing 
 over it, with a force which, had it been less 
 hastily discharged, might, thick as it was, 
 have done it no slight damageinent. 
 
 " O' my hfe, well thrown, Martin !" cried 
 Launce, with a taunting sort of laugh, the 
 which the other could hear well enough. 
 " Wounds ! an I were a Shrovetide cock, 1 
 would pray right heartily for such thorough 
 aimstraights." 
 
 " I would tliou wert !" replied the oppo- 
 site boy. " But cock, or no cock, here's at 
 thy cocks-comb !" and, ere Launce was well 
 aware, a missile of the like sort as was 
 thrown at him awhile since camo against 
 his luckless pole with such force, that he 
 was fain to cry out from the smart. A loud 
 clear laugh, across the street, was all he got 
 for his hurt in the way ofsyuipathy. 
 
 " Cock-a-doodle-do !" screamed the merry 
 knave, like a very chanticleer, exulting at 
 the manner he had answered the other's 
 sarcasm. " Body o' me, but thou makesl a 
 brave cock, Launce. Prythee wait till I 
 can get me another stump, and I will knock 
 thee off thy legs so prettily thou shalt fancy 
 nought ever after but turning of such deli- 
 cate summersets." 
 
 " Slifc, and I do not pay thee for that, 
 call me a pickled hedgehog !" replied Laimcc 
 in some rage, putting his hand tenderly to 
 the bruised part: — "here be a lump com- 
 ing, of I know not what, size; but let me 
 catch thee ; I'll warrant thou shalt have as 
 famous a drubbing " 
 
 " Dost talk of drubbing, thou worthless 
 varlet !" exclaimed a voice close to him, 
 that make him quake from head to foot. A 
 woman, apparently of a goodly size, but so 
 wrapped in a huge cloak thrown over her 
 petticoat, her figure could not fairly be told, 
 and wearing so vinegar an aspect withal, 
 it might have done monstrous good service 
 in the way of pickling, was at his elbow. 
 
 "DoHtt;ilk of drubbing!" she continued; 
 " I'll drub thee, i' faith !" and thereujjon be- 
 gan raining down upon Launce's devoted 
 head, with all the vigor of her brawny arm, 
 such abundant store of blows, as might have 
 sufficed a flagellating friar for a whole year. 
 He roared most lustily ; no town-bull could 
 have done so more to the life ; but the of- 
 fended Tabitha heeded his cries and suppli- 
 cations no more than a cat heeds the srpieak- 
 ing of a mouse she is about to make her re- 
 
 p3.St of. 
 
 " Have I not been bawling myself hoarse 
 
 for thee these two hours !" said she to him 
 in a manner that could not be gainsayed. 
 '■ Did I not tell t!iee over-night to be sure to 
 be stirring betimes, for that I was bent on 
 going to witness the goodly pageants that 
 are to be seen to-day in honor of our admi- 
 rable sweet fjueen ? — and, instead of getting 
 the shop swept and dusted, and the house 
 opened, and the tire lit in the kitchen, and 
 all things made ready for what company 
 may come, thou art at thy old tricks, and be 
 hanged to thee ! Get thee to tliy work on 
 the instant ! Well deservest thou the name 
 thou art known by. Thou art Lazy Launce, 
 with a vengeance. But I'll have no idle 
 'prentices. An I catch thee at these pranks 
 again, it shall go worse with thee, I'll war- 
 rant. Troop, sirrah, whilst thou hast a 
 whole skin, for my fingers do itch to be at 
 thee." 
 
 Launce had vainly essayed, with a mar- 
 vellous prodigality of writhings and twist- 
 ings, to get free of his mistress's powerful 
 grasp, wliilst she was displaying so much 
 at his expense her eloquence and vigor ; 
 and, so soon as he found her hold relax, he 
 bounded out of her reach, and fled down the 
 narrow stairs with the speed of a liberated 
 rat. But he had not got so easily quit of 
 her as he imagined. Ere he had reached 
 the kitchen, which was a long irregular 
 chamber, at the back of the house, and serv- 
 ed for the general eating-room, he heard 
 her voice bawling to him to return. This 
 he did with some misgiving, and an infinite 
 lack of speed, for there was that in its tones 
 which seemed to bode him no good. 
 
 " Prythee how come these figures here?" 
 asked she, with a look that appeared to the 
 unhappy Launce to threaten killing by 
 inches. His mistress pointed to a ridicu- 
 lous etHgy of herself carried pick-a'back on 
 a personage, who, by his horns and tail, was 
 evidently intended to represent tlie arch en- 
 emy of mankind ; whilst anotlier demon of 
 the like sort was preparing to thrust a ])itch- 
 forlc into her flesh, in the part of it that 
 looked to offer the firmest hold. A little 
 further on was the same female figure hang- 
 ing on a gallows, whilst a whole circle of 
 devils were portrayed fantastically dancing 
 just beneath her. Above was written, in 
 large uneven letters of the strangest shape 
 eye ever met with :— 
 " With thy dog's nose and pig's eyes, 
 The devil hath got a notable, prize ; 
 Thou'rt a jade that's ever a bawliug and bang- 
 ing. 
 And I warrant thon'lt be none the worse for a 
 good hanging." 
 
 In another place, a monstrous cat was 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 (irawTi, seemingly at death's door, and un- 
 derneath these lines were writ : — 
 
 " The shabby, 
 Scabby. 
 Flabby-dabby, 
 
 old 
 Tabby ;" 
 
 the last word in lartrer characters than the 
 others, and doubtless meant to be the fa- 
 miliar abbreviation of the good Tabitha's 
 name. 
 
 " How came these villanous figures 
 here ?" repeated she, in a louder key, to her 
 trembling ajjprenticc. 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, mistress, I know not !" 
 replied JLaunce, looking the very picture of 
 viituous astonishment and indignation. 
 
 " Thou abominable young villain, thou...!" 
 exclaimed the enraged woman, grasping 
 with one hand the long hair of her appren- 
 tice, whilst in the other she held a stick she 
 h;id snatched from a corner, the which she 
 lust no time in putting across his shoulders 
 with a right good will in every stroke. Her 
 tongue, too, was excellently well exercised 
 the whilst. 
 
 " Dost thou dare write such horrid libels 
 of me, tliy too indulgent mistress ! Have I 
 a dog's nose, catiff ? answer me that. Have 
 I pig's eyes, tliou perjured reprobate ! 
 Wouldst thou have me hanged, forsooth ! 
 I'll shabby thee ! I'll scabby thee ! I'll 
 flabby-dabby thee with a vengeance ! An I 
 leave an inch of thy pestilent skin innocent 
 of the cudgel, I'll give thee leave to carry 
 on thy scurvy jests till doomsday !" 
 
 As every sentence here put down was 
 ended with a blow, the only answer Mistress 
 Tabitha got of her questions came to her in 
 the pitifulest cries cudgelled apprentice ever 
 attempted, and doubtless she might have 
 continued her punishment and her speech 
 for some time longer, had not he, taking ad- 
 vantage of her letting go his hair to obtain 
 a hold on the collar of his ierkin, rushed 
 from her, yelling most piteously, at a pace 
 that left no chance of her coming up to him 
 again very readily. 
 
 Leaving this good dame to digest as 
 well as she might the affront she had re- 
 ceived from Launce's revenge of her form- 
 er savagcness to him, we shall follow him 
 to the kitchen, where, smarting from the 
 fury of her disci])line, he was diligently es- 
 saying to strike a light, but, in consequence 
 of his tears, whereof there was a plentiful 
 snpplv, falling into the tinder, ho knocked 
 his knuckl'is with small profit. 
 
 In this strait, cursing heartily all ter- 
 magant mistresses, and sparks that went 
 
 out as soon as they showed themselves, 
 he drew his sleeve across his ey(>s, took a 
 candle in his hand, and, opening a door 
 right against him, proceeded into a narrow 
 yard, having a paling on each side so much 
 broke as to admit easily of his jiassing over 
 it. This he did ; and, entering at a wicket 
 belonging to the ne.xt house, he found him- 
 self among some half-dozen slovenly men 
 and boys, sitting cross-legged on a huge 
 table, where many lights were a burning, 
 stitching away upon divers garments before 
 them with a most commendable speed. 
 
 Scarce had he shown himself, ere Launce 
 was hailed by all present as a familiar and 
 perchance a welcome acquaintance; none 
 failing to attempt a meny jest at his ex- 
 pense. Launce lit his candle, as though he 
 was so crest-fallen of his late beating he 
 had not a word to throw away on a dog, 
 nay not even on a tailor ; but, as he was on 
 the eve of departing, he slowly pushed the 
 hot iron, with which one had that moment 
 been flattening the seams of a doublet, 
 against the bare toe peeping out of the rag- 
 ged hose of him who seemed to possess a 
 greater commodity of jokes than the others ; 
 and, as he — screaming with the greatness 
 of the pain — started back with a force 
 which laid his neighbor on his back, and put 
 all his fellows into a sudden terror, the boy, 
 w\ih aloud laugh, whisked out of the cham- 
 ber, jumped over the paling, and was soon 
 engaged upon his duties in the kitchen, as 
 light of heart, from the remembrance of the 
 trick he had played Toby Snipkin, as if he 
 knew not what a beating meant. 
 
 It should here be made known to the cour- 
 teous reader, that Mistress Tabitha Thatch- 
 pole carried on the art of a capper, in a goodly 
 tenement situated in Golden Lane, Barbi- 
 can ; the which excellent calling her father, 
 honest Barnabas Thatclipole, had pursued 
 in good repute till his death, leaving it, and 
 all the profits thereunto appertaining, to his 
 beloved daughter and sole heiress, the esti- 
 mable Mistre.-^s Tabitha Thatclipole afore- 
 said. How it came to pass, that, with so 
 tempting an addition as this trade in caps, to 
 a visage and person by no means of the 
 ordinary sort — the former having a strik- 
 ing resemblance to that of a sand-boy's 
 horse, and the latter l)eing built much af- 
 ter the fashion of a coal-barge — the name 
 of Tabitha Thatclipole sliould have clung 
 to her even after her lease of it had been 
 protracted beyond half a century, re- 
 niaineth the most incomprehensible of mys- 
 teries. Certain is it, she had strove all that 
 a poor woman could to alter this imdosira- 
 ble state of things. She first sought the 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 71 
 
 young, who would have none of her ; then 
 aspired to the middle-aged, who gave her 
 as little comfort ; and now very mightily 
 affected the old, with a des^perateness, the 
 exceeding desperate nature of the case 
 seemed to give her excellent warrant for. 
 
 She was a great furtherer of all manner 
 of merry moetings, both at her own house 
 and those of her neighbors, in which her os- 
 tensible object was to bring young people to- 
 gether, in whose happiness she professed a 
 marvellous interest. When she had suc- 
 ceeded in getting her female friends conve- 
 niently disix)sed of, she would, with an ami- 
 ableness to which no pen can do justice, sit 
 herself by the side of any respectable grey- 
 beard widower or bachelor — it mattered not 
 v/hich, so easily pleased was she — who 
 happened to be amongst the company, and 
 dilate on mutual affection and the union of 
 appropriate ages, in a strain that ought to 
 have subdued the most callous and indiffer- 
 ent old heart that ever throbbed under a 
 comfortable jerkin. 
 
 Launce had been sent from Stratford, by 
 Tommy Hart, to his kinswoman, Tabitha 
 Thatchpole, of London, at her earnest so- 
 licitation to have some such a boy as he was 
 to assist her in her business. To prevent his 
 quitting her, as some had done with exceed- 
 ing brief warning, she lost no time in hav- 
 ing him bound apprentice; and here, in 
 Golden Lane, Barbican, w^as Lannce fixed, 
 under the tender mercies of the fair Tabi- 
 tha, ostensibly to learn the art and mystery 
 of a capper, but, in fact, to do all things, 
 from the top of the house to the bottom, and 
 get nought for his pains but blows' and 
 abuse. 
 
 Had it not been for the fellowship of a 
 few merry knaves in the neighborhood, 
 about his own age, with w'hom he was as 
 often at loggeriieads as in sworn brother- 
 hood, it is hugely to he doubted if his in- 
 dentures would have held him in Golden 
 Lane for a day. 
 
 It must now be supposed that he made an 
 ample fire in the kitchen — a chamber, floor- 
 ed with red brick, which formed, save on 
 grand occasions, the usual sitting-room — 
 and in this duty he had so long lingered 
 that Mistress Tabitha came nigh upon 
 catching him lying his length on one of the 
 settles that stood on each side of the ample 
 chimney corner, forgetful of all else but the 
 comfortableness of his situation. The hear- 
 ing of her foot on the stair, however, roused 
 him as eflfijctually as might a cannon fired 
 close to his ear; and, in the twinkling of 
 an eye, he was as busy as a bee sweeping 
 out the front chamber. 
 
 Here she presently entered, scolding and 
 cuffing him for not tinding things there ex- 
 actly to her mind. Tliis was out of its 
 place, that was carelessly put by, and the 
 other ought to have gone to a customer; 
 then, some fine cap or another had been in- 
 jured by his utter carelesness ; and she had 
 lost the sale of others by his placing them, 
 to keep them free of moth and dust, where 
 they were never to be got at. 
 
 '•Launce!" cried she, sharply, having 
 completed her arrangements in the kitchen. 
 
 " Anon, mistress," replied the boy. 
 
 " What said tiiat worthy Master Doctor 
 Posset to my message of last niglit '?" 
 
 '' An it please you, mistress, he said 
 nought." 
 
 " How so, fellow ?" 
 
 " For this most especial reason : — lie was 
 attending a candlemaker's wife in Bread 
 Street, and could have no note of your mes- 
 sage, mistress." A sharp box on the ear 
 followed this speech. 
 
 " Wilt never have done with thy fool's 
 answers, thou miserable dolt, thou ! But 
 tiiou had speech of his admirable daughter, 
 Mistress Millicent?" 
 
 " An it please you, mistress, I had," re- 
 plied Launce, rubbing his ear with some 
 vigor. " That is to say, when it pleased 
 her to have done a swounding, ibr when I got 
 me into Master Doctor's chamber, tliere I 
 found IMistress MilHcent on the ground, 
 supported by a strange young fallow, look- 
 ing as solemn as the queen of Sheba, done 
 in worsted, that is up stairs in the blue 
 chamber." 
 
 " Master John Hall, perchance. But 
 were they alone ?" 
 
 " No, mistress. There was the physician's 
 man there, too." 
 
 " Physician's man. fellow !" exclaimed Ta- 
 bitha, aiming another blow at him, which 
 he avoided by ducking his head ; an ac- 
 comjilishment in which practice had made 
 him so proficient, he rarely failed of escap- 
 ing the intended blow. '• "Physician's man ! 
 Canst not say Master Leonard ?" Then, 
 in a lower tone, continued, " Doubtless, he 
 was greatly concerned at the sad plight of 
 one to whom he hath been so long betrothed. 
 Was no other present ?" 
 
 " Yes, mistress, there was the stuffed al- 
 ligator hanging from the top of the chamber, 
 and the kitten, with five legs, that was in a 
 bottle on a shelf." 
 
 " Out, fool !" cried his mistress, aiming 
 her customary salute with no more profit 
 than before. Thou art the most incorrigible 
 ass ever honest woman was troubled with. 
 But what followed .'" 
 
72 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 " Followed, mistro«s V' repeated Laiince, 
 scratchinnf his head in some perplexity. 
 '• (3' iny life, [ saw nn (ollowing of any one 
 for they all stood wliere they were." 
 
 " Knave, dolt, idiot !" exclaimed Mistress 
 Tabitha, her remarkable yellow complexion 
 potting suddenly en]iiirpled with rage, as 
 slie sought to inflict a proper chastisement 
 on her apprentice. " What said they to 
 you ? Tell me on the instant, or I will beat 
 thee to a shaving." 
 
 " An it please yon, mistress, they said 
 liiit little, till Mistress Millicent recovered 
 herself from her swound, when they ques- 
 tioned me as to my errand to the doctor; 
 tlie which having "told, Mistress Millicent 
 presently spoke in a monstrous small voice, 
 and said Master Doctor should come with- 
 out fail, and there should be in his company 
 herself and a young acquaintance, whom 
 mcthinks she called Mildred, with Master 
 John Hall and Master Leonard Supple." 
 
 " Good ; and you went to Martin Poins, 
 tlie spurrier ?" 
 
 " I did, an it please yon, mistress ; and 
 he said he would come the instant after 
 morning prayers." 
 
 " Ah, good, e;:ccllent man ! A most ad- 
 mirable, worthy christian. And what said 
 Simon Peltry, the leather-seller ?" 
 
 " In troth, mistress," replied the boy, de- 
 spite of the fear in which he stood before 
 his mistress, a smile of roguish meaning 
 breaking over his grimy cheeks, " he was 
 i!i no case for tiie saying of any great mat- 
 ter, seeing that I found iiim at the Peacock, 
 so overcome with the drinking of new ale, 
 that he was as blind as a bat, as deaf as a 
 beetle, and as mute as an owl ; and when I 
 roused him to hear of your message, he re- 
 ]ilied, unconnected, and confusedly, in praise 
 of sobriety, adding, the fiddlers must needs 
 pr;iy for your death riglit heartily, for they 
 would then be like to get such exquisite 
 tougli catgut as tliey hitd never seen all 
 their lives before." 
 
 " A merry knave, i' faith !" exclaimed the 
 ratlicr antiquated damsel, who could find 
 toleration for the faults of every man who 
 afforded her the slightest prospect of a hus- 
 band. " He must needs liave his jest. And 
 how sped you witii Roger Chinks, the 
 lantern-makef ?" 
 
 " An it please you, mistress, with no great 
 profit. Cliinks v/as hard at work among his 
 men, and received your message as though 
 it were a huge alTront. He might or he 
 might not come. He cared not. An it 
 suited him, he would ; and the like." 
 
 " As honest a heart as ever broke bread '."' 
 
 cried Mistress Tabitha. " And what said 
 Master Galliard ?" 
 
 " The old Frenchman fellow, an it please 
 you ?" 
 
 " The French gentleman, sirrah," replied 
 tlie other, sharply. 
 
 " Nay, o' my life, mistress, I took him to 
 be a right Tom o' Bedlam, for I found him 
 playing of all sorts of antics in Bessy 
 Marshmallow, the simple woman's upper 
 chamber. He was twisting, and turning, 
 and curvetting, and capering, worse than an 
 u.nbroke colt ; and his toe kept pointing to 
 all quarters of the wind, for all the world 
 like the great vane on the top of our church." 
 
 " But what said he to my message ?" 
 
 " A long speech, and a flowery, but in 
 such outlandish phrases, I had to cudgel my 
 brains pretty soundly ere I could get so much 
 as a glimpse at the sense of it. He laid his 
 hand on the breast of his doublet, and made 
 a leg to me as though I was the Emperor of 
 the Indies. This I let pass, but he presently 
 fell to calling you mad-dam, which I taking 
 to be some reflection on you it did not be- 
 come me to be a listening to, up and told 
 him I'd punch his head if he called my 
 mistress any such names, for she wasn't a 
 bit of a ' mad-dam,' not she, and he was a 
 scur\-y rogue, and lied in his pestilent throat. 
 On this, the villain had the horrible impu- 
 dency to say something about a pardonnez 
 moi, the which was, I doubt not, a more 
 gross offence than t'other, so I would r.o 
 longer stand to be so put upon, and straight- 
 way gave him so sore a clout on the chaps 
 it sent him spinning to the other side of the 
 chamber ; whereupon he out with his toast- 
 ing-iron, and would have skewered me 
 against the wall, like a pickled heiring left 
 to dry, had I not shown liini a fair pair of 
 heels, ere he had got it fairly out of its scab- 
 bard." 
 
 In making this relation, Launce had some 
 hojies of being rewarded for the great zeal 
 he had shewn in his mistress's defence. 
 What then must have been his astonishment 
 when of a sudden a shower of blows came 
 on his defenceless head, which all his skill 
 in taking care of put at nought — she the 
 wliilst rating him for his rudeness and 
 bearishness in such terms of vehemency as 
 went night to take her breath away ! 
 
 The hapless apprentice vanished from 
 her presence as quickly as he might, vowing 
 from his heart the pestilent Frenchman 
 might call the old Tabby whatsoever dis- 
 reputable name he chose, without his ever 
 attemjiting to wag a finger in her defence. 
 
 He returned to the front chamber, where 
 
THE SECRET PASSION, 
 
 73 
 
 he occupied himself very busily in putting 
 his mistress's wares in tlie most tempting 
 array. It bad a broad casement, looking 
 into the street, made up of small diamond 
 panes, through which the passenger, if he 
 chose to peer with any greatdegree of curios- 
 ness, might note a vast display of caps and 
 hats of all fashions, from the statute cap of 
 the humble artisan, to the goodly copthank 
 beaver of the gay gallant. On shelves, on 
 one side, were placed rows of bo.xes, and 
 upright against he wainscoting, was fixed 
 a long mirror, in a carved frame, on which 
 Mistress Tabitha set great store. A large 
 table, having a motley assortment of hats, 
 caps, feathers, brushes, irons, and blocks, 
 and two stools, that seemed to have seen 
 good service, constituted the remainder of 
 the furniture — save only Launce, without 
 whom Tabitha Thatchpole might have kept 
 the place empty. 
 
 He was not, however, as usual, allowed 
 to b^ long doing of any thing without his 
 mistress coming and rating him for not 
 doing it to her liking. Nouglit satisfied her 
 of his performance, essayed he ever so. 
 Nevertheless, in the midst of her cuffing and 
 rating, she on a sudden changed the crabbed 
 expression of her countenance tor one of 
 the absolutest sweetness. At that moment 
 there entered a tall, thin, figure, hat in hand, 
 which was pressed against his breast witii 
 a marvellous energy, as he bowed himself 
 almost to the ground. His face looked to 
 be mightily given to wrinkles, but two rest- 
 less, sharp eyes gave it a youthfulness, the 
 greyness of his beard and hair, both of 
 which were somewhat of tiie longest, belied ; 
 his suit had once been fine, but it was now 
 threadbare and faded, yet there was not a 
 soil in it from top to toe ; the ruff looked 
 fresh from the starcher's, and the shoe-roses 
 were without a crumple, though they had 
 graced the feet of the wearer any time these 
 ten years. The stranger was Monsieur 
 Galliard, of whom mention has just been 
 made. 
 
 Mistress Tabitha tripped up to him with 
 the most amiable manner ever seen ; where- 
 upon Monsieur Galliard seized one of her 
 enormous hands, and pressed it betwixt 
 both his, and bowed upon it, and shrugged 
 his shoulders with an appearance of pro- 
 found devotion. 
 
 In sober truth, they were most like unto 
 a pair of Barbary apes chattering and gri- 
 macing, than two human beings. Whilst, 
 however, they were completely taken up 
 with passing mutual civilities, they were 
 suddenly disturbed by a loud, joyous laugh 
 behind them, and, turning round, discovered 
 
 I a fellow somewhat coarsely apparelled, 
 standing at the door with his hands on his 
 hips, and a jolly face well covered with fiery 
 carbuncles, expanding under the influence 
 of a hearty laugh. 
 
 " Heart o' me !" cried he, merrily, " I 
 would rather have lost my best stroke at 
 bowls, than so exquisite moving a scene. 
 Here's choice fooling — brave fooling — deli- 
 cate fooling as ever was witnessed ! If 
 Will Somers had been alive, he could never 
 have compassed it." 
 
 " Ah, Simon Pellry, Simon Peltry !" ex- 
 claimed Mistress Tabitha, " ever at thy 
 merry conceits ! Why, what a man thou 
 art!" 
 
 " Man, quotha !" answered the leather- 
 seller, giving the grinning Frenchman, as 
 he otfered his salutations, a slap on the 
 back that appeared, for the moment, to have 
 taken his breath away. " In troth, I look 
 upon myself to be as good a man as any 
 tliat never w-as a better. What sayest, good 
 Mounseer Spindleshanks ? 
 
 " But talking is dry work, dame," added 
 lie. '• Hast ever a draught o' small ale ? for 
 I supped last night of pickled herrings, and, 
 if I had a drop of honest liquor to cleanse 
 my throat of tiie salt, I am a Dutchman." 
 This assertion what Launce had stated of 
 him completely disproved ; therefore, it can 
 be in no way strange that, on hearing it, 
 the apprentice, who was close at hand, 
 opened his eyes with very absolute amaze- 
 ment. Nevertheless, Mistress Tabitlia very 
 courteously bade him follow her, to partake 
 of such poor cheer as the house afforded, 
 the which welcome bidding tlie thirsty 
 leatherseller gladly accepted, and without 
 more words, the three proceeded in that di- 
 rection. 
 
 They had scarce arrived in the inner 
 chamber, and were intent on seating them- 
 selves comfortably in the chimney-corner, 
 when voices were heard approaehing, which 
 immediately sent away Mistress Tabitha to 
 welcome the new comer. One of these 
 proved to be a truly broad-shouldered man, 
 with an exceeding dark complexion and 
 severe expression of countenance, and ap- 
 parently of a middle age, who was presently 
 hailed by the parlies already arrived as 
 Roger Chinks, the lantern-maker. The 
 other wore a more pleasing look, and was 
 attired in less coarse apparelling ; and he, 
 when receiving the attentions of the now 
 superlatively amiable Tabitha Thatchpole, 
 appeared to own the name of Martin Poins, 
 the spurrier. 
 
 The former spoke but few words, and 
 they of the gruffest, to his hostess's oft- 
 
74 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 repeated assurance of licr gladness at the 
 sight of liim ; and the replies of the latter 
 consisted, for the most part, of allusions to 
 the goodness of Providence in allowing him 
 the gratification of visiting so excellently 
 disposed an acquaintance as neighbor 
 Thatchpole. 
 
 With liim came a boy, out of all doubt 
 his son, of about the tallness of Launce, 
 though of far greater slinuiess, and of more 
 intelligent features ; and, whilst the rest of 
 company were completely engaged with 
 their gossip, he had got a spur in his hand, 
 which he held nigli to the cheek of Launce, 
 who, unaware or his close neighborhood, 
 was intent upon trimming of a hat for a 
 customer, and, upon hearing of his name 
 whispered in his ear, turned suddenly round, 
 and received the prickles of the spur in his 
 cheek. Smarting with the pain, he gave 
 the young rogue who inflicted it, and with a 
 laugh was endeavoring at his best speed to 
 get out of his reach, a sharp kick on the 
 shins, the which made him cry out, and 
 commence rubbing his hurt leg with a most 
 doleful visage. 
 
 Upon Mistress Tabitha inquiring what 
 ailed him, he very readily stated that he had 
 hit his leg against the table ; the which 
 was instantly believed to be the truth, for no 
 one could have fancied from Launces' un- 
 concerned visage, that he had aught to do 
 with the matter. But they were both very 
 dogs at such tricks. Martin Poins was he 
 who had flung at Launce with so true an 
 aim across tlie way when the latter was 
 jibing him for being wide of the mark ; and 
 indeed, morning, noon, and night, were they 
 slily engaged in such warfare — for all which 
 two such fast friends never existed. They 
 not only never complained when one suf- 
 fered of the other, contenting themselves 
 with retaliating at the flrst opportuuity, but 
 each would light for the other at a pinch 
 as long as he could stand. 
 
 Martin, having been left behind when 
 Tabitha and her two guests proceeded to 
 join the others in the kitchen, commenced 
 a race round the table after Launce, which 
 had not lasted long before one knocked 
 down a goodly heap of boxes, which stood 
 convenient in a corner. Tabitha Thatch- 
 pole and her company rushed into the front 
 chamber to see what was the matter ; 
 when Launce, with as absolute a solemn- 
 ness as any judge could have assumed, 
 stated that the mischief had been done by a 
 strange dog, whom Martin and he strove 
 earnestly to send a packing, and, as Martin, 
 with quite as great a seriousness asserted to 
 the same thing, with sundry additions, in 
 
 which he described the monstrous ugly pes- 
 tilent beast they had such diHiculty in get- 
 ting rid of, they all returned to the cliiuniey- 
 corner ; Mistress Tabitha bidding her ap- 
 prentice replace tJie fallen boxes, and, taking 
 in her hand the spurrier's son, whom she 
 seemed intent upon making much of, per- 
 chance with a view of creating in the mind 
 of the portly widower, his father, an idea 
 that she would make the very properest sort 
 of mother for him. 
 
 Scarce, however, had she got him into 
 the kitchen, when she again hurried back 
 with the same pleased alacrity, for there a 
 group waited, whose voices she liad heard, 
 to whom she seemed bound by no ordinary 
 tie. First she rushed eagerly towards a 
 young female of rather a commanding 
 flgure, tall, and somewhat stout of shape, 
 with a face, though it could not be ranked 
 of the handsomest, possessed of a p'easino* 
 expression, which peculiar set off as it was 
 with all possible art, as was her person, 
 gave to her an exceeding agreeable a])pcar- 
 ance. In this tempting guise it was rather 
 difficult at flrst to recognize the damsel that 
 was in so pitiable a state on Master Doctor 
 Posset's stairs at the entrance into his house 
 of the new scholar. 
 
 Millicent had on one side of her a youth 
 of exceeding good carriage and appoarance, 
 having a round good-natured sort of face, 
 and a head remarkable for a profusion of 
 very light air. He was soon hailed by his 
 smiling hostess as the Master Leonard to 
 whom it has been stated Millicent was be- 
 trothed. On the other sidfe was an acquain- 
 tance of the courteous reader's of older 
 standing — no other than our reserved stu- 
 dent of medicine, John Hall. He looked 
 somewhat less grave of aspect than had 
 been his wont when in company with Ins 
 marvellous careful guide, Simon Stockflsh 
 — long since with those estimable specimens 
 of horseflesh, Dapple and Jack, in ease and 
 security in his native hamlet. Both tliese 
 youths were welcomed with similar demon- 
 strations of their inflnite contentation at 
 their coming. 
 
 From them .she hurried to a little damsel, 
 who hung on the arm of the physician — the 
 same who was in attendance with Mistress 
 Tabitha on the fair Millicent when we tirst 
 had acquaintance with her. Her features 
 were fair and regular, and might be thought 
 comely, but a constant humor she had of 
 laughing in a child-like manner, though she 
 was within a j'ear as t>ld as her friend the 
 physician's daughter, gave her aspect an air 
 of silliness. Mildred was caressed as eagerly 
 as had been Millicent. There remained 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 •75 
 
 now only Master Doctor Posset himself, for 
 her who was so intent on playing the amiable 
 hostess to welcome, and right welcome was 
 he made. Indeed, the sober-clad, active 
 little man, with his saturnine complexion, 
 and beard of formal cut, was as dear to 
 Mistress Tabitha as tlie apple of her eye ; 
 and all the attentions slie lavished on his 
 daughter, and the attachment she professed 
 for every one and everything belonging to 
 the physician, were for him, and for him 
 only. Even the courteous master of danc- 
 ing fell far short of the esteem with which 
 she regarded the doctor of physic, and all 
 other men whatsoever were as nothing in 
 her eyes compared to him. 
 
 x\ll apparently in the choicest spirits, the 
 little Alildred, heard above the rest, gigghng 
 at every word, proceeded to the chaml)er 
 where the others of the party were assem- 
 bled, and, after mutual salutations had pass- 
 ed, they were placed at their several seats, 
 tlie doctor having the place of honor ; and 
 tiie cold sirloin and the manchets, the pasty, 
 the turkey poults, and the other goodly things 
 their hospitable caterer had provided for her 
 guests, were quickly, with the help of a huge 
 ilagon of ale, passing from the dishes into 
 the trenchers, and from the trenchers down 
 the throats of the company ; Mistress Tabi- 
 tha pressing all with a most bountiful spirit, 
 but kindly taking care the little doctor should 
 have the tit-bits, and he intent upon making 
 the best use of her welcome attentions ; 
 Monsieur Galliard administering to the 
 wants and wishes of every female in the 
 circle with an infinity of sugared compli- 
 ments and expressive pantomine, the which 
 seemed to afford such absolute diversion to 
 Mildred, her childisii mirth was breaking 
 forth at every minute ; the jolly leather- 
 seller drinking to all with more freedom 
 than good manners ; the pious spin-rier 
 moralizing at every mouthful, and the surly 
 lantern-maker saying naught unless spoke 
 to, and then being so short in his speech, 
 few but they who knew his humor would 
 have tolerated such bearishness. 
 
 Young Martin Poins, found himself care- 
 fully placed by the side of his hostess, for 
 she was too experienced a campaigner not 
 to have two strings to her bow — indeed, she 
 might have acknowledged to at least half 
 a dozen — where he was plentifully supplied 
 with whatever the table afforded, with a vast 
 show of" sweet-hearts,"" dear little rogues," 
 and the like. After awhile, Launce joined 
 the group, having washed his face and hands, 
 and put himself into as decent a trim as he 
 could, and sat opposite young Poins, and 
 these two mischievous varlets kept amusing 
 
 themselves during their meal, by endeavor- 
 ing to stamp on each other's toes under the 
 table, looking the whilst as though nothing 
 was so far from their thoughts. It chanced 
 that Launce, intending inflicting on the 
 other a proper punishment for the missile 
 that had given him so sore a blow that morn- 
 ing, stamped with all his force, after, as he 
 thought, he had made sure of his victim. 
 
 In an instant the guests were prodigiously 
 alarmed, by seeing Mistress Tabitha jump 
 from the table in the middle of an animated 
 discourse she was holding, and, screaming 
 like twenty wild-cats, commence hopping 
 about the chamber, frantically holding of 
 one foot in her hand. A soft corn of exqui- 
 site tenderness she had long endeavored to 
 conceal had received the full force of the 
 heavy foot of her apprentice ; but her ges- 
 tures and grimaces were so singular that 
 even those who were most eager to profTer 
 their assistance could scarce restrain their 
 mirth. Martin Poins endeavored to smother 
 his laughter by hiding his face in his arms, 
 which were crossed before him on the table, 
 ever and anon peeping up at the bewildered 
 Launce, with eyes that glistened again with 
 the intensity of his enjoyment. 
 
 The Frenchman looked the most concern- 
 ed, and was in an instant at her side with 
 the equally attentive Millicent, expressing 
 all manner of consolation and simpathy after 
 his fashion ; the little doctor, like most of 
 the others, had more in his countenance of 
 marvel than of pity ; Mildred was giggling 
 openly ; and Simon Peltry was having a 
 more hearty laugh in the nearly empty 
 flagon he held for disguise before his face. 
 
 Tabitha Thatchpole found that she had a 
 difficult part to play. Had she followed her 
 inclinations, her apprentice — for she was but 
 too well satisfied to whom she was indebted 
 for her intolerable suffering — would not have 
 had a whole bone in his body, ere one could 
 count twenty ; but, had she exhibited her 
 wrath, her character for sweetness of dispo- 
 sition she had been at such infinite trouble 
 to make her friends properly aware of, 
 might have been in some danger ; therefore 
 she thought it most to her interest to put off 
 for the present the display of her rage, and, 
 evidently struggling hard against the agony 
 she endured, she presently limped towards 
 the table, assuring every one it was a sudden 
 pain in her foot, but that it had left her al- 
 together. She glanced but once at Launce, 
 and the hapless apprentice thought he beheld 
 as many cudgels in her eyes as might have 
 sufficed all the apprentices of his acquaint- 
 ance, in an attack upon the city watch. 
 
 Millicent, like the rest, returned to her 
 
rS 
 
 THE SECRET TASSION. 
 
 place, wliicli was on ono side John Hall, 
 Leonard being on tlie otlier, and tlicse two 
 seemed rivals in their attentions to the yoinig 
 student. If ho had been a brother, he conld 
 not have been more Jvinuly cared for. 
 Doubtless this was all in t!ic best spirit of 
 friendship and regard of the youtirs amiable 
 disposition ; yet, when the full lustrous eyes 
 of the pliysician's daughter dwelt upon him 
 with the delicious smile whicli played around 
 lier most seductive mouth, it looked as 
 though she invited him to a more tender 
 attachment. Howsoever this might be, al- 
 ready John Hall reflected less intently upon 
 the o])inions of the learned in his profession, 
 tlian he had been wont for some years past. 
 During the greater portion of this time, 
 there had been no lack of discourse amongst 
 the hostess and her guests. There had been 
 a deal of friendly gossip relating to neighbor 
 this, and neighbor t'other ; the state of the 
 weather, parish matters — Old Poins being 
 one of the city officers — and, most of all, of 
 the Queen's Highness, of whom many loyal 
 speeclies were said — even the bearish Roger 
 Chinks professing a zealous devotion — 
 where she had been during the last progress. 
 the goodly entertainments provided I'or h;r, 
 and the excellency of her health and govern- 
 ment, were canvassed in a spirit that denoted 
 the admiration with which she was. regarded 
 by her good and faithful citizens. Some- 
 thing too was said of the day's pageant, but 
 the discussion was brought to a speedy end- 
 ing by general preparations for departure ; 
 Mistress Tabltha, forgetful of her hurt, hur- 
 rying them w.th tiie fear of losing the sight. 
 Having locked up all the victual, and secured 
 the exclusive attentions of Dr. Posset, she 
 led the way, apparently in the happiest mood 
 possible. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 O happy life, if that their good 
 The husbandmen hut understood ! 
 Who all the day themselves do please, 
 And younglings with such sjiorts as these ; 
 And, lying down, have noagh t' atlright 
 Sweet sleep that makes more short the night. 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 A NOISE of the roughest, wildest, maddest 
 sort, ever and anon came from one of the 
 humblest tenements in all Stratford. It was 
 borne on the air in gusts, such as made the 
 rafters creak again, when the wintry wind 
 visiteth us in his rudest fashion, but, unlike 
 in this much, it bore little o' the humor of 
 melancholy in its accent. It was a strange 
 medley. In truth it held as little accord- 
 
 ance wilh aught of nature's music, as you 
 may tind betwi.vt the liling of a saw and the 
 strain of a nightingale, and to so extraordi- 
 nary a degree had it the trick of varying 
 from one character and meaning to another 
 totally opposite, that nothing could exceed 
 the ridiculous effect it had upon such as 
 heard it. 
 
 At one time you would have sworn all 
 the cat family in the town of Stratford were 
 pouring forth their amorous declarations ; at 
 a;iother it seemed as palpable that a whole 
 pack of curs were snarling and snapping at 
 each other with a most canine ferocity ; a 
 moment after, and lo ! you heard some lusty- 
 throated cock hurling a shrill defiance to 
 every one of his feathered brethren within a 
 mile of hiin, which, ere quite ended, would 
 be replied to in as hearty a s])irit, by anothe 
 terribly valiant crower eager to uphold the 
 dignity of his own dunghill ; then some 
 contemplative donkey would pour out his 
 honest song in such piercing style you were 
 forced to clap your hands to your ears to 
 shut out the riot. Anon, a peacock would 
 trumpet a most moving flourish ; thereupon 
 followed, a chorus of ducks, geese, turkeys, 
 pigs and cows, such as ought to have satisfied 
 any one there was a goodly farm close at 
 hand, as well furnished with all manner of 
 live stock as any in Warwickshire ; and after 
 such would come a burst of laughter mixed 
 of screatos, and the strangest cries ever 
 heard, that sounded as though a score or 
 two of drunken mad fellows were having 
 their diversion, with the devil to pay the 
 piper. 
 
 Whence came this strange uproar ? what 
 causeth it ? what meaneth it ? jwrchance 
 some may ask. Whereof the proper answer 
 can only be got, by leading the questioner 
 by the ears, which, an he will excuse my 
 being so free with him, I will do, unto the 
 very spot where it exists, under which guid- 
 ance, doubtless, he would marvel hugely at 
 noting what a lack of attentivencss there 
 appeared amongst those he chanced to find 
 nighest to it. Such of the townsfolk as he 
 might meet abroad lingering about the doors 
 of their gossips, or speeding on some urgent 
 errand, seomeil to take as little heed of that 
 terrible coil as though it were of no more 
 account than a child's whistle ; save when, 
 on a sudden, as it were, it bur.-t out with a 
 greater vehemency of strangeness, the intel- 
 ligencer would stop i' the midst of his iiews, 
 to join in the laugh those about him raised 
 as they took heed of it, and he on his errand 
 would cluu".kle to himself as though his brain 
 had just been tickled by the apprehension of 
 some singular good jest. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 77 
 
 It was evident, beyond all doubting, that 
 the noise proceeded from a chamber, in a 
 small tenement, at the outskirts of the town ; 
 the wicket whereof — a low door not more 
 than three feet from tlie ground — tliough 
 closed, allowed of a free current of air and 
 sound above it. Over the threshold was the 
 rude sign of a pair of shears, which with 
 the diamond-paned casement, a little on one 
 side of it, were lialf concealed by the tendrils 
 of a thick-spreading creeper, that nearly 
 covered up the whole front of the little 
 dwelling. 
 
 Should the curious spectator be induced 
 to peep over the half-door to behold the cause 
 of the racket, which now raged fiercer than 
 ever within, tlie tirst thing he would catch 
 a glimpse of would be no other than his odd 
 acquaintance Jonas Tietape, his hose un- 
 gartcred, his feet unshod, and his slops open 
 at the knees, seated cross-legged on his 
 shop-board without his jerkin, a stitching a 
 kirtle, that seemed much to need his repair- 
 ing hand, as fiercely as though his life de- 
 pended on his speedy getting of it done ; all 
 the whilst amusing of himself by making 
 the rude conceit already mentioned, the 
 wliich seemed to afford him the most abso- 
 lute contentation, for ever and anon he 
 would stop in tlie midst of it to rid himself 
 of the mirth he could no longer contain. 
 
 In the chamber wliicli,in many things, was 
 of a like oddiiess with its occup;int, having 
 an aspect of grotesqueness in all its furniture, 
 a goodly tire was blazing on the liearth, and 
 a rude lamp was burning over his head, 
 both afFordiug him — for it was long after 
 sunset — a sutliciency of light to work by. 
 Perched on a chair, made out of divers rough 
 pieces of such branches as liad grown in the 
 must fantastic shapes, was a magpie, evi- 
 dently keeping a fixed and somewhat suspi- 
 cious eye on the busy tailor ; and, on the 
 other side of the heartli was seated, on a 
 low bench, a grave and venerable cat, in color 
 much like uiilo a fox, who also watched hiin 
 with a marvellous keen look. Besides these, 
 tiiiee or four little dogs, of various breeds, 
 were attempting to snatch a brief repose in 
 tlie neighborhood of the fire. 
 
 One of tire sources of Jonas' pastime was 
 the annoyance he managed to cause his 
 companions. After a course of odds and 
 ends of ridiculous songs, varied with the mi- 
 micry of all manner of animals, his attention 
 would be directed towards the blazing 
 heartii, and they who were enjoying its 
 warmth ; and then he would commence all 
 manner of extravagant grimaces and antics, 
 mingled with the wildest screeching and 
 squealing, till the magpie exhibited its alarm 
 
 by flapping its wings, and cawing at him 
 with a very monstrous earnestness. And 
 the cat, no less disturbed, would raise her 
 back, and commence a sort of half-threaten- 
 ing, half-frightened song, in tlie lowest bass 
 of her compass ; and the little dogs would 
 uncurl themselves and yelp in chorus. This 
 state of things achieved, their delighted owner 
 would fall back in a seeming ecstacy, shout- 
 ing out his exceeding gratification with a 
 strength of throat, the like of which no man 
 ever heard, and then allow his grave associ- 
 ates a few minutes respite. 
 
 Ere he again took to his stitching, he 
 again cleared his throat with an aflectation 
 of ceremony most laughable to witness ; 
 taking up an old cittern which was beside 
 him, and gazing at the occupant of the stool, 
 with a passionate tenderness in the first part 
 of each verse the most devoted gallant could 
 not have excelled, he sang the following- 
 words, well known by the title of 
 
 A RIGHT MOVING DIALOGUE BETWIXT THE 
 
 DESPAIRING DOVER AND HIS 
 
 JOLLY GOSSIP. 
 
 despairing Lover. 
 
 Alack, there is no remedie, 
 
 My moving plaint is heard in vain ; 
 
 Oh, traitress false, thy treacherie 
 
 Doth cleave my very heart in twain ! 
 
 Jolly Gossip. 
 Tush, boy, for shame ! the heart that breaks 
 
 Can feed no more a thirsty throttle : 
 Who cares a jot for Fortune's freaks ! — 
 
 Come, Drawer, open t'other bottle ! 
 
 Despairing Lover. 
 
 I'm sick of life — I long for death ! 
 
 Say what ye will, deem as ye list ; 
 Why should I breathe this worthless breath, 
 
 Since I your priceless love have missed ? 
 
 Jolly Gossip. 
 Tush, boy, for shame ! — Hold up thine head ' 
 
 If of thy life she's none so chary. 
 She'll care still less for thee when dead — 
 
 No woman's worth this rare canary. 
 
 Despairing Lover. 
 
 Ah me, my breast is pierced with woe ! 
 
 Death's dart doth in my vitals lie : 
 Thou didst not well to use me so, 
 
 Naithless I bless thee as I die. 
 
 Jolly Gossip. 
 
 Tush, boy, for shame !— What.fall'n indeed, 
 
 As ripest acorn in October ! 
 Here, Drawer, help him in his need, 
 
 And let him sleep until he's sober ! 
 
78 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 " By Jeronimn, a jjood song !" exclaimed 
 a voice, evidently procecdino- from one wlio 
 leaned at his ease, resting of liis elbows on 
 tlie wicket. There could be no more mis- 
 taking the merry way of the speaker, than 
 the waggish look tiiat peered over the low 
 door of tlie woman-tailor's humble tenement. 
 Tiic words had scarce been said when the 
 singer jumped up on the board, whereon he 
 was so nimbly a stitching, with a ridiculous 
 screech, and holding ofhis right leg, stretch- 
 ed out beibre him, with liis two hands, as 
 though it were an arquebus, and he was 
 taking deadly aim at his visitor, uttered a 
 loud sound, threw a summerset, as though 
 from the recoil of tlie piece, and then made 
 a clear leap out of the open window. No 
 sooner had this been done than he at the wick- 
 et leapt lightly over it, sprung on the shop- 
 board, and jumped through the casement af- 
 ter him, which was the commencement of a 
 terrible sharp race betwixt the two ; the one 
 screecliing and hallooing as though flying 
 for his life, passing over the wicket and 
 through 'he window like a fox hard pressed, 
 and the other at his heels barking and yelp- 
 ing as though exceeding ravenous to have 
 him for his prey. 
 
 The horrible din these tv.'o made can 
 scarcely be conceived. Dick, the magpie, 
 flew and hopped about, cawing with a mon- 
 strous energy, as though bethought his last 
 hour was come ; and Tib, the.cat, clamber- 
 ed to a high shell, where slie kept up a con- 
 stant swearing, sj)itting, and caterwauling, 
 as the strange chase proceeded, and as each 
 engaged in it passed close by her : the little 
 dogs crowded into one of the corners, bark- 
 ing with all their little might. 
 
 Thus these two went on, till on a sudden 
 Jonas, turning quickly round, and making 
 in the opposite direction, they came against 
 each other with so monstrous a shock as to 
 cause both to tumble backwards. For a 
 second or so, they lay silent and motionless, 
 as though dead as any stone. Anon, one 
 raised his head, and peered at his compa- 
 nion, and then again laid himself at bis 
 length. The other did the like, with the 
 same affectation of gravity ; and this tlicy 
 continued to do alternately, Tib and Dick 
 looking on from their resting-jilaccs with a 
 singular curiousncss, and the little dogs a 
 little less disturbed, but still uttering an oc- 
 casional bark. 
 
 At h^st they both rose at the same mo- 
 ment, and sat gazing at each other, face to 
 face, with the rueful visnges of whipped 
 schoolboys, each putting his linger to his 
 eye, and each commencing lirst to whimper, 
 
 then to sob, and at last to roar as though in 
 the terriblest tribulation. 
 
 Suddenly the woman's tailor stopped short 
 in liis grief, clapped his hands to his sides, 
 and uttered so pierring a crow, it must 
 needs have been heard by every chanticleer 
 in the parish ; whereupon, his coni] anion 
 jumped on his legs, laughing us henrtily as 
 ever man did, and flung himself into a chair. 
 
 " O' my life, this is exquisite fooling !" 
 exclaimed he. " I would my dame had seen 
 it. Joan's merry heart would have enjoyed 
 it right heartily. In truth, 'twas rare sp-ort. 
 I would rather have lost my best customer 
 than have missed it." The speaker threw 
 himself back in his chair and indulged in a 
 succession of mirthful chuckles. His com- 
 panion answered not, save by a whoop at 
 his favorites, which made them look intent 
 on a speedy taking of themselves away from 
 their present places of refuge, as he pro- 
 ceeded to do the host's part to his visitor. 
 
 The gossips entered upon a jovial ca- 
 rouse, and, as their spirits became refreshed, 
 they grew into a greater content with them- 
 selves, and had recourse to their customary 
 tricks, till they kicked up such a racket, the 
 dogs, the cat, and the magpie, were again 
 driven from their ordinary places, on each 
 side the fire, to which they had returned, to 
 find security wherever they could. 
 
 It was whilst they were intent upon the 
 performance of some of the maddest of their 
 freaks, that two men, cloaked, and otherwise 
 habited like persons of worship, were pro- 
 ceeding at a slow pace into the town in the 
 direction of the woman-tailor's humble ten- 
 ement. These persons were Sir George 
 Carew and his friend Master Shakspeare. 
 It was now so late an hour, that all the so- 
 ber-minded townsfolk had taken them to 
 their beds. It followeth that the place was 
 hushed into a profound stillness, save where 
 the noise of the two gossips spread itself, 
 and the darkness of the night was of that 
 impenetrable sort, nothing could be &een 
 but here and there a stream of light from 
 some casement wherein a fire still blazed, 
 or a candle was kept burning, betokening, 
 perchance, a late carouse, or the good 
 dame's preparations to welcome to his com- 
 fortable hearth her absent bedfellow ; or a 
 door thrown open to admit of the dop-.irture 
 of some merry party to their several homes, 
 would, the whilst they were saying their 
 parting courtesies on the threshold, illumini! 
 the deep gloom of the whole neighborhood 
 in a still more cheerful fashion. 
 
 The two ])ersons, to whom allusion hath 
 just been made, kept close together, conver- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 79 
 
 sing in a low tone to each other, but return- 
 ing, witli much heartiness, the fair " good 
 nights" they had of every one who passed 
 them on their way. At their heels was a 
 stately hound, Vv'ho seemed to take no heed 
 whatsoever of any thing or any one, but 
 stalked along with as much affectation of 
 Rolemness and dignity, as would have suf- 
 ficed the goodliest justice 'o the peace that 
 ever sentenced a sturdy beggar to the stocks. 
 
 The subject of their conversation was no 
 other than the Earl of Essex, whose trea- 
 sonable designs, after his abandonment of 
 his government in Ireland, had become 
 much talked of. Sir George Carew detail- 
 ed to his friend the intrigues in which this 
 vain and headstrong noble had been en- 
 gaged, after he had been placed under ar- 
 rest ijy the Queen's order. 
 
 " He got his liberty at last," added he, 
 " but was not allowed to come to court, or 
 near the Queen's person. These restric- 
 tions he could not stomach. His great 
 heart would not take quietly the humility 
 that was put upon him. lie regarded those 
 who were most in favor at court as his rest- 
 less and remorseless enemies, and was ever 
 saying some scurvy thing or another against 
 tliem. His discontent grew greater every 
 day, and he gathered about him a number 
 of mischievous, restless busybodies, bold 
 swordsmen, contident fellows, men of broken 
 fortunes, and such as saucily used their 
 tongues in raihng against all men. They 
 did him no good ; but his worst adviser was 
 one Cuife, his secretary, a plotting dangerous 
 knave, who had been with him in Irekmd." 
 
 " Methinks I have heard of this man, Sir 
 George, at Oxford. Held he not some ap- 
 pointuient there ?" « 
 
 " O' my lile, I know not well. All I 
 know is, that he is the most pestilent, trea- 
 sonable knave that ever carved out employ- 
 ment for the hangman, tlic which I make no 
 manner of doubt he is now busily intent on, 
 assisted Ijy divers otiiers whose names aie 
 in great repute. Foremost of these is your 
 assured friend and patron. Lord South- 
 ampton." 
 
 " Nay, nay. Sir George Carew, this can- 
 not b?. Your intelligencer must have play- 
 ed you false !" exclaimed Master Shaks- 
 peare, greatly excited. " I would pledge 
 my life on his loyalty." 
 
 " Do nothing unadvisedly, friend Will," 
 replied liis comp. nion. " The Privy Coun- 
 cil know of a surety that he is engaged in 
 a treasonable design, and, moreover, that he 
 hath engaged his friend, Sir Charles Dan- 
 vers, in the same desperate undertaking. 
 In short, they have the names of all the con- 
 
 j spirators, and are as well informed of their 
 plans as they are themselves." 
 
 " I must to London, Sir George. I must 
 away without loss of time. I am bound to 
 save him. He shall not be sacrihced in 
 this foolish business, an I have power to 
 help him." 
 
 " Well said, Master Shakspeare," replied 
 Sir George Carew, to his agitated friend. 
 " It was mainly for this I sought occasion 
 for privy speech with you. I knew with 
 what aftectionateness you do regard this 
 young lord, nor am I ignorant of his worthy 
 nature ; therefore desired I he should have 
 the aid of so trusty a friend in tlie perilous 
 condition in which he hath placed himself. 
 But, hush ! What wild uproar is that ?" 
 
 The two speakers stopped of a sudden 
 and listened intently ; but all around seem- 
 ed wrapped in as deep a silence as dark- 
 ness ; and, whilst they tarried, Talbot put 
 himself forward in tiie direction whence 
 the rude sounds that so much startled Sir 
 George Carew had come. It may readily 
 be imagined that this noise proceeded from 
 the woman's tailor and his merry gossip, 
 who still pursued their mad pranks as riot- 
 ously as ever. They had got to the re- 
 hearsing of certain strange i'eats of postur- 
 ing, which they intended performing at the 
 next Stratford games — an annual lestival, 
 in famous repute all over Warwickshire — 
 that would be held in a day or so, twisting 
 of their bodies in the oddest positions ever 
 seen, to the extreme bewilderment of Dick 
 and Tib, who glanced on the scene with a 
 singular curious look, from a place of safe- 
 ty. Jonas stood on his head and hands, 
 supporting Tommy Hart on his feet, whose 
 head and body formed a sort of ring, the 
 legs being round the neck, when, as they 
 were deeply intent on keeping their unnatu- 
 ral posture, they suddenly heard a dreadful 
 sort of sliarp snapping noise. The eyes of 
 both were at the same moment directed to 
 the spot, and, to their extreme horror, they 
 beheld, peering over the wicket, a horrible 
 black visage, with eyes that looked to be of 
 burning coals, glaring on them as though 
 about to do them a terrible mischief. The 
 lateness of the hour, joined to the fiendish 
 aspect of their visitor, as it was seen in the 
 ruddy fireliglit, looked a thousand times 
 more unearthly from the singular ])ositions 
 in which they observed hiai, struck the 
 hearts of both with a sudden and over- 
 whelming fear, and, in an instant, Tommy 
 Hart tumbled from his elevation, and he and 
 his equally frightened gossip rolled over and 
 jostled each other till tlicy got to a distant 
 corner of the chamber. There each strove, 
 
80 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 with main and uiifjlit, (o pfc^t holiind tl)o 
 other, uttering all manner of fearful cries in 
 a low voice, and trembling in every limb. 
 Dick and Till and their associates seemed 
 to share in their terror, for they got them- 
 selves as far as possible from the door — one 
 cawed, the other mewed, and tha rest yelp- 
 ed, as though they, too, were within an inch 
 of being friglitened out of their lives. 
 
 The once merry hatter had now sunk on 
 his knees, as terribly out of conceit of mirth 
 of any sort as a whipped turnspit, and com- 
 menced a strange, yet monstrous earnest 
 sort of prayer, full of asseverations of the 
 thorough honesty of his dealings to man, 
 woman, and child, whilst the poor woman's 
 tailor was kneeling behind him, engaged in 
 a similar kind of devotion, but making very 
 urgent confession of divers appropriations 
 of small pieces of stuff, which he had ne- 
 glected returning to his customers. 
 
 " An it please you, my lord," muttered 
 the fear-struck hatter, scarcely daring to 
 lift his eyes to the horrible object he ad- 
 dressed, '• I am in no case for the society of 
 your honorable worship; I am an exceed- 
 ing humble, worthless poor varlet, unwor- 
 thy to tie your honor's shoes. But here is 
 my friend here, an your honorable vrorship 
 pleases, as worthy a soul as ever broke 
 bread—" 
 
 " Nay, I assure your noble worship," 
 cried the other, with a wild kind of fervor, 
 " I am a monstrous malefactor, that hath 
 more sins to repent of than there are threads 
 in a piece of cloth. It is this, my very ex- 
 cellent sweet gossip, you must needs be in 
 quest of, for he hath such rare virtues — " 
 
 " Believe him not, I beseech you, good 
 my lord," screamed out Tommy Hart in 
 as loud a voice as he could use, " I have 
 no more virtue in me than you may find in 
 a withered radish. Jonas will do credit to 
 your worship's judgment — Jonas is such 
 admirable choice company." 
 
 " I am but an ass to Tommy here, an it 
 please you, my lord," replied Jonas Tietape 
 with equal energy — " there is not such an 
 intolerable ass in all Warwickshire." 
 
 " Try him, an it please your worship. An 
 you do not lind him worth a score of such 
 poor wittols as am I, I will give my head as 
 a bnttercd-toast for the next hungry dog I 
 meet." 
 
 How long this altercation might have 
 continued I cannot take upon me to say, 
 had it not been put to a sudden conclusion. 
 The sole cause of it at that moment opened 
 a pair of monstrous forinidal)le jaws that, to 
 the excited and terrified visions of the tremb- 
 ling posturers, looked to be of the size of a 
 
 church-door, at least, when fully extended. 
 At this, Tommy Hart, with a cry of terror, 
 made a desperate struggle to get behind the 
 friend in whose praise he had spoken so 
 movingly scarce a moment since, the which 
 the latter seemed as desperately intent on 
 not allowing, and began struggling fiercely, 
 shouting murder at the top of his voice. 
 The object of their terror closed his terrible 
 fangs with a curious sound, that was any- 
 thing but human ; and, at the uproar it 
 created in the two gossips, began a series 
 of other sounds that were less human still 
 — for beyond all manner of doubt they were 
 — such as a dog uses when barking. 
 
 In all honesty, the horrible head peering 
 over the wicket, that had so frightened' the 
 woman's tailor and his associate into the 
 assured conviction the arch enemy had 
 come to them on his devilish errand for one 
 or both, was no other than that of Talbot, 
 who, attracted by the noise the two were 
 making during their performances, went 
 straigiit to the house, and put his paws on 
 the low door so that he could see all that 
 was going on in the chamber. The singu- 
 lar attitudes of the posturers made him utter 
 the low growl that attracted their attention; 
 and, not being able to make out the nature 
 of the eloquent addresses that were made to 
 him, and, moreover, being somewhat in- 
 clined for sleep, he indulged himself in a 
 yawn of more than ordinary length ; and 
 the outcry tliis occasioned so disturbed him, 
 that he took to barking rattier angrily. 
 
 The cry of " Murder !" made Master 
 Shakspeare and Sir George Carew quicken 
 their steps ; and they arrived at the wicket 
 just in time to witness the recognition of 
 Talbot by the frightened gossips, who now 
 laughed at their fears till the tears ran down 
 their cheeks ; and, whilst the merry hatter 
 caressed his old acquaintance, Jonas took 
 to his ordinary antics, and went wiiirling 
 along the chamber, on his hands and feet, 
 with more wantonness than ever, scaring 
 his favorites from the snug places wherein 
 they had been bewildered spectators of the 
 strange scenes just described, and some- 
 what disturbing the gravity of Talbot, who 
 could not refrain from an occasional bark. 
 On Sir George and his friend coming up, 
 the story of the fright Talbot had put them 
 into was soon told, to the amusement, as it 
 seemed, both of narrators and hearers ; and, 
 in a short time afterwards, Master Shaks- 
 peare and Sir George parted, with a few 
 hasty words that seemed to be of deep im- 
 port. The former, in an exceeding perturb- 
 ed state of mind, made the best of his way 
 to his cottage at Shottery, whilst Sir George 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 81 
 
 Carew returned to his own mansion ; and 
 the two gossips, for a brief space longer, to 
 their postures, their jests, and their bursts 
 of joyous laughter at the recollection of the 
 avvful visit that had so hugely disturbed 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 As she goes, all hearts do duty 
 
 Unto her beauty ; 
 And enamored do wish, so they might 
 
 But enjoy such a sight, 
 That they still were to run by her side, 
 Through woods, through seas, whether 
 she would ride. Ben Jonsox. 
 
 Tabitha huiTied on with her companion 
 as though with an exceeding desire to wit- 
 ness the goodly pageants of which rumor 
 had spoken pretty loudly throughout Barbi- 
 can, and perchance also with some particu- 
 lar eagerness to show to all of her acquain- 
 tance, in the first place, in what marvellous 
 good company she was, and, in the second, 
 what brave attire she could don lor such an 
 occasion. 
 
 Ever since she had heard from an intel- 
 ligencer in whom she could put her trust, 
 tliat Queen Elizabeth was to return on such 
 a day to her good city of London, and, ac- 
 cording to a fashion in excellent favor with 
 her, was to be welcomed back with rejoic- 
 ings and shows of all descriptions, she de- 
 termined to play the part of the good wo- 
 man, on as large a scale as possible, and, 
 by every means in her power, endeavor to 
 secure for herself the long-coveted station 
 of wife to that very admirable, famous phy- 
 sician. Master Doctor Posset. 
 
 It was rare that Mistress Tabitha was 
 seen in the streets with other male compan- 
 ion than Launcelot Curthose, whose task 
 it had often been, when his mistress stayed 
 out nights in visiting any of her gossips at 
 a distance, to march before her, as every 
 dutiful apprentice was wont to accompany 
 his mistress, with a lantern in onn hauii and 
 a cudgel in the other : the one for lighting 
 of her way, the other to be raised in her 
 defence, in case of need. But Lannce was 
 now little thought of, save only for the con- 
 sideration of the notable punishment that 
 was due to him for the horrible monstrous 
 torture he had put her to, which entered her 
 mind when a smart twinge of pain occurred 
 in the wounded foot. At all other ])eriods, 
 her thoughts, like her speech, had but one 
 direction. She laughed and talked, occa- 
 6 
 
 sionally turning round to say something pe- 
 culiarly gracious to her followers, and 
 omitting nothing that could make herself 
 appear as devoted to the wishes of her com- 
 panion as she was pleasant and amiable. 
 
 The conduct of the Physician did not ve- 
 ry clearly establish an opinion on the state 
 of his feelings towards her, as satisfactory 
 as she could have desired. Ho looked as 
 hvely as a superannuated ape, to which 
 his mowing and chattering gave a marked 
 resemblance. He never failed to laugh 
 when it was expected he should ; and 
 though there might be nothing absolutely 
 lover-like in his behavior, there was cer- 
 tainly nothing to discourage the idea that 
 at least a very friendly feeling existed. 
 There was only one thing in his conduct 
 Tabitha disliked. He kept continually 
 turning round, even in the midst of her 
 most powerfid attacks upon his affections, 
 to observe their followers. She fancied 
 that the proceedings of liis daughter with 
 Leonard and John Hall, who were walking 
 on each side of her, did not meet with his 
 approbation. Although this might be very 
 natural on his part, slie liked not the indif- 
 ference it manifested to her claims upon him. 
 
 After them came Millicent and the two 
 young students — as it seemed, the other 
 two still vying how most to gratify John 
 Hall. With the girl every sentence was 
 accompanied with a most seductive smile, 
 and her betrothed seemed to heed a vast 
 deal more the making of himself agreeable 
 unto his male associate than unto the other. 
 The young physician could not but appear 
 pleased. Reserved as he was, and of so mar- 
 vellous a gravity, he could not but feel the ge- 
 nial influence of two such persons anxious 
 to give him all the contontation in their 
 power. 
 
 They were followed by Monsieur Galli- 
 ard and Mildred, each apparently on the ex- 
 quisitest terms with the other. After these 
 came Roger Chinks, old Poins, and Simon 
 Peltry, gossips almost from their cradles, 
 who were so intent on dilating on the 
 good qualities of the Earl of Essex, whose 
 affairs then were much talked of by the ci- 
 tizens, as scarce to heed the vast crowd 
 in which they had now got commingled. 
 
 Every one, gentle and simple, young and 
 old, appeared to have donned their holiday 
 tire in honor of their sovereign ; and a 
 countless multitude of such, as gaily hab- 
 ited as their means would allow, v/ere hast- 
 ening along the narrow streets of the city ; 
 the tankard-bearer's daughter elbowing 
 past the alderman's wife, and the artificer's 
 widow pushing before the poor gentlewo- 
 
82 
 
 THE SECRET P.^SSION. 
 
 man, without rogarJ to respect or precedence. 
 Gay gallants were mixed lip with tlic rascal 
 Fort ; valiant commanders were thrust aside 
 by unruly apprentices: and honest mer- 
 chants were liustled by a pack of master- 
 less vagrants, and the like worthless poor 
 hnaves. 
 
 The major part were intent on making 
 the bsst of their way to the nearest point 
 where the Queen's Highness was expected ; 
 but a very many were too busy to have 
 such intentions. Of these, some were mak- 
 ing preparations for a goodly bonfire, wher- 
 ever the sj)acc admitted of it ; and here 
 there was a marvellous activity and run- 
 ning to and fro with faggots, and logs, and 
 tar-barrels, to heap up fur the expected 
 blaze. ■ 
 
 Along the whole line of road the owners 
 of the better sort of houses were engaged dis- 
 playing from their windows whatever store 
 of tapestry or arras they were possessed 
 of, which, stirred by the wind, did make a 
 pretty show, out of all doubt. In almost 
 every fresh turning were seen artizans us- 
 ing of their utmost diligence in the getting 
 ready of some wondrous pageant : for these 
 things, especially wherein fine Litin speech- 
 es were addressed to her — the Queen won- 
 derfully at^?cted. This day being the an- 
 niversary of her coronation, more than usu- 
 al efP)rts were made to give her contenta- 
 tion in this way, and the utmost cunning 
 of the times was taxed in producing alle- 
 gorical shows of more scholarly sort than 
 any that had hitherto been seen. The city 
 authorities only allowed their zeal to be 
 exceeded by their diligence ; they had 
 made the most magnificent preparations ; 
 yet, satisfied as they might be with them, 
 they were too well aware of the variable 
 humor of their royal mistress to await the 
 result without some anxiety. 
 
 Whilst tlieso more important matters 
 were in hand, there was no lack of amuse- 
 ment ready for such as chose to partake of 
 it. There was scarce a corner that had 
 not its balled-singer, by whose stentorian 
 lungs the superhuman qualities of their 
 sovereign were insisted on in the most 
 choice cloggrel. Mountebanks took advan- 
 tage of the continual thronging to endeavor 
 to find a market for sundry excellent reme- 
 dies for divers most potent diseases, which 
 it was delicately hinted by them, good sub- 
 jects should strive earnestly to rid them- 
 selves of. Here, conjurors swallowed fire ; 
 there, astrologers announced the telling of 
 fortunes : here was a delicate pupjiet-show, 
 just arrived from the court of Prester John ; 
 and there, a bear, of such capital sort for 
 
 the showing of sport, the Sophy had offered 
 a thousand crowns for it from the owner to 
 have it for his own particular pastime. 
 
 Noticing of these famous sights, and com- 
 menting on most, the party from Barbican 
 kept pressing on. Of these the three gos- 
 sips, who brought up the rear, took the least 
 notice. Their attention seemed engrossed 
 by political matters, and, after discussing 
 the aspect of affairs at home and abroad, 
 abusing of certain courtiers, and extrava- 
 gantly lauding their favorite the Earl of 
 Essex, it seemed as though they were about 
 to take up with one of the most fruitful 
 sources at all times of popular eloquence 
 — grumbling. 
 
 '■ Gog's wounds, it would be v;ondrous 
 such things should be allowed !" exclaimed 
 Roger Chinks, in a gruff voice. "Things 
 are getting in so bad a case, I doubt hugely 
 there will be honest living for any man, 
 soon. The prices of whatsoever matters 
 are most needed of us poor men, are nigh 
 upon double what they were a score of 
 years back." 
 
 " Ay, neighbor, that I find to my cost," 
 observed Simon Peltry. " I cannot get 
 me a pint of huffcap for less than a penny, 
 which in my father's time was to be had 
 for a halfpenny at any ale-house within the 
 walls. As for bracket and dagger ale, they 
 have got to such a pestilent price, as have 
 put them clean out of my drinking." 
 
 " But it endeth not at the ale-house," re- 
 plied the lantern-maker, " else might it be 
 in some way bearable. Here have I been 
 obliged to raise the wages of my journey- 
 man twopence a day more than ever was 
 lieard of since the craft of a lantern-maker 
 came into exercise ; and yet they have the 
 liorriblc impudency to tell me they cannot 
 keep soul and body together. Do not you, 
 neigiibor, remember that, within these thir- 
 ty years, I might in this goodly city buy the 
 best pig or goose I could lay my hand on 
 for fourjience, which now costcth twelve- 
 pence ? a good capon for threepence or 
 fourpence ? a chicken for a penny ; a hen 
 for twopence, which now costeth me double 
 and triple the money? It is likewise, in 
 greater ware, as in beef and mutton. More- 
 over, I have seen a cap for thirteenpence as 
 good as I can now get for two shillings and 
 sixpence of our good gossip, Mistress 
 Thatchpole. Of cloth, ye have heard how 
 tiie price is risen. Now a pair of shoes 
 cost twelvepence : yet, in my time, I have 
 bought a better for sixpence. Now I can 
 get never a horse shoed under tenpence 
 or twelvepence, when I have also seen tfie 
 common price was sixpence." 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 83 
 
 " Ay, marry," responded the leather-sel- 
 ler, " and hast marked, neighbor, the mon- 
 strous falling off there is in the goodness of 
 whatever things we most need, notwith- 
 standing of such exceeding charges ? Now 
 the lambswool I have tastod of late hath no 
 more the true smack of such as I was 
 wont to drink, no more than a score of years 
 back, tiian has a draught of this conduit 
 we are passing the flavor of muscadine. 
 Hanging be too good for the cheating var- 
 lets who plunder us in this intolerable fash- 
 ion." 
 
 In good sooth, neighbors, methinks you 
 are somewhat too hasty in tliese your judg- 
 ments in this matter," observed tlie spurri- 
 er. Doubtless is it that the prices of divers 
 commodities have been raised to some ex- 
 tent since our youth : but it remaineth not 
 merely in matters of victual ; divers other 
 things needed by us are not to be bought 
 but at as high a price. Perchance, Neigh- 
 l3or Chinks, the selling of lanterns hath of 
 iate become more profitable than it used ?" 
 " An if it had not," replied the lantern- 
 maker, " I must needs have abandoned the 
 trade." 
 
 " And in the selling of leather, there 
 might also be larger gains," added the 
 other. 
 
 " Body o' me, yes," answered Simon Pel- 
 try, laughingly, to whom the preceding- 
 question had been addressed. " 1 had no 
 need to grumble on that score, did not the 
 villanous tapsters rob me of them." 
 
 " Then I prythee say, where is the wit 
 or honc-ty of complaining of the times ?" 
 asked JNIartin Poins quickly, yet with deep 
 seriousness. " I marvel hugely you should 
 lack that proper sense of religiousness, 
 which would have made you perceive that 
 this change in the times was a thing for 
 which you should have been hugely grate- 
 ful. Instead of being foolishly discontent- 
 ed at the highness of prices, you should 
 have gone down on your knees, and have 
 thanked God you lived when such were 
 general." 
 
 The only reply the pious spurrier got was 
 a sort of grunt from the surly maker of 
 lanterns. The jolly dealer in leather made 
 no other sign of having attended to the 
 speech, than by putting his tongue in the 
 corner of his cheek in a manner infinitely 
 more significant than refined, and winkino- 
 
 fancy. Martin was no where to be seen. 
 All had been so engaged upon their sepa- 
 rate gratifications, that the boy had been 
 entirely forgotten by them for some time 
 past. 
 
 Many were the comments, and various 
 the conjectures his disappearance occasion- 
 ed. Mistress Thatchpoie, in especial, ap- 
 peared to take his absence much to heart, 
 there being no end to her hopes and fe;trs 
 concerning of the dear child's safety. What 
 looked to be most strange, the father seem- 
 ed the least interested or alarmed, though 
 known to be of a singular affectionate dis- 
 position. He knew Martin belter than the 
 rest, and could, had he chose, have made a 
 shrewd guess as to liis whereabouts. He 
 contented himself, however, with express- 
 ing his conviction that there was no cause 
 of alarm. This at last satisfied his anxious 
 neighbor; and, after some exceeding strong 
 assertions, that she should never know the 
 least atom of comfort all her days should 
 any harm befall her precious favorite, she 
 was induced to resume her hold of the phy- 
 sician's arm, which she had dropped in the 
 intensity of her concern, and the party pro- 
 ceeded on their course. 
 
 The crowd grew more dense as they ad- 
 vanced. The doctor began to find consid- 
 erable difficulty in making a path for him- 
 self and his com])anion. The people were 
 wedged together in cotuitless multitudes, 
 without the slightest distinction of worth or 
 station. The windows and housetops were 
 crowded with eager faces, turned in one di- 
 rection, which was of course tliat by which 
 the Queen's Highness was expected. But 
 the party from Barbican had now nearly 
 approached their destination, which was the 
 house of a certain gossip and kinswoman of 
 Mistress Tabitha's, well known to most other 
 companions as Dame Quiney, then living in 
 the city in excellent repute both there and 
 at court as a clear-starcher. The windows 
 of her dwelling overlooked the road through 
 which the expected procession was to pass, 
 and one on the ground-floor had been set 
 aside for the conveniency of those now ur- 
 gently pushing their way towards it. 
 
 In due time, after no small difiiculty, they 
 were so fortunate as to obtain access to 
 Dame Quiney 's dwelling; and, after a 
 courteous welcome from an exceetling clean 
 and still comely matron, wearing one of the 
 
 at his fellow-grumbler. At this instant, the j very rufls she was so famed for prejiaring 
 attention of all the party was drawn to- for the Queen's Highness and the ladies of 
 
 wards Mistress Tabitha, calling to young- 
 Martin Poins to point out to him a pageant 
 that seemed exceedingly to have struck her 
 
 her court, they took their position at the 
 large open casement, some sitting on stools 
 and benches, and the rest standing up be- 
 
84 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 hind. After seeing them all properly placed, 
 tlieir hostess retired, to look after other 
 guests of hers. 
 
 It was now about the hour of noon. The 
 d.iy was none so bright at the first dawn of 
 j-t, but 8uddcnly the sun burst out with a 
 marvellous cheerful aspect, that made the 
 decorated streets and countless thousands 
 in their holiday suits look wonderfully 
 brave. In all that vast assemblage, there 
 was scarce one face wliercof the exj)ression 
 was not cheerfulness and content. 
 
 A famous commotlity of debating was go- 
 ing on amongst the crowd, during the time 
 Tabitha and her party were kept waiting; 
 but it was suddenly put a stop to by distant 
 shouts, that made every individual in tiie 
 crovvd break olf what he was then intent on, 
 and do all that in him lay to get a good 
 view in the direction of those welcome 
 sounds. 
 
 Every one was now restless with e.xpec- 
 tation. They who were in the streets were 
 on tiptoe, striving to look over each others 
 heads — the short dej)loring their want of 
 height, and the tall wishing themselves to 
 be very May-polos ; whilst, i'roin the win- 
 dows and housetops, and indeed from all 
 elevated places, the same eflforts were made 
 for the satisfying of the general curiosity. 
 Anon the sound of trumpets caught the ear, 
 and the shouting became louder. Where- 
 upon, the crowd in the neighborhood of the 
 party from Golden Lane showed greater 
 restlessness in their movements, and more 
 curiosity in their looks. And so it contin- 
 ued, with the addition of divers impatient 
 yet loyal exclamations from all quarters, till 
 the sound of the trumpets coming nigher 
 and nigher, the shouts every instant in- 
 creasing in loudness and the cries and 
 movements of all around who were well 
 placed for a view in the quarter to which 
 every gaze was directed, gave good assur- 
 ance that the Queen's Highness was ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 A short time, which to many seemed to 
 grow to a marvellous length, and the im- 
 posing cavalcade that accompanied the 
 Queen began to make its appearance. 
 Fir.st, came trumpets and kettle-drums on 
 horse-back ; the performers whereof, in gay 
 dresses almost covered with gold lace, appear- 
 ed to be making the loudest music in their 
 power. Then came a goodly comjtany of 
 the highest nobles and gentlemen of the 
 land, f)n prancing palfreys gaily compari- 
 soned. In the midst of these, and they were 
 a very many, came a handsome caroche 
 drawn by six horses, in the which were 
 two or tiiree persons, but conspicuous above 
 
 . all a woman right royally apparelled, the 
 sight of whom seemed to make that vast 
 multitude mad with very joy. Such shouting 
 of good wishes, sucli tlu'owing up of caps, 
 such waving of handkerchiefs, it was scarce 
 possible any human eye had ever seen be- 
 t'ore ; all tlie whilst the lady so welcomed 
 regarded everything with exceeeding gra- 
 ciousness, inclined her head in grateful 
 acknowledgment of the popular good-will, 
 and more than once spoke her thanks in 
 words of winning courtesy. 
 
 Bravely as she was clad, and gracious as 
 she appeared, there could be no disguising 
 that age had marked her features with 
 many unpleasing memorials ; besides which, 
 her visage had a careworn and heavy look, 
 that told of a heart ill at ease. In truth, 
 she liad just then many causes of disquie- 
 tude in the aspect of affairs at home and 
 abroad ; but the conduct of her favorite, the 
 Earl of Essex in his Irish government, and 
 since his improper return thence, as it was 
 continually represented to her, tilled the 
 aged beauty with more uneasiness than all 
 the other things put together. She strove 
 hard to disguise her cares and anxieties 
 from her loyal subjects under a smiling ex- 
 terior, but she could not conceal from her- 
 self that the arrow had entered into her 
 soul, and her increasing moodiness and ir- 
 ritability had long since told to her attend- 
 ants the increase in her sufferings. 
 
 In this manner Queen Elizabeth continu- 
 ed her progress, with such occasional stops 
 as came of certain ])ageants, consisting of 
 such dainty conceits in the way of the per- 
 sonating of allegorical and heathenish cha- 
 racters, as were considered most apt for the 
 occasion. 
 
 Here came Time, to lay aside his scythe 
 and hour-glass, and swear he had nought 
 more now to do than to note, with infinite 
 reverence, the peerless being on whom his 
 poor eyes had been allowed to gaze. There 
 Hercules put by his club, vowing that, al- 
 though he had performed so many marvellous 
 labors, to stand undazzled within the influ- 
 ence of sucli radiant beauty was of too much 
 dilKculty — therelbre he would not essay it, 
 but at an humble distance be ever at hand 
 ready to put forth his puissance to the utter- 
 most against any who should be daring- 
 enough to deny her exceeding exquisiteness 
 of feature and supcreminence of mind. 
 
 In one place, Faith, Hope, and Charity 
 came forward to say that they had had 
 nought to do on earth, since a princess had 
 appeared, who, in her own proper person, 
 made so fair a sl)ow of all their virtues, and 
 every other it was possible to have : and, in 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 85 
 
 another, Neptune exhibited himself, with his 
 trident and sea-horses, swearing most lustily 
 that he had given up all empire of the seas, 
 since its true and invincible ruler, the high 
 and mighty Elizabeth, had put forward her 
 pretensions to such sovereignty ; and a vast 
 deal more of the like sort, spoken in most 
 excellent soundi ag verse, and replied to by 
 the Queen's Majesty in fair and pleasant 
 speech. 
 
 To the monstrous delight of the immense 
 multitude, congregated in every street. 
 Queen Elizabeth proceeded, after this fash- 
 ion, to Somerset House, where she intended 
 to remain. 
 
 Mistress Tabitha Thatchpole and her par- 
 ty waited where they had placed themselves, 
 rarely pleased with the sight they had had, 
 till the crowd in the streets had so far dimi- 
 nished as to allow of tlieir retracing their 
 footsteps to Golden Lane, it never having 
 been their intention to stay in Dame Qui- 
 ney's house but sutRcient time to see the pa- 
 geant ; so, taking leave of tbe clear-starch- 
 er, who, to tell the truth, was right glad to 
 be quit of them, she having persons of liigher 
 condition then staying with her, they bent 
 their steps homeward. But, in so happy a 
 mood were they — for even the old lantern- 
 maker spoke and looked with some pleasant- 
 ness — that they cared not for immediate re- 
 turning, and, at the suggestion of the jovial 
 leather-seller, proceeded to a quiet inn in 
 Paternoster Row, to solace themselves after 
 their fatigues with a tankard of choice ale. 
 All the chambers seemed as full of thirsty 
 customers as they could well be : and the 
 drawers were running hither and thither, 
 calling to this one, and answering that, and 
 serving all as busy as bees in a hive. There 
 was, the while, such a hum of voices as could 
 scarce have been e.xceeded at the buildnig 
 of Babel. 
 
 With a great to-do, and not without much 
 patience, and a word or two spoke by Simon 
 Peltry to one of the drawers, an acquaint- 
 ance of his — no marvel, for the thirsty lea- 
 ther-seller was as familiar with every drawer 
 in London and Southwark as he might be 
 with his own jerkin ; they were accommo- 
 dated with a small table and the proper 
 quantity of stools, and thereupon they, with 
 a very reasonable heartiness, conunenced 
 paying their attention to the tankard. 
 
 This was well liked of each, and singu- 
 larly so of the jolly leather-seller, who, whilst 
 pronouncing his opinion on its merit, and 
 giving its whole history, from the sowing of 
 the grain and the gathering of the hops, to 
 its present acquaintance with his throat, had 
 such frequent recourse to his subject, that 
 
 few of the party knew of its worth, save 
 through the medium of his commendations ; 
 whereof, the consequence was, another tank- 
 ard was ordered, of which a fairer division 
 was enforced ; and, as they this way were led 
 to understand the justice of their neighbor's 
 commentaries, each began to be as eloquent 
 as Simon Peltry. 
 
 Of Jolm Hall, it is sufficient to state, ho 
 was not altogether unmoved. Wiiether the 
 blandishments of the kind Millicent, or the 
 friendly attentions of her betrothed, or the 
 generous influence of the tankard, did most 
 in removing that grave and somewhat studi- 
 ous air, that had so distinguished liim, when 
 leaving his mother's home, under the guar- 
 dianship of that unmatchable prudent guide, 
 Simon Stockrish, we have no positive assur- 
 ance, but it was easy to see he was exceed- 
 ing well pleased. 
 
 Simon Peltry, in the meanwhile, was re- 
 lating to such of the company as he could 
 get to listen to him the particular history of 
 every drawer who had been seen by any of 
 his companions since they had entered the 
 inn, for in Such learning he had not his 
 match all the world over. He could name 
 not only the parents of eacli individual, but 
 knew their gossips, and every thing they had 
 said or done worthy of the telling. x\s for 
 Mistress Tliatchpole, she was in her ele- 
 ment. It seemed to her that the little doctor 
 was as attentive as though she had been his 
 most profitable patient, and she fancied his 
 looks were of a wonderful tender and devot- 
 ed natin-e. 
 
 A]\ at once the conversation took a turn 
 towards Golden Lane ; and she, perchance, 
 being more at home there than in any other 
 subject that had been mentioned, cared no 
 more for being a listener, and straight talked 
 away as vigorously as the best. She entered 
 at some length into her own history, not tail- 
 ing, with proper expressiveness, to state how 
 well things were going on with her in the 
 selling of caps and hats, and giving a full, 
 perchance an over, valuation of the tenement 
 that had been left her for the carrying on of 
 her business. In sliort, she left nothing un- 
 said that could convey to her hearers the 
 conviction thatMistress Tabitha Thatchpole, 
 of Golden Lane, Barbican, was worth any- 
 body's having, be he whom he might. 
 
 " Methinks that apprentice of yours doth 
 not lack industry," observed Martin Poins. 
 
 " By my troth no," replied Tabitha, anxi- 
 ous, for especial reasons, to appear ready to 
 speak kindly of every one. " He is no itiler, 
 I promise you. And, though I cannot but 
 hesitate somewhat in telling you of it, as 
 it may seem in some sort the showing of 
 
86 
 
 TiiE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 a great vanity in me, lie eiitoretii into my 
 service witli such excccdinif aliectionate- 
 ness, that he will allow of none assisting. 
 Nay, so devoted is he, tiiat of his own accord 
 he pressed, with a monstrous earnestness I 
 found it impossible to deny, th;it ho should 
 be left on this glorious day to look after the 
 concerns of the sliop, stating that 1 should 
 enjoy myself all the mor(% as it was his wish, 
 if I knew that my customers were as well 
 looked after as though 1 were present." 
 
 VV'hilst Mistress Thatchpole's company 
 were adding their several commendations to 
 hers of tliis plicenix of an apprentice, it so 
 chanced that a noise was heard of no little 
 laughing and shouting in one of the adjoin- 
 ing rooms, and, amid the maddest U])roar of 
 mirth from many voices, tliey could easily 
 distinguish the tbllowing sentences :— 
 
 '• Out on her for a scurvy jade, say I ! — 
 But I cannot restrain mine honest mirth, 
 vviien thinking what a fury the old tabby 
 would bo in, knew she I have set at nought 
 her strict commands and threatenings in 
 case of di.sobedience to keep within doors. 
 But she is well served. 1 entreated to be 
 allowed, as other 'prentices are, to make this 
 a Jioliday, but all I got of my prayers was a 
 rating- -plague on her shrewish tongue ! — 
 so loud, I was nigh upon stunned by the fu- 
 ry of it ; and, as for cutfs — methinks she tak- 
 eth me for nothing better than a custard, 
 that must needs have a constant beating to 
 make it of any goodness. But prvthec join 
 witli me in a draught of hufi-caj), to drink 
 this Mother Brimstone a speedy meeting 
 with her proper master and helpmate. Old 
 Scratch." 
 
 Scarce had this speech ended, when, with 
 a shout of riotous laughter, a party of nearly 
 a dozen youths, seeming to be apprentices, 
 burst into the chamber, and at the head of 
 them, and out of all doubt the speaker of 
 what hath just been stated, was no other 
 than the phceni.x. Lazy Launce. At the 
 hearing of such rude phrases at such a mo- 
 ment, Mrs. Tabitha Thatchpolc, quite forget- 
 ful of the amiable character she had been so 
 earnestly endeavoring to assume, directly 
 Launce made his appearance, flew towards 
 him, shewing by her looks and manner, that 
 neither this offence, nor that whereby her 
 corn had suffered so terribly, would bo al- 
 lowed to pass without a signal j)unishment. 
 
 Doubtless he would have had a famous 
 mauling, had not young I'oins, who was one 
 of the mci>t boisterous of the party, as she 
 came rushing with her utmost speed, thrust 
 one of his companions towards her with such 
 force, that they scarcely escaped coining to 
 tlie ground together. Ero Tabitha could re- 
 
 cover herself, Launce, looking to be in as 
 great a fright as ever he was in his life for 
 all his big words, took but two steps to the 
 door, and vanished out of the neighborhood 
 as though the very helpmate he had proposed 
 for Ills mistress was in full chase, at his 
 heels. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 Here are none that can bear a painted sliow, 
 Strike when you wink, and then lament the 
 
 blow ; 
 Who, like mills, set the right way for to grind, 
 Can make their gains alike with every wind ; 
 Only some fellows with the subtlest pate, 
 Amongst us, umy perchance equivocate 
 At selling of a horse, aud that's the most. 
 
 Fkancis Beaumont. 
 If we do prosper now, not we on Fate, 
 But she on us shall for direction wait. 
 
 The Great Favorite. 
 It is a weary interlude 
 VV hich doth short joys, long woes include ; 
 The world's the stage, the prologue tears. 
 The acts vain hopes, and varied fears ; 
 The scene shuts up with leas of breath, 
 And leaves no epilogue but death. 
 
 Dr. Hexry King. 
 
 The principal chambers in Essex House 
 were thronged with men of divers charac- 
 ters and conditions, but for the most part 
 bearing in their several aspects an air of 
 lierce determination and gloomy discontent. 
 Amongst them were some of high lineage 
 and good reputations, and divers of singular 
 repute for ability in learning and in arms ; 
 but there were also present a vast number 
 of gentlemen of poor fortunes and poorer 
 characters ; daring adventurers, who had 
 nothing to lose but their lives, which they 
 were ready to risk in any venture that pro- 
 mised to better their fortunes ; and impov- 
 erished cast captains, who sought a desper- 
 ate enterprise, somewhat out of revenge 
 against certain persons in the government, 
 by whom they fancied they had been scin-- 
 vily treated, and somewhat in the hope of 
 obtaining rich advantages, as had been held 
 out to them if they assisted in the stirring 
 game that was afoot. 
 
 There were signs of exceeding restless- 
 ness and noisy debate in the crowded cham- 
 bers. Little knots of eager disputants kept 
 togL'theron tlie staircase, in the ante-rooms, 
 and even in the state apartments, wliere the 
 leaders of the ])arty were in close and ear- 
 nest debati\ Although many bore upon 
 them the appearance of discontented courti- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 87 
 
 ers and poor soldiers, wearing of such bra- 
 very as their means would allow, albeit it 
 was in many cases exceedingly worn and 
 soiled, there were others who were dressed 
 with a marked plainness. These latter 
 were men of severe aspect and of formal 
 manners ; rude in their bearing, loud of 
 voice, and violent in their counsels ; in their 
 outward apparel affecting the new religion, 
 and in their behavior monstrously disaffect- 
 ed to the existing government. Amongst 
 them were two or three who wore the garb 
 of priests ; and these were, for the most 
 part, engaged in loud discourse on the mar- 
 vellous qualities of their noble patron, the 
 Earl of Essex, and of the intolerable griev- 
 ances that had been thrust upon him by 
 certain ungodly wretches who poisoned the 
 ear of the Queen's Highness against him. 
 
 The hubbub of voices, and the constant 
 going to and fro of upwards of three hun- 
 dred persons, gave to the scene an air of 
 strangeness and confusion, to which the vast 
 number of offensive weapons that lay here 
 and there on the rich furniture of tiie prin- 
 cipal apartments, and in every convenient 
 corner, added greatly. Messengers were 
 rapidly passing in and out, bringing reports 
 to the leaders ; one was rudely shouting to 
 his fellow afar off, and numbers were stand- 
 ing upon the carved benches and chairs, 
 making their comments upon the strange 
 scene and the chief actors in it. 
 
 At one corner of one of the suit of apart- 
 ments, wherein the principal pari of this as- 
 semblage were crowded, there were two 
 persons, a little apart from the crowd ; the 
 one, who looked to be a Puritan from the 
 plainness of his suit, stood on an oak table 
 of great strength, supporting himself by 
 leaning against a massive cupboard, richly 
 cai-ved, that stood beside it ; the other, whose 
 apparelling had a vast deal more of the gal- 
 lant and the soldier about it, to which a 
 patch over one eye and a well-bronzed com- 
 plexion, were expressive additions, stood on 
 a cane-backed chair almost at his elbow. — 
 The first, notsvithstanding a huge, rough 
 beard, wore an aspect of honest plainness, 
 and seemed to take a wonderful interest in 
 the proceedings, though he said but little ; 
 but the features of the other were expressive 
 of more impudency than honesty, and his 
 tongue wagged like the clapper of a village 
 bell giving an alarm of fire, though it is much 
 to be douiited his heart was in the cause he 
 had embarked in. 
 
 " Now, I pray you, good Master Puritan," 
 said tiie latter, whom the reader will present- 
 ly recognize, " cast your eyes beneath the 
 great window yonder. There are all my 
 
 excellent worthy friends and sworn brothers 
 — persons with whom I am as intimate as I 
 am with my sword, the which, to tell you 
 the truth, is a rare one, the right Toledo. — ■ 
 Fore George, it is not long since it graced 
 the thigh of the King of Spain.'' 
 
 " The speaker, tinding the curiosity of 
 his companion was not then to be drawn to 
 so goodly a weapon, proceeded — " Yes, there 
 they are by this light. All of them look up 
 to my judgment and vast experience in mi- 
 litary matters, and had comisel of me but 
 yesterday as to tiie conducting of this enter- 
 prise. He with the grey beard is Lord San- 
 dys, as gallant a nobleman as any that lives 
 — he is talking urgently to Lord Monteagle 
 (he with the slasiied doublet) ; and Lord 
 Rutland, another of my especial intimates, 
 together with Sir Ferdinando Gorges — he 
 that is governor of Plymouth — and Sir John 
 Davis, surveyor of the ordnance, are listen- 
 ing and occasionally joining in the discourse. 
 Next to Davis is John Lyttieton of Frankley, 
 a Worcestershire man, not long since knigiit 
 of the shire for that county, a person of 
 great resolution and ability, my familiar and 
 sworn gossip ; the person who is pulling 
 him by the sleeve is Sir Gilly Merrick. It 
 was he wlio, last night, bespoke tlie play 
 of ' Richard the Second,' at the seeing of 
 which were nearly all who are now in this 
 action." 
 
 The Puritan, in a sort of snuffle, said 
 something expressive of the iniquity of such 
 performances ; but regarded the persons at 
 the further end of the chamber witti increas- 
 ing earnestness. 
 
 '• Fore gad, I forgot your misliking of 
 plays," observed his communicative associ- 
 ate. But there is a group nov/ a little to tlie 
 right of those I have just been naming — 
 these are of more moment than all the 
 others. You know none of them, I doubt 
 not, except by casual observance ; but, if 
 you seek their notice, you will find no one 
 so like to get it you as I, in regard of the 
 great love they bear me for certain import- 
 ant services it hath been my good fortune to 
 be able to render them." This hint not be- 
 ing taken any notice of, the speaker conti- 
 nued — " Now, mark you that stately gentle- 
 man, in the falling collar and ruff'; he in 
 the plain russet suit, with the full beard, that 
 lookcth so restless and uneasily, and speak- 
 eth with so great a vehemency ; see how 
 disdainfully flash his eyes ; note how proud- 
 ly he beareth himself, like one grievously 
 oppressed, and passionately desirous of hav- 
 ing his revenge of his enemies. Well, that 
 is no other than my Lord of Essex." 
 
 'Verily, he looketh to be a right proper 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 leader!" exclaimed the other, with that p:ir- 
 ticular nasal twang tho}' oftiio new religion 
 chose to affect. 
 
 " i5y this sword, yes !"' rc[ lied his compa- 
 nion ; " and of his soldier-like cjiialities lew 
 can speak so contidently as can I, who have 
 been his companion in arms throii(;hout all 
 his campaigns, and, in truth, may besaid to 
 have been his sole teacher in wjiat he know- 
 etli of the art of war. But of this it doth not 
 become mc to speak. Some say he has 
 moved in this action merely to oust his ene- 
 mies, Cecil, Raleigh, Cobham.and the rest ; 
 others assert he will change the common- 
 wealth, and reform all abuses and disorders 
 in it ; and divers are confident it is his in- 
 tention to bring in King James, of Scot- 
 land : but I, who am so deep in his confi- 
 dence, could tell his meaning and objects 
 more faithfully, chose I to do so ; but, of 
 course, I am bound in honor to keep so great 
 a secret." 
 
 The Puritan seemed to have nothing to 
 say to a truth so evident; indeed, his whole 
 attention was directed towards the group 
 round the Earl of Essex. 
 
 " He who is so busy with the Earl, writ- 
 ing at the table before him," continued t!ie 
 otlier, " is my lord's secretary, one Henry 
 CufFe. He aiTects a clownishness and hon- 
 est bluntness of manner, but he is shrewdly 
 suspected of having secret ambitious ends, 
 with a marvellous disposition towards deep 
 plotting and far-sighted policy. The Earl 
 once dismissed hiui his service, assiu'ed his 
 sharp and importune infusions would one 
 dny prove his ruin ; but he hath been so 
 politic in liis behavior as to be again taken 
 into his lord's favor, and hath tlie credit of 
 being the main-spring of this enterprise. 
 On the other side stands one of a diti'erent 
 spirit. He is my Lord Southampton, anoth- 
 er of my especial familiars, and he is lean- 
 ing on his Iriend Sir Charles Danvers, who 
 hath been drawn by love for him into this 
 action." 
 
 The Puritan's ajiparent deep interest in 
 the group he was obsorvmg was, at this mo- 
 ment, interrupted by the loud shouting of 
 the name of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, and 
 great commotion was created amongst the 
 conspirators wlien it was known iliat Sir 
 Walter Raleigh was waiting to have speech 
 with him on t!ie river, 'i'he Earl of Essex 
 seemed to put himself into a rage at the 
 first inention of Raleigh's nanrc, but allowed 
 Sir Ferdinando to see what was wanted of 
 Jiim, although the Earl had given strict or- 
 ders that none of the company should leave 
 the house. As Sir Ferdinando took his de- 
 parture, he was counselled to seize Raleigh, 
 
 and bring him in prisoner, which it was 
 thought Ijy some it was his intention to do. 
 
 Scarce was the stir which this occasioned 
 at an (;nd, when a still more violent connno- 
 tion was occasioned by one coming in and 
 declaring that divers persons of state from 
 the Queen's Highness were at the gates 
 demanding admittance. This begat a great 
 confusion of opinions, some shouting to 
 keep them out, and others to have them in ; 
 and, at last, orders were given to let them 
 into the courtyard by the wicket, but not to 
 allow any persons of any sort, to have ad- 
 mittance with them. All now hurried down 
 into the courtyard, amongst others the Puri- 
 tan and his companion ; the latter, from some 
 reason, kept close to the other ; and, believ- 
 ing him, as it seemed, to have little or no 
 knowledge of the distinguished cliaracters 
 with whom they were associated, he con- 
 tinued his information as to their several 
 names and characters. From him the Puri- 
 tan learned that the personages tlie conspir- 
 ators were now so eagerly tlironging around 
 were the Lord Keeper Egerton, the Earl of 
 Worcester, the Lord Chief Justice, and Sir 
 William Knowles, the comptroller of the 
 Queen's Household; all of whom were con- 
 sidered friends of the Earl of Essex, the 
 latter being his uncle. 
 
 Tliey walked uncovered, with a dignity 
 worthy of their office, through the crowd, 
 most of wdiom regarded them with looks of 
 malice and mischief, till they reached to 
 where Essex stood with a proud and haugh- 
 ty bearing, surrounded by his principal as- 
 sociates, also uncovered. The Lord Keeper 
 spoke first, and in an audible voice delivered 
 a message from the queen, stating she had 
 sent them to know the meaning of so great a 
 concourse of people in that place, and promis- 
 ing, if tliey had any grids to complain of, they 
 should be heard and remedied. This con- 
 ciliatory speech on the rash and headstrong 
 Earl had no other efTect than to make him 
 the more intent on his desperate purpose, 
 thinking in his own weak mind it proceeded 
 from fear ; and he loudly and passionately 
 replied, in confused assertions, that his life 
 was in danger from the plotting of his en- 
 emies, that his handwriting had been forged, 
 and that, seeing he could get no redress, and 
 was threatened with the horriblest mischiefs, 
 he and his friends had resolved to defend 
 themselves. This speech was received by 
 those around him by loud acclamations. 
 
 Thereupon the Lord Ciiief Justice stated 
 that, if any such matters wei'e attempted or 
 intended against the Earl, it was lit ho 
 should declare it ; they would report it faith- 
 fully to her Highness ; and he could not fail 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 89 
 
 of finding a princely indifferency and justice 
 on her part. On this the Lord Southampton 
 spoke, describing his having been lately set 
 upon by Lord Grey of VVilton, sword in 
 liand, when he was quietly riding along one 
 of the public streets, unexpecting and un- 
 prepared for such an attacii ; to which the 
 Lord Chief Justice replied tliat justice had 
 been done in that matter, the offender having 
 been sent to tiie Fleet Prison. This answer 
 miglit have sutliced; but there were those 
 in the courtyard who, for especial rea.-ons, 
 niisHked any thing approaching a reconcili- 
 ation in this stage of tlie business. 
 
 The Lord Keeper, noting the mood of the 
 conspirators, asked Essex to explain his 
 griefs privately, since lie would not in pub- 
 lic, adding he doubted not being able to give 
 or procure hiin satisfaction. Jiut this was 
 not in accordance with the intentions of 
 many of those around, who interrupted him 
 with great clamor, shouting to the Earl : — 
 " Away, away, my lord ! Tiiey abuse your 
 patience ! They betray you ! They abuse 
 you! You lose time!" Whereupon the 
 Lord Keeper put on his hat, and said to the 
 Earl with a louder voice : — " My lord, let us 
 speak to you privately, and understand your 
 griefs ;" and then, turning to the noisy crowd, 
 with a grave and severe aspect, added : — " I 
 command you all upon your allegiance to 
 lay down your weapons, and depart." 
 
 This command, however, suited not with 
 the humor of any of the conspirators to 
 obey, and the ciiiefs looking on it as an at- 
 tempt to draw their followers away from 
 them, took it up with much appearance of 
 disdain. Essex and his friends put on their 
 hats, and turned away into the house ; and, 
 the queen's officers, thinking he made that 
 movement to confer with them privately, 
 followed as they could. But there was a 
 great outcry made at them, and on passing 
 through the principal suite of rooms, some 
 shouted : — " Kill them ! kill them !" Others, 
 of a less sanguinary turn, cried : — '• Shut 
 them up !" " Keep them as pledges I" This 
 latter advice Essex thought tit to follow, for, 
 when they arrived at his book-chamber, he 
 gave orders to keep them fast there, and 
 gave them in charge to three resolute fel- 
 lows, who stood at tiieir door with muskets 
 charged and matches lighted. 
 
 It was during the confusion consequent 
 upon this scene, that the Puritan made di- 
 vers efforts to shake off his gossiping com- 
 panion, who, nevertheless, continued to 
 press upon him, introducing of himself with 
 many flourishes as Captain Swashbuckler, 
 and proffering to teach him the utmost cun- 
 ning of fence for an exceding moderate re- 
 
 ward ; and, when this was impatiently neg- 
 atived, kept pressing on him with still more 
 urgency to buy the King of Spain's trusty 
 Toledo at the small sum of ten crowns. 
 At this the Puritan turned round fiercely, 
 and, with a look that made the noble captain 
 feel exceedingly uncomfortable for a good 
 hour after, swore, with a monstrous oath, 
 that if he dared to follow him a step further, 
 or address to him another word, he would 
 slit his nose to the bone. Ere this valiant 
 gentleman could recover from so unexpected 
 a mode of address, the Puritan was urging 
 his way rapidly through the noisy crowd, 
 as though to overtake my Lord Essex ; but 
 it was not the Earl he sought, but the Lord 
 Southampton, in whose ear he nnperceived 
 whispered something which made the young 
 nobleman turn round with a start of intense 
 astonishment. He looked bewildered for a 
 moment ; then, making a sign for the Puri- 
 tan to follow him, he opened a door, within 
 which both quickly disappeared, and instant- 
 ly fastened it to prevent intrusion. 
 
 '• In the name of all that's marvellous, 
 Will, what bringeth thee here in this guise ?" 
 exclaimed Lord Southampton, evidently in 
 a monstrous wonder at the appearance of 
 the person before him. 
 
 " A good errand, my dear lord, and one 
 that adrnitteth of no delay," replied the oth- 
 er ; but in a voice as different from the 
 snuffling drone with wliich the same per- 
 son but a few minutes since, addressed 
 himself to the cast captain, as is a night- 
 ingale's from an owl's. " You are on 
 the high road to destruction. The net is 
 spread tor you, and all those who have join- 
 ed this rash and ill-arranged enterprise, and 
 you cannot help falling into it. I pray you, 
 my lord, hearken to one who never ad- 
 vised you but for your good. Move no 
 more in this foolish business, but escape 
 from it whilst there is safety. This I will 
 secure at the hazard of my life." 
 
 " I thank you heartily, Master Shaks- 
 peare?" exclaimed his young patron, press- 
 ing his hand affectionately. "' I am well 
 assured of your heartiness to serve me at 
 all times, but 1 am so bent on this action, I 
 cannot give it up ; and, as for the desperate 
 character you give it, be assured you have 
 been misinformed" — then, observing some 
 sign of impatience in the other, added : — 
 " Know you not that Essex countoth upon a 
 hundred and twenty earls, barons, and gen- 
 tlemen of his party ; that the citizens of 
 London are with him heart and soul ; and 
 that Sir Thomas Smitli, one of the sheriffs, 
 is to support him with a thousand train- 
 bands, of whom he hath the command ? By 
 
90 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 this hand, sweet Will, we cannot but pros- 
 per. We are sure of success." 
 
 " Nay, such is out of all possibility," re- 
 plied Master Shukspearc. " I have certain 
 intelligence that every preparation has been 
 made to defeat the objects for wiiich you are 
 striving so ill-advisedly, and they have been 
 made with such judgment that the issue can- 
 not be doubted. Tiie Lord Mayor hath been 
 warned of your projects, and an intinitely 
 stronger force than any you can get togeth- 
 er is on its march to overpower you, and 
 make you all prisoners. Let me beg and 
 pray of you, my dear friend and patron, to 
 abandon this mad scheme at once. I have 
 arranged a plan for your escape that can- 
 not fail. I entreat you to save a life so 
 dear to me !" 
 
 "You must be misinformed, Will!" ex- 
 claimed the young lord, much moved. " I 
 am greatly beliolden to you for your urgency 
 to do me service, but in this matter ic can- 
 not be. Mine own grievances have not 
 been few or trifling. 1 have endured a long 
 imprisonment, for no greater fault than mar- 
 rying for mine own liking. 1 was degraded 
 from my command as JNIaster of the Horse, 
 for no reason of any sutHciency ; and I have 
 been attacked in the open streets, with no 
 more ceremony than might be used to a 
 common cut-purse." 
 
 " I know it all, my lord," answered his 
 companion, urgently. " You have good 
 cause for complaint, there cannot be a 
 doubt. But your appearing in arms against 
 your sovereign, the which you are now 
 doing, is of all things the surest road to 
 prejudice your good cause irretrievably. 
 Once more, my dear lord, I pray and be- 
 seech you to take heed whilst it is time. 
 Leave this wretched plot to the wretched 
 fate that must overtake it. Pardon hatii 
 been promised you from a sure hand. Quit 
 this place, and allow me the singular sweet 
 pleasure of seeing the truest friend man 
 ever had, out of the most imminent and ter- 
 rible danger that could touch him." 
 
 " Nay, Master Shakspeare, it cannot be," 
 said my Lord Southampton, resolutely, yet 
 much aflected by his friend's urgent entrea- 
 ties. " Melhinks I am bound in honor to 
 see my kinsman through this perilous action 
 of his, if perilous it be. Come weal or 
 woe, I must share it." 
 
 In vain did Master Shakspeare strive to 
 move his resolution, by showing he could do 
 the Earl no good by involving himself in 
 his guilt. He would hearken to no counsel 
 of the sort, but commenced urging ins friend 
 to secure his own safety as quickly as he 
 
 could. But Master Shakspeare had too great 
 a love for the youth who had shown to him 
 so much nobleness of soul, and resolved at 
 least to watch over his safety throughout 
 the adventure. 
 
 Lord Southampton did again and again 
 urge him to put himself out of danger, but 
 the other roundly stated that, an he would 
 not escape with him he must share his for- 
 tune, for he could not reconcile himself to 
 leaving so estimable choice a friend to cer- 
 tain destruction. It was useless wasting 
 time in such a debate, with natures so de- 
 termined ; so at last they made out of the 
 room as privily as they had entered, and 
 mingled unnoticed with the crowd, who 
 were now hurrying out of the house ; the 
 Earl having set himself at the head of two 
 hundred of the boldest of his followers, who 
 were sallying forth with the intention of 
 raising the city. 
 
 But a force less likely to do any essential 
 service in so stirring a business there could 
 not well be. Few were in any way provided 
 as soldiers, the greater part having no wea- 
 pons but their rapiers, and no defence but 
 their cloaks wrapped about their arms. Nev- 
 ertheless, they sallied forth full of conti- 
 dence ; the which was greatly increased by 
 their being joined by one or two small par- 
 ties, among whom were the Earl of Bedford, 
 the Lord Cromwell, and a few other persons 
 of distinction. 
 
 My Lord Southampton made his way to 
 his kinsman, and the pretended Puritan kept 
 as close at his heels as he could get. The 
 party entered the city at Ludgate, preceded 
 by the Earl, shouting lustily, " For the 
 Queen ! For the Queen ! A plot is laid 
 for my life ! England is bought and sold to 
 the Spaniards !" — the which none doubted 
 would send every man and apprentice who 
 heard it, with their weapons ready, eager to 
 swell their ranks ; but, to the surprise and 
 consternation of all, not one person joineil 
 them. Devoted as the citizens were to Es- 
 sex, he could not account for this utter de- 
 sertion of him. In vain he repeated his 
 cry as he proceeded — every house was as 
 quiet as though the plague had swept away 
 all its inmates : and neither man nor boy 
 was to be seen. 
 
 The conspirators liked not this appearance 
 of things at all, as was evident from their 
 blank visages ; but when, on going through 
 Cheapside, towards Fen Church, und arriv- 
 ing at Sheriff' Suiith's house, where such 
 mighty succors were expected, they found 
 every dwelling closed and apparently de- 
 serted, many began to repent them of joining 
 a plot 60 badly sujjported. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 91 
 
 " Where is the Sheriff ?" cried the Earl. 
 " Let him brinjr muskets and pistols. It is 
 for the good of the Queen, and for you all, 
 my masters ; for I am credibly informed, out 
 of Ireland, that the kingdom of England is 
 sold to the Spaniards." 
 
 Alack, no Sheriff was to be seen. Ho 
 had withdrawn from his house by a back 
 door, and hastened to the Lord Mayor. Es- 
 sex entered his dwelling faint unto death. 
 His folly and madness seemed now for the 
 first time placed properly before him ; but he 
 made a struggle to disguise his feelings by 
 calling boisterously for refreshments, and 
 linen to shift himself, for the intenseness of 
 his anxiety had caused him to sweat at 
 every pore. 
 
 The faces of the principal conspirators 
 wore an uneasy expression, which did not 
 lessen when w(ird was brought that Lord 
 Burleigh (Cecil's elder brother), and Geth- 
 ick Garter, King at Arms, witli a few horse, 
 had entered the city, and had proclaimed 
 Essex and his adherents traitors; and that 
 the Earl of Cumberland, and Sir Thomas 
 Garard, Knight Marshal, made a like pro- 
 clamation in other parts of the city. It was 
 then that Master Shakspeare drew his 
 young patron on one side, and urged him, 
 with increased eloquence, to provide for his 
 safety ; but the young nobleman had too 
 gallant a spirit to allow of his abandoning 
 his friend wlien his fortune looked desper- 
 ate : nevertheless, he very affectionately 
 entreated of his attached friend to endanger 
 himself no longer by remaining with him, 
 but this the other would not hear of, still 
 hoping to be able to free him from the peril- 
 ous condition in which he had placed him- 
 se\L 
 
 Presently, my Lord Essex started off with 
 his followers, thoroughly hopeless of doing 
 of himself any benetit, yet not so despair- 
 ing as to give up the attempt. He called 
 upon tlie citizens to arm, and assured 
 tliem that England was sold to the In- 
 tanta of Spain ; but not one obeyed his 
 summons, or took any heed of his intelli- 
 gence. His followers were now leaving 
 him rapidly ; and, when it became known 
 that the Lord Admiral, with a strong force, 
 was hastening to attack them, desertion be- 
 came still more frequent. 
 
 After a brief consultation, it was derided 
 that the conspirators should return to Essex 
 House as speedily as they could, and obtain 
 their pardon by the release of the queen's 
 officers there imprisoned. Hearing that the 
 gate at which he entered the city was now 
 well guarded, Essex sent forward Sir Ferdi- 
 nando Gorges alone, to release the Lord 
 
 Chief Justice, and make the best terms he 
 could, and took his way with his company 
 by Paul's ; but at the West Gate they were 
 stopped by a chain drawn across the street, 
 having pikemen and musqueteers to defend 
 it. The Earl drew his sword, and ordered 
 his followers to fall on. Lord Southampton 
 obeyed the command eagerly, and the pre- 
 tended Puritan started forward to endeavor 
 to guard him from harm. A skirmish en- 
 sued, and one or two were killed and wound- 
 ed on both sides, but Essex was repulsed, 
 and a shot through his hat showed how near 
 he had been to add to the list of mischances. 
 He was allowed to turn off to Queenhithe 
 unpursued, where he and his company took 
 boats, and in due time landed at Essex 
 House. 
 
 When the Earl arrived within his own 
 dwelling, he and the rest were greatly as- 
 tonished to find that Sir Ferdinando Gorges, 
 out of a care of his own safety, had releas- 
 ed the four prisoners, and had gone with 
 them by water to court. Essex had now 
 no hope, save in the remote one of the Lon- 
 doners coming to his relief. • He felt con- 
 fused and distracted by his danger, burnt 
 whatever papers might con^proniise him, 
 and gave directions for fortifying his house, 
 intending to defend it to the last extremity. 
 He had little time for consideration. He 
 found it invested with a force likely to over- 
 power all opposition. On the land side 
 were the Earls of Cumberland and Lincoln, 
 the Lords Thomas Howard, Grey, Burleigh, 
 and divers others of note, with a strong 
 force of horse and foot ; wliilst the garden 
 was tilled with the Lord Admiral, his son 
 Lord Effingham, Lord Cobham, Sir John 
 Stanhope, Sir Robert Sidney, Sir Fulke 
 Greville, and a sufficiency of foot-soldiers 
 preparing to attack it on the river side. 
 
 Whilst the majority of the conspirators 
 were overwhelmned with consternation at 
 these preparations, increased by the fright 
 of certain ladies who were amongst them, 
 Sir Robert Sidney came, by the Lord Ad- 
 miral's order, to summon them to surrender. 
 But some of them had spirits worthy of a 
 better cause. 
 
 " To whom ?" cried Southampton, boldly. 
 " To our enemies ? That would be running 
 headlong to destruction. To the Queen '? 
 That were to confess ourselves guilty. Yet, 
 if the Lord Admiral will give us hostages 
 for our security, we will appear before the 
 Queen ; if not, we are, every one, resolved 
 to die in our defence." 
 
 To this spirited speech, the Lord Admiral 
 returned for reply, that conditions were not 
 to be propounded by rebels, nor hostages 
 
92 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 given to tliem; but he informed Essex tliat' 
 he would permit his Countess, and Lady 
 Rich, his sister, and their wuitinjj gentle- 
 woman, to go out. Th(; earl tooii this as a 
 favor, but asked an hour or two to fortify 
 the place, by which tliey should go forth. 
 This was readily granted. 
 
 " Now, my lord," whispered Master 
 Shakspeare to his young patron, seizing op- 
 portunity for doing so unobserved," prythee, 
 be persuaded to your good. Your cause is 
 lost, as I full well knew it would be, and 
 you cannot do yourself, or any other, the 
 slightest benetit by clinging to it. Escape 
 is still open to you. Trust yourself to me, 
 I pray you, and I doubt not being able to 
 bring you ofFscathless even now." 
 
 '• Thanks, sweet Will, a thousand times," 
 replied Lord Southampton, eagerly. "But, 
 as I wanted to partake of Essex's good for- 
 tune, mcthinks it would not be well in me 
 to shrink from sharing his bad." 
 
 His friend intreated and prayed, and used 
 every argument of force, but the young lord 
 was not to be moved. Master Shakspeare 
 knew not now what course to adopt. He was 
 loath to leave him to the sure destruction 
 he was courting, and saw no prospect of 
 advantage in remaining to share the fate of 
 those by whom he was surrounded. As for 
 the conspiracy, he hated it with all his soul ; 
 and for those engaged in it he had no sympa- 
 thy, save only in his generous young patron, 
 for whom ho felt so deep an interest, he 
 could not be induced by any consideration 
 for his own safety to leave at so perilous a 
 moment. 
 
 All this time, Essex and a few other of 
 the leaders strove to keep a good face on 
 the desperateness of their fortunes. Pre- 
 parations were made for a vigorous defence, 
 and divers talked of dying sword in hand, 
 as became their quality. But most were 
 wild with afTright, and even the Earl acted 
 in a confused violent manner, as though he 
 knew not what to be about. Now lie abused 
 the citizens as a base people, and boasted 
 he could take the whole city with four hun- 
 dred men ; anon he threatened to force his 
 way through his enemies, and seek to es- 
 cape with his followers to Ireland ; and then 
 he spoke of the goodness of his cause, witii 
 a great show of bravery, and seemed to find 
 consolation in its miscarriage. But all this 
 vaporing ended in nothing. The conspira- 
 tors, before the time had (>xj)ircd,had agreed 
 to surrender upon conditions; and wlien 
 the Lord Aduiiral would agree to none, they 
 were fain to do without, and presently they 
 gave up their weapons, and were taken into 
 custody. 
 
 It is presumed that the assumed Puritan 
 had some understanding with the Lord 
 High Admiral, or other great person, for he 
 managed to get himself at large, when all, 
 in whose company he had been, were pro- 
 ceeding to their prisons; but, in the first 
 moment of his freedom, he resolved to use 
 it for the advantage of the gallant and ex- 
 cellent young nobleman, to whom he felt 
 himself so largely indebted, and was assured 
 such would not be entirely profitless. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Break, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud, 
 
 And spread thy purple wings ; 
 Now all thy figures are allowed. 
 And various shapes of things ; 
 Create of airy forms a stream, 
 It must have blood and nought of phlegm ; 
 And though it be a waking dream, 
 Yet let it like an odor rise 
 
 To all the senses here, 
 And fall like sleep upon their eyes, 
 Or music in their ear. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 Time, in his steady flight, seeth many 
 changes, but rarely any more marked than 
 such as were created in the period that 
 elapsed betwixt the last chapter and the 
 present. 
 
 The .strange and powerful sway of those 
 melancholic humors which had visited Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare with such uncontrollable 
 vehemency ever since the death of his sweet 
 young son, appeared now to have gathered 
 such head, that, when his thoughts travelled 
 that way, he seemed quickly to lose all con- 
 sciousness of surrounding circumstances, 
 and to give up every sense to the considera- 
 tion of the huge grief that prayed upon his 
 spirits. What this grief might be, none 
 knew. None even guessed that a gentle- 
 man, so prodigal with his pleasant jests, 
 when surrounded with proper company, was, 
 when left to his own sad thoughts and feel- 
 ings, the very miserablest wretch that can 
 be conceived. 
 
 Frequently was it that he looked to bo 
 overpowered witii a heaviness that wrapped 
 him all around like a shroud, and, from his 
 aspect, there might be read an anguish that 
 was wont to probe him to tiie fpiick. Could 
 it arise solely from a consideration of tiie 
 great loss his allections had sustained by 
 the death of the youthful llaumet? Could 
 it be occasioned solely by the exceeding un- 
 satisfactory nature of his domestic afHiirs ? 
 Might it arise from disappointed ambition — 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 93 
 
 loss of friends — or deficiency of worldly 
 wealth ? Or, did it proceed from the recol- 
 lection of some offence of very monstrous 
 evil, the consideration whereof smote him 
 terribly ? Hamnet's death, of a surety, was 
 an intolerable blow to his happiness ; but, 
 since the doleful day it liappened. Time, the 
 sure alleviator of human affliction, had ex- 
 ercised his reconciling influence, and closed, 
 thoutrh it could never entirely heal, the 
 wound it iiad made. Philosophy, perchance, 
 did something towards banishing all useless 
 regrets ; but philosopiiy hath but a small 
 hold upon the heart of a doating parent, 
 from whom the object of its inhnite love 
 hath been untimely snatched away. 
 
 There was much in the state of his home, 
 which, to one of quick senjibility, like Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, might liive afforded most in- 
 tolerable reflections. That any of his am- 
 bitious views had failed in fulhlling their 
 promises, is very much to be doubted, seeing 
 the position he had gained in society by the 
 proper influence of his own greatness. Of 
 loss of friends he might complain. His royal 
 patroness, who had held him in such honor- 
 able estimation throughout his career, liad 
 died full of years and glory, but of a heart 
 broken by vain regrets for the loss of her 
 unworthy favorite, the Earl of Essex, who 
 had perished by the hand of the headsman 
 for his treasonable practice-. His still more 
 generous friend, the young Earl of South- 
 ampton, h id been kept a close prisoner, for 
 his share in Essex's treason, up to the 
 Queen's death : a worse fate would have at- 
 tended him, had not the loving friend who 
 strove so earnestly to get him out of the 
 conspiracy, employed all-powerful appeals 
 for the saving of his life. He had received 
 certain intelligence that another of his esti- 
 mable friends. Sir Walter Raleigh, was like 
 to be in as pitiful a case as my iiord South- 
 ampton, from the coming of the Scottish 
 king to the throne of these realms, in whom 
 the very strongest prejudices against Sir 
 Walter had been artfully raised by his rivals, 
 Cecil and Essex. 
 
 Therefore, loss of friends might have 
 gone some way towards exciting melan- 
 choly humors. Yet was Master Shakspeare 
 so richly off in this respect, the few who 
 were taken away were not like to be missed 
 so greatly as to throw so thick a gloom over 
 his spirits as had oppressed them. But, as 
 to the only other cause we have hinted at — 
 what offence could there be in one of so 
 honorable a way of living that could touch 
 him so nearly as the hidden cause of his 
 huge trouble appeared to do ? We doubt 
 there could exist anything of the sort. 
 
 Nevertheless, Master Shakspeare had a 
 heart so ill at ease, no man would have en- 
 vied him, could he have known what an in- 
 finite lack of comfort he possessed. 
 
 But who could have guessed he had so 
 much as the slightest uneasiness of any 
 sort ? In whatever play chanced to be be- 
 fore the audience, he so forgot himself in 
 the performance of his part, that the spec- 
 tators might reasonably enough have judged 
 him to have nothing in his own nature to 
 complain of, or regret, of sufticient import 
 to call him from his feigning for one minute. 
 In the company of his brother-players, and 
 all the nimble wits and learned spirits with 
 whom he associated, he looked to be of so 
 happy a mind, he displayed ever so prodigal 
 an abundance of pleasant tlionghts and ad- 
 mirable witty jests, and was at all times so 
 ready to add to, rather than share in, the 
 general entertainment, that few who observ- 
 ed him could have thought of saying, 
 " This gentleman hath griefs. He is dis- 
 tracted with trouble. He is as sick at heart 
 as a man who hath not a hope in the world." 
 
 This unhappy gentleman, then, for so 
 methinks wo must needs consider him, sat 
 in his lodging, in the Clink Liberty, in a 
 deep fit of profound abstractedness, his head 
 resting on his hand as he leaned upon the 
 table, and his noble visage wearing an as- 
 pect so sad and woe-begone, the feeling 
 that had caused it evidently lay as deep in 
 the heart as it well could. Before him were 
 many papers and books, and implements of 
 writing, but they seemed to be thrust on 
 one side, as though the owner cared not to 
 have aught to do with them. Amongst the 
 papers was one which appeared to have 
 been recently written. It seemed at first to 
 be fragments of verse ; but, on a closer 
 look, these would be found to be divers small 
 poems, much affected by the writers of that 
 period, under the name of Somiets. They 
 were thus entitled : — 
 
 A NEW PARADISE OF DAINTY DE- 
 VICES. 
 
 I. PLATTETART INFLUEJJCE. 
 
 A radiant star within tli' empyrian dwelt ; 
 
 It stood confessed a glorious Cynosure, 
 
 Shedding a light around so bright, so pure, 
 That as I gazed, with throbbing heart I knelt, 
 
 " Oh, would," quoth I, " I might thy rays se- 
 cure !" 
 (Marvel not I such covetousness felt 
 
 With such temptation) Ah! those starry 
 beams 
 
 Had shed their beauty on another's dreams. 
 Yet deep within my heart I nurtured still 
 
 The love that fed upon its rosy streams — 
 
94 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Still hoped, still prayed for it with eager will, 
 And turned away Irom all the sliiniaar wealth, 
 
 That woo'd nie oft from Heaven's sapphire hill, 
 That one proud star to idolize by stealth. 
 
 II. A COMPARISON. 
 
 Behold the jewel-hunter, searching well, 
 
 With a most curious eye, the mountain-tops, 
 Each rock, and ravine, cleft, and hidden cell, 
 
 Where from the soil the shining treasure 
 drops — 
 
 He suddenly with admiration stops, 
 As if entranced by some secret spell ; 
 
 For naught of emerald, or amethyst, 
 Or costly stone, that his experience knew 
 With such bright sheen, or with so rich a hue, 
 
 Dazzled his gaze on fairest ear or wrist. 
 As doth a gem now flashing on his view : 
 
 Enriched thus, thus wondering I exist. 
 Thus found I thee, and in my loving sight 
 Art thou ray perfect, matchless chrysolite. 
 
 III. THE soul's LOXGING. 
 
 I dreamt a dream of marvellous good intent, 
 The harbinger (would 'twere !) of coming 
 bliss ; 
 And thou, fair seer, shall tell me what it meant, 
 
 For thou alone canst well interpret this. 
 Methought an angel had from Heaven been 
 sent, 
 Whose starry wings the air seemed proud to 
 kiss ; , 
 Quoth he, " Thy struggles have not been in 
 
 vain, 
 And for thy suff'rings passed, name now thy 
 gain — 
 What thy soul yearns for, say, and all is 
 thine." 
 Then not a moment's space did I refrain 
 From uttering longings, precious as the mine, 
 Countless as mates within the glad sunshine ; 
 For beauty, honor, in the first degree ; 
 For all things that are excellent — for Thee I 
 
 IV. THE TRUE PHCENIX. 
 
 In the old time, as ancient bards rehearse. 
 In many a legend of barbaric verse, 
 
 Where Araby exhales her spicy breath, 
 There came a wondrous bird, but rarely seen; 
 
 That drew a new existence from its death, 
 
 Whereat, duubtless, the reader marvelletli. 
 This wonder therein scarce such time had been 
 
 A pile of goodly incense to have laid, 
 When there arose a fierce, consuming tire 
 
 That burned it utterly — which did not fade. 
 Ere a new bird sprung from the funeral pyre I 
 Love is to me the Pluunix poets mean, 
 
 Which in its sweets a flaming bed hath made. 
 Whence it doth new and perfect life acquire. 
 
 V. THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 The pilgrim who, with weary feet and slow. 
 Travels his sacred journey anxiously. 
 
 Measuring, with a self-inflicted woe 
 And earnest pray'rs, that heed not pang or 
 throe, 
 
 Each step he taketh, feels and acts as I, 
 Who, having set myself a pilgrimage 
 
 Unto a shrine of pure excellency. 
 Do tread on thorny ways, and constant wage 
 
 A warfare with myself— a sharp infliction — 
 
 A sense of some most grievous direlection 
 Unworthy of the goodness I have .=ought. 
 
 Say in what moving terms, what passionate 
 diction, 
 Shall I, sweet saint ! thine ear and heart engage. 
 To be absolved in feeling and in thought. 
 
 VI. A GREAT OFFENCE GREATLY PUNISHED. 
 
 The sun hath drawn his curtain in the West, 
 
 Where the tired hours do chaunt his lullaby ; 
 And Heaven's Argus eyes now watch the rest 
 
 In which the weary world doth calnfly lie. 
 
 The blossoms now their oderous alms deny, 
 
 Folded in dreams on Nature's bounteous breast. 
 
 The nightingale, nor time nor tune doth keep — 
 
 E'en the rude winds, bound in their caverns 
 
 deep. 
 
 Murmur their vespers with a holy care. 
 All things in earth and heav'n seemed hushed 
 in sleep, 
 
 All things save I — I no such blessing share. 
 Punished like him who stole th' immortal tire 
 
 A vulture's beak my vitals seems to tear — 
 Fit recompense for those damned by such proud 
 desire. 
 
 Whether any passage in the writer's life 
 of some singular deep import is marked out 
 in the foregoing poems must be left to the 
 con.sideration of the sagacious reader. It 
 may be thouglit they appear to indicate an 
 attachment on the pail of the inditer of 
 these sonnets to some fair creature of tlio 
 other sex very far above him in rank, which 
 had been the cause to him of exceeding 
 trouble both of heart and of mind. Never- 
 theless, it may be looked upon merely as a 
 device of the imagination, which hath in it 
 no reality of any sort, the poet having, in 
 the exercise of his vocation, fancied a 
 mistress under the circumstances related, 
 whereof both circumstances and sentiments 
 had no other origin in his fruitful brain. 
 
 Of these two views, the reader may in- 
 cline to either. But we will obtain for him 
 the perusal of anotiier paper from the same 
 source, which perchance may assist his 
 judgment. This was entitled after the fol- 
 lowing fashion : — 
 
 THE GROWTH OF LOVE. 
 
 In those warm climates nearest to the sun 
 The flow'rs and fruits a wondious nurture 
 show ; 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 95 
 
 The breezes fan them, and their part is done, 
 The sunbeams kiss them, and they bud and 
 blow. 
 
 So 'tis with love in this warm heart of mine : 
 It springs at once to highest perfectness ; 
 
 It blooms as sunny looks upon it shine. 
 And the fruit ripens 'neath the first caress. 
 
 A DOUBLE ENCHANTMENT. 
 
 Within those orbs a trembling radiance dwells, 
 Full of strange charms, and soul-enthralling 
 
 spells ; 
 Whilst round those tempting lips such magic 
 
 lies 
 As overpow'rs th' enchantment of thine eyes. 
 Yet still the witcheries of thy gaze I seek, 
 Still own the smiling bondage of thy cheek ; 
 But if one spell the other should echpse, 
 Oh, bind me in the magic of thy lips ! 
 
 Of a surety, if the sonnets do not speak 
 sufficiently of love, there must needs be 
 enough of it in the sugared poems the reader 
 hath just, perused. But it may be advanced 
 that in them there may chance to be no 
 more of reality than in the other. For 
 mine own part, I am inclined to the belief 
 that the writer of each and all these poems 
 was in earnest when they were written by 
 liim, and that he hath therein figured out 
 his own particular thouglits and feelings re- 
 garding an individual by whom they had 
 been powerfully excited under circumstan- 
 ces obscurely hinted at in one of the son- 
 nets. 
 
 Nor is there any thing improbable in en- 
 tertaining such a view of the matter. At 
 an early stage in his career, eminently qual- 
 ified as he was both by appearance and un- 
 paralleled gifts of mind to please the eye 
 and captivate the heart of any fair creature 
 disposed to be enamored of such qualities, 
 liis prominence in the public gaze, under 
 the double advantage of an admired player 
 and admirable writer of plays, could scarce 
 fail of giving ample opportunity for some 
 doting nature of tliis sort to regard Jiim with 
 a sweet yet dangerous sympathy. It is tiie 
 natural disposition of passion to level dis- 
 tinctions and smooth obstacles of the diffi- 
 cultest kind ; and it was no unusual thing, 
 in the age sought to be pictured in these 
 pages, for a gentlewoman of high estate 
 and lineage to give the entire devotedness 
 of an uncalculating and, alas ! unthinking 
 affection, to some individual of the other 
 sex, whose natural or acquired gifts were 
 in her estimation infinitely preferable to for- 
 tune, birth, and the like estimable qualities. 
 
 That the development of such a sympa- 
 thy took place clandestinely is rather to be 
 deplored than wondered at. The obliga- 
 
 tions the young poet had already contracted 
 must have rendered the entertainment of 
 any feelings of the sort an offence not to be 
 justified : but we are fearful that passion 
 hath no considerations for what is strictly 
 creditable and honest, and that, however 
 excellently disposed in other respects, a 
 youth, scarce twenty, full of the irrepressi- 
 ble yearnings that form so prominent a part 
 in the influences which do commonly gov- 
 ern the humanity of all the higher order of 
 intellects in early manhood, is not to be ex- 
 pected to withstand so powerful a tempta- 
 tion as is presented to the senses in the 
 kindling glances of a fair creature of ex- 
 quisite loveliness, forgetful of difterences of 
 degree, and indeed of whatsoever should 
 most rule the conduct of one of her condi- 
 tion, in an uncontrollable admiration of him 
 and his works. 
 
 The love of woman is the exquisitest in- 
 toxication under all circumstances, to any 
 man of truly manly feelings, but when the 
 most complete self-abandonment is evidenced 
 in her love, with the most earnest idolatry, 
 what man of woman born is there who could 
 resist her affection ? 
 
 The young poet, in whom love is the very 
 breath of his being, and whose noblest 
 thoughts and feelings can be nurtured only 
 by intimate communion with the many ad- 
 mirable sweet qualities a loving woman 
 possesses, of a surety is the very last person 
 in the world to withstand such temptation. 
 Tender looks, passionate sighs, and delicious 
 smiles, can scarcely be aimed at him, with- 
 out exciting a world of fond tumultuous 
 hopes, and entrancing dreams, that mike 
 him at once a worshipper and a slave, im- 
 pelling the current of his thoughts in one di- 
 rection, with a maddening eagerness that 
 leapeth all boundaries, overcometh all ob- 
 structions, dangers, and difficulties, and 
 heedeth nothing of any sort but the one 
 object to which it is directed ; and that give 
 to all the visible world around a voluptuous 
 coloring of the like glowing nature as that 
 with which the said looks, sighs, and smiles 
 have tinged his every sense. 
 
 Although it may be too much to expect 
 one thus circumstanced — to say nought of 
 the cruel disappointment by which his do- 
 mestic peace had been made shipwreck, 
 which could but exert a powerful influence 
 towards the same conclusion — to liold liim- 
 self aloof from the enticements of passion 
 when coming in so flattering a guise, yet 
 was he exactly of that well-disposedness 
 which, when he recovered the proper exer- 
 cise of his sense of justice, would see the 
 monstrous mischiefs that could not help 
 
96 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 coming of his allowing of siicli teiiiptiition, 
 and would lament, witii an intolerable sense 
 of misery, his own unwortiiiness. For what 
 infinite evils might not result from giving 
 way to such enticements ! 
 
 It cannot be denied that there are instances 
 in which deception, even in the highest 
 places, sit so easily upon those by whom it 
 is worn, that it would seem altogether su- 
 perfluous for a man to trouble himself with 
 any regretful feelings for his share in pro- 
 ducing it, but Master Shakspeare would on 
 no account have believed in such a deplora- 
 ble state of things, and the woman that en- 
 joyed his ali'ection was too secure of his 
 respect to have so much as a doubt enter- 
 tained of her detestation of all falsehood and 
 mystery. 
 
 It was whilst engaged in deeply thinking 
 on this subject, that there suddenly came a 
 gentle tapp'mg at the door. In the mood in 
 which the tenant of this goodly chamber 
 then was, it can be by no means strange 
 that he heeded it not, though it was repeated 
 more than once. At last the door opened 
 cautiously, and there peeped in no other 
 than our old acquaintance, Simon Stockfish, 
 who, through the good offices of his old 
 master's son, had been engaged as serving- 
 man to Master Shakspeare. There was on 
 his stolid visage an air of mystery, mingled 
 with that look of caution and prudence he 
 was wont to assume whenever he was under 
 any difficulty. 
 
 Noticing his master's position, he walked 
 straightway up to him on tip-toe, and whis- 
 pered his name very gently. 
 
 " Well. Simon," said he, instantly rous- 
 ing himself. " Anything from the Globe ? 
 Any one wanting me about the new play ? ' 
 
 " No, honorable sir," answered he, still in 
 a whisper, and pointing to the door. " There 
 is a lady, an it please you, seeketh to have 
 instant speech with you." 
 
 " A lady, Simt)n '?" answered his master, 
 in some surprise. " Pry thee, what sort of 
 a lady ?" 
 
 " A gentlewoman, honorable sir," was 
 the exceeding lucid answer, with an aspect 
 of increased mystery and a show of more 
 confidence in his voice. " That is to say, 
 her apparel is of a creditable sort ; never- 
 theless, it is not to be gainsayed, dress alone 
 doth not make the gentlewoman. She is 
 tall, and of a stately carriage, and speaks 
 like one used to command ; yet, as is like 
 enough, she may be a monstrous indiiferent 
 sort of woman enough as any within a mile." 
 
 " What sort of face had she, Simon ?" 
 
 " I have especial reasons for not knowing, 
 honorable sir ; seeing that she allowed none 
 
 of it to he noticed by me. Her mouth and 
 chin were closed wrapped in a mufilor, and 
 the rest of her visage was hid bc^hind a mask. 
 Now, for mine own part, I do think that 
 one who taketh such trouble to hide her face 
 must needs be ashamed of it, and in this case 
 she can be no fit company for your honor ; 
 therefore, an it j)lease you, honorable sir, I 
 think it would be j)rudent not to allow such 
 a person to have speech cf you, and if it be 
 your good pleasure 1 will on the instant send 
 her packing." 
 
 " Said she not who she was, or what bu- 
 siness she had with me ?" 
 
 " Her name she refused, doubtless for 
 some excellent good reasons ; but, as to the 
 matter she came upon, she said you would 
 have full knowledge of it on your having 
 sight of this ring." 
 
 As soon as Simon Stockfish displayed the 
 trinket that had been entrusted to his cus- 
 tody, his master looked like one seeing a 
 ghost. 
 
 •' Gracious Heaven, can this be possible !"' 
 he exclaimed, starting up in a marvellous 
 excited manner, as he took the ring into his 
 hand. " Run, Simon, run !" he added, hur- 
 riedly, and to the intense astonishment of 
 his new serving-man. " Bring her to this 
 chamber with all possible speed, and on your 
 life see that I am disturbed by no one — even 
 were it the king himseli'!" 
 
 '■ What marvel hath we here ?" cried he, 
 pressing his hands against his brows in a 
 distracted manner, as Simon left the cham- 
 ber, somewhat bewildered in his thoughts 
 of the person to whom he was sent. " How 
 wondrous ! how incomparably strange ! 
 Surely there must be some huge mistake in 
 this. But, no, this is the ring, out of all 
 manner of doubt : it must be her — it can be 
 no other." 
 
 He had scarce well uttered the wordsj 
 when the door opened, and there entered the 
 chamber just sucli a female as Simon Stock- 
 fish had described. She was enveloped, 
 and hid, as it were, in a large, coarse cloak. 
 This f>nd her face being completely covered 
 up, took from the spectator all ordinary 
 means of guessing her character and con- 
 dition. The first care of Master Shakspeare 
 was to fasten the door, as hurriedly and as 
 speedily as possible, which he did with an 
 air of vvildness, altogether unusual to him, 
 that bespoke some strange and powerful ex- 
 citement. Whilst this was a doing, the 
 lady tottered to a scat, like one scarce able 
 to support her limbs, into which she dropped 
 as though without sense or motion. It 
 looked as though she had swooned, but this 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 97 
 
 was not so, for presently slio drew a hand 
 beautifully fair and dazzling with gems 
 from beneath her cloak, and spread it open, 
 and tore from her face the masli and mulHer, 
 and gasped as though for air. 
 
 The face that was discovered was of ex- 
 traordinary loveliness ; the features were of 
 mature womanhood, yet their settled un- 
 happiness made her seem much older than 
 she was. A proud and lolty brow, eyes 
 that seemed to gleam with a supernatural 
 light, an arched nose, with a mouth, whereof 
 every line spoke unutterable disdain of all 
 mean things, did sufficiently tell of high 
 lineage, without the costly-embroidered robe, 
 fitting tight to the neck and bust, that was 
 seen through the open cloak, which one of 
 poorer quaUty could never have worn. 
 
 Master Shakspeare was hastening to- 
 wards her, when a sudden and imperative 
 motion of her hand compelled him to stop 
 within a couple of yards of her chair, and 
 for some minutes lie there stood, to ail ap- 
 pearance, humble as the veriest slave, with 
 looks cast to the earth, a pallid cheek, and 
 a most sorrowful visage — she gazing on him 
 as though her eyes were starting from her 
 head, now pressing her hand to her heart, 
 as if to stop its tumultuous throbbings, and 
 anon raising it to her brow, as if to repress 
 some terrible spasm there. Neither spoke 
 a word, and nothing was to be heard but a 
 sort of gasping, with which the lady took 
 her breath. Once or twice it looked as 
 though she essayed to speak, but the sounds 
 died unuttered on her tongue. Yet lan- 
 guage wanted she none. The look she 
 cast uj)on her companion spoke volumes of 
 meaning, such as the most picked phrases 
 could never express. 
 
 Master Shakspeare was the first who 
 spoke. But his words were breathed ^ln\vly, 
 falteringly, and in a whisper, as though the 
 confused state of his feelings Vv^ould scarce 
 allow him utterance. 
 
 " My Lady Countess, I -" 
 
 " Hush !" hastily exclaimed the lady, 
 with a sort of wild desperateness, as it were. 
 " I have taken such pains as I have to seek 
 you, unk[iown to any, to obtain at your 
 hands a service, to the granting of which I 
 have looked forward with feverish anxious- 1 
 ness, through many sleepless nights, and 
 miserable days." 
 
 " Be assured, good my lady, it is already 
 granted," said her companion. " Your slight- 
 est wish must ever be a law with me, wiiilst 
 I have aught I'emaining of sense or life." 
 
 " Swear it !" exclaimed she, suddenly 
 starting from her seat, and grasping Master 
 Shakspeare by the arm ; then, dropping on 
 
 h# knees by his side, enforced him to the 
 same posture. " Swear it !" she cried, with 
 a look and manner of intense excitement — • 
 " Swear you will do my bidding, as God is 
 your witness and your refuge !" 
 
 " I swear it !" answered Master Shak- 
 speare, solemnly. At this his companion 
 dropped her hold on him, buried her face in 
 her hands, and sobbed convulsively for se- 
 veral seconds. In leaving the chair she 
 had freed herself from the cloak v.'hich had 
 concealed her dress, which was now dis- 
 played in all its richness — and a moi^ costly 
 robe it was, as ever the cunning of wo- 
 man's tailor triumphed in. It was of wrought 
 cloth of gold, daintily set with pearls; the 
 stately wearer whereof, though boasting of 
 sucii bravery, in the humble posture which 
 she had chosen, and in the deep distrees of 
 heart .--he exhibited, looked a marvellous 
 contradiction. The humility of Jier spirit 
 would have better sorted with cloth of frieze, 
 or other modest apparelling, but her noble 
 figure and niHJestic beauty undoubtedly did 
 well become t^ie cloth of gold. 
 
 Master Shakspeare sought not to disturb 
 her grief, or to check it by any attempt at 
 consolation. He retained his position in 
 silence, but witli a heart deeply wrung by 
 the sorrowful spectacle beside him. Her 
 sobs growing to be less vehement, she made 
 a movement as though she would rise, the 
 which he readily assisted ; and, without a 
 word on either side, he respectfully led her 
 to her seat, then fell back to the place he 
 had occupied before she had left it, and kept 
 gazing on iier with looks which did plainly 
 bespeak his entire sympathy. She con- 
 tinued to sob for some time, leaning low 
 against her chair, her breast heaving con- 
 vulsively, and in other signs betraying the 
 exceeding powerful agitation by which she 
 was moved. 
 
 After a fe\v minutes she raised herself, 
 and gazed steadily at her companion. Her 
 eyes were humid, and her face deadly pale. 
 She paused awhile, and it was evident she 
 labored under some e.xtraordinary feeling 
 that checked her speech. At last, in a 
 murmur that could scarce be heard, she 
 said — " I have a son." Master Shakspeare 
 listened with intense interest. She com- 
 tinued, but still with extreme difficulty of 
 speech, and in a marvellous low voice — 
 " This boy love I with all my heart and 
 soul. A mother's lov'e, huge as it is at most 
 times, giveth no sufficient conception of the 
 particular affection I bear to him, for rea- 
 sons which cannot readily be expressed. Up 
 to this time his schooling hath been well 
 cared for. He will not be found deficient in 
 
98 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 encli scholarship as is considerod neccssarji 
 for one ot" liis condition. But he is now 
 grown to be a youth, requiring for his gui- 
 dance, in after-years, a knowledge of men 
 rather tiian of books." 
 
 Tlie -speaker paused, perchance to collect 
 her ideas. Her countenance was still more 
 hke unto a marble effigy, than a human 
 being; and ber eloquent gaze was ti.xed 
 upon the llushed check and kindling eye of 
 her companion, who listened to her speech, 
 as though he put his whole soul into his 
 looks. 
 
 "It iiatli become a common, and, methinks, 
 a commendable custom," added she, " for 
 youth, of any fortune or degree, to travel to 
 distant countries, under the eye of some 
 wise and worthy person, to see and profit 
 by whatever is most noticeable in other 
 countries ere they commence their career 
 of action in their own. I have so much 
 liking of this custom, I would fain have 
 mine own sweet son to get whatsoever ad- 
 vantages it may bring to him ; but there is 
 but one person in this wide world under 
 whosj guardianship I would he should obtain 
 it." 
 
 Here came another pause, somewhat 
 longer than the other, in which it was ex- 
 ceeding difficult to say which seemed to be 
 most moved. The lady v/as still the fir.~t to 
 display her powers of speech. Her words 
 were uttered slowly, thickly, and scarcely 
 above her breath ; and, nioreovcr, there 
 was in them a solemnncss which carried 
 them at once to the heart of her singularly 
 attentive companion. She then added — 
 " You have sworn to do me this excellent 
 service."^ 
 
 blaster Shakspeare felt his every sense 
 in such a whirl of bewildering sensations, 
 he could not find one single word of speech 
 to state his readiness to fulfil the oath he had 
 taken. He fe!t not only as if utterance was 
 denied him, but as if he could scarce breathe. 
 
 " Dost shrink from it ?" asked she, in the 
 same trembling tones. 
 
 " I have sworn," said Master Shakspeare, 
 at last, in a manner which showed he had 
 no small difficulty in having such v>ords at 
 his connnand, "1 have sworn, and will re- 
 gard mine oath most reverently." He 
 longed to ask certain questions — in especial 
 he was desirous of learning when he might 
 be required for this service, but his tongue 
 did so cleave to his throat, not a word more 
 could he utter. 
 
 " 'Tis well," replied she, taking a long 
 breath, " 'tis exceeding well : and I thank 
 you right heartily for your readiness in so 
 
 disposing of yourself. But there is one 
 thing more — a thing of most vital moment, 
 a matter of such huge consequence — " 
 Here the speaker ended abruptly, and pressed 
 her hand against her breast, as though its 
 pulses were of such force she could no 
 longer endure them. Then with a mighty 
 effort of self-command, she proceeded — 
 " Whatever your feelings or your thoughts 
 may be regarding him, none must know 
 them ; and more than all, at whatever cost, 
 they must be strictly concealed from /u'???." 
 Here, seeing her companion striving earnest- 
 ly to interrupt her, she added, with a more 
 tender expression in her face than she had 
 hitherto used — " I have such opinion of 
 your nobleness of soul that I would not 
 have uttered this caution ; but it is not any 
 thing evil, I fear, in you : it is rather an 
 excess of goodness. The better qualities 
 of your heart may, unless they are discreetly 
 governed, do a world of mischief. I pray 
 you think of this." 
 
 " Be assured it shall be well thought of," 
 replied he, faintly. 
 
 " Guard him as the apple of your eye," 
 she continued. '• Instruct him both by pre- 
 cept and example, till his nature hath taken 
 upon itself as much as possible of kindred 
 with your own. Keep him secure of dan- 
 ger of every sort, and make him worthy of 
 bearing an honorable name, and filling a 
 creditable station, if his country sliould have 
 need of his services. I can speak to you 
 no further on this subject now, but I will 
 not fail to apprize you of the time when you 
 will be called upon to fulfil the service you 
 have undertaken." 
 
 At the ending of this speech, Master 
 Shakspeare knelt respectfully at her feet. 
 At first, she seemed inclined to withhold 
 her hand, but, as if struck by the air of res- 
 pect that was in his aspect and demeanor, 
 she gave it him, and he at once pressed it, 
 though with much more of revercrice than 
 gallantry, to his lips. He had scarce done 
 so, when she started up with every sign of 
 fear in her lovely countenance. Sounds 
 were heard on the stairs leading to the 
 chamber in which they were ; they appear- 
 ed to arise from a struggle and an alterca- 
 tion, as though some persons were striving 
 to fbrce their way up stairs. " God of 
 heaven, I have been watched !" exclaimed 
 the lady, in tones of agony and affright. 
 
 " I tell thee, thou senseless dolt, thou !" 
 cried a husky voice from outside, " thou 
 shotten herring ! thou guinea-hen ! thou 
 empty peascod ! I must and will have 
 speech with him." 
 
THE SECHET PASSION. 
 
 99 
 
 " Nay, Wiil, prythee let us depart," said 
 another. " It is unmannerly to press upon 
 him thus, if he have company." 
 
 " It is Kempe and Allen, two of my fa- 
 miliars," said Master Shakspeare. " But 
 they must, on no account, have sight of you. 
 On with your disouise, I beseech you, and 
 whilst my knave liolds them in parley, I will 
 see you safe to the street by a way that shall 
 avoid them." 
 
 "As I hve, they are forcing their way !" 
 replied the lady, in intense anxiety and 
 alarm, as she hastened to put on her mask 
 and her apparel. " They are coming — they 
 are close upon the door ! Oh, let me away 
 tliis instant !" 
 
 Master Shakspeare lost no time in open- 
 ing a door that entered upon a book-closet, 
 at the end of which was a back stair, down 
 which both proceeded hastily, till they came 
 upon a long jjassage. Here they could hear 
 a noise of knocking at the door above, 
 mingled with a violent altercation of voices. 
 Master Shakspeare hurried his companion to 
 a door that led into one of the thoroughfares 
 in the liberty of the Clink, knowing full well 
 that Will Ivempe, in the state his husky 
 voice too well denoted, was not like to 
 mince his phrases. A brief farewell was all 
 that was passed ; the door was quietly closed, 
 paid Master Shakspeare rapidly ascended 
 the stairs, and, unmindl'ul of the din outside 
 his chamber, flung himself into the chair 
 near the table, hiding his face upon his 
 arm.^. A short time sufliced for the indul- 
 gence of his feelings. He seemed to make 
 a powerful effort at composure, and rose 
 from his seat to put an end to the wild up- 
 roar at the door. 
 
 " An ancient kinswoman, sayest !" ex- 
 , claimed one. " Why thou Barbary ape, 
 thou unspeakable foolish knave ! dost think 
 Will Kempe is to be caught by so poor a 
 conceit ? Is my gossip and namesake one 
 to have an ancient kinswoman with him at 
 this hour ? He is better employed, I'll war- 
 rant him." 
 
 It is here necessary the reader should 
 know that Simon Stockfish had considered 
 it to be both prudent and politic to conceal 
 from his master's visiters the exact sort of 
 person closeted with him, and took upon 
 himself to say that he was engaged with an 
 ancient kinswoman, and could on no ac- 
 count be disturbed. The which, as was 
 usual in all his politic strokes, made matters 
 a great deal the worse. 
 
 It so chanced that the discussion was put 
 to a speedy ending by the opening of the 
 door by his master, who, after duly acknow- 
 ledging the presence of his ill-timed visiters, 
 
 affirmed very confidently his ancient kins- 
 woman had left him some time, and he had 
 since fallen asleep. Nevertheless, it was 
 easy to see, by certain signs, more signifi- 
 cant than mannerly, that Kempe was vastly 
 incredulous. What he had to express on 
 the matter he was prevented from giving 
 utterance to by his companion, wiio com- 
 menced by informing Master Shakspeare of 
 certain matters of intelligence respecting 
 the patronage of different companies of 
 players, by the king, the queen, and Prince 
 Henry, and ended by requesting his com- 
 pany at supper at his poor dwelling. This 
 Master Shakspeare was in no mood for, but 
 he was anxious to get both Allen and Kempe 
 out of the house as speedily as possible, so 
 he at once very heaniiy signified his assent, 
 spoke of an errand he had that required his 
 iunnediate attention, and in a i'ew seconds 
 was proceeding with them, in an exact con- 
 trary direction to that just taken by iiis fair 
 visiter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Next unto his view 
 She represents a banquet, ushered in 
 By such a shape as she was sure would win 
 His appetite to taste. 
 
 JoHX Chalkhill. 
 
 And how, all this while, fared our stu- 
 dent of medicine ? He had surely been 
 a sufficient time an associate of the family 
 of the famous Master Doctor Posset, to feel 
 himself at home, and, although, perchance, 
 he might miss the anxious care and affection 
 of his admirable kind mother, there was great 
 likelihood that he was looked after by one 
 who omitted no opportunity of showing that 
 she regarded him with a care equally tender, 
 and a much more endearing alfection. In 
 short, the attentions of the attractive Milli- 
 cent were of so flattering a sort he must be 
 uhe dullest stock ever heard of that could 
 resist them. 
 
 John Hall, it is true, entered the house a 
 mere studfmt, on whom the passion — com- 
 monly called love — had hitherto made no 
 sort of impression ; but the conduct pursued 
 towards him by the fair damsel with whom 
 he had become domesticated was of a nature 
 that so powerfully appealed to his feelings, 
 he soon began to throw off the humor of the 
 book- worm, and by degrees take on himself 
 that of tlie passionate lover. These appeals 
 were not only made by means of a thousand 
 nameless offices of kindness, of services that 
 
100 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Iiad in tliom tlic appoaraiico of devotion, 
 whicli could not but have iinmenKe power 
 over a nature so new to the inlluence of 
 woman, but the critical state of her health, 
 caused by a constant recurrence of convul- 
 sive lits of the most abiruiin^^ character, and 
 the too evident existence of some secret 
 cause of unha)>pino.ss, increased j^reatly the 
 interest with wiiich the young student felt 
 disposed to regnrd her. 
 
 She said nothing positive as to the nature 
 of her unhajipiness; all thai he could gain 
 on the subject was through the expression 
 of mysterious hints, by which he was made 
 to understand that she led an exceedingly 
 unhappy hfe with her family. 
 
 win 1st the germ of affection was develop- 
 ing itself in the breast of the young student, 
 lie heard nothing and beheld nothing that 
 could lead him to imagine that there was 
 any engagement betwixt his friend Leonard 
 and his fair mistress ; but, when it had a 
 sure hold of him, Millicent took occasion to 
 acquaint him of its existence. IJut she did 
 so ni a way that looked so like lamenting 
 such should be the case, and did so prettily 
 and so fondly withal promise him at least 
 half the heart, thus unhappily pre-engaged, 
 that h*e was so bewildered with her flatteries, 
 he could not bring on himself to give up his 
 suit. The more he saw of the behavior of 
 the two to each other, and of the conduct of 
 each towards persons tiiat seemed to be 
 indnitely better thought of. the more he felt 
 satisfied that the engagement was mutually 
 dissatisfactory ; and as afterwards she fre- 
 quently displayed the state of lier feelings 
 to him, in a manner that could not be mis- 
 taken, he allowed himself to act and feel as 
 if no such engagement existed. 
 
 John Hall was of a nature as unsuspicious 
 as any child, and equally credulous. His 
 experience of wcuiankind had been limited 
 almost exclusively to his mother, who was 
 one of its rarest examples — gentle, fond, 
 generous, pure-hearted, and single-minded ; 
 and he was willing enough to believe that in 
 the devoted Millicent he beheld all that was 
 most admirable and worthy of honor. The 
 education he had had, and the habits of 
 thinking in which he had been wont to in- 
 dulge, made much in lier speech and conduct 
 to him seem strarigc and unaccountable, but 
 her manner was so pleasing, and her argu- 
 ments so specious, that it was impossible he 
 could imagine there was any thing improper 
 in her ])roceedings. Indeed, he most lirmly 
 believed her to be the most disinterested, 
 noble-hearted being upon earth ; and, though 
 he marvelled at the earnestness with which 
 she pressed him to be on liis guard, that 
 
 liConard her betrothed sliould remain in ig- 
 norance of the good understanding which 
 existed betwixt them, he liad not a doubt in 
 the world she had some excellent good mo- 
 tive for it. 
 
 We must beg leave to transport the 
 courteous reader into no other place tlian 
 Mistress Millicent's bed-chamber, at a lime 
 too, when, with her young companion, she 
 was preparing to retire to rest. The cham- 
 ber, though small, was peculiarly orderly 
 and clean. It was situated in the roof of 
 the house, at a considerable distance from 
 any of the others. But, though thus isolated, 
 it liad every appearance of security, and 
 many of comfort. The bed lay low almost 
 to the floor, yet it seemed to promise more 
 than ordinary accommodation, and from the 
 number of packages, and huge chests and 
 cupboards about it on every side, it showed 
 that there was good store of other furniture 
 equally useful. 
 
 Mildred, chatting as fast as her tongue 
 would let her, with a constant recourse to 
 her childish and unmeaning laugh, was 
 getting ready to take the rest it was evident 
 she needed. Millicent seemed to be listen- 
 ing, as she sat at the foot of the bed, comb- 
 ing out her luxuriant tresses, but there was 
 that settled gravity in her aspect that showed 
 she was thinking of a far different matter. 
 But the other cared little whether her espe- 
 cial friend was listening or not. On she 
 proceeded with her narrative, exceeding 
 content to have no interruption. 
 
 Now and then her companion uttered a 
 brief unmeaning phrase, evidently more be- 
 cause she was expected to say something, 
 than from any interest she took in t!ie sub- 
 ject or subjects so fluently spoken of. Thus 
 she slowly pursued her task — indeed so 
 slowly, that the other had placed herself 
 under the bedclothes before she had taken 
 oil" her outer garment. Then she seemed 
 to be wondrous busy looking over a heap of 
 linen, that stood in a heavy arm-chair, as if 
 fresh from the buck-basket. For some short 
 time after Mildred had laid down, she con- 
 tinued her gossip. At last, as though tired 
 of its constant exercise, her tongue ceased, 
 and her full and regular breathing declared 
 she was sinking to sleep. As soon as she 
 heard these sounds, Millicent left off what 
 she was about and gazed for some moments 
 at the sleeper. Presently she took the lamp, 
 and walked gently to the bedside. The ex- 
 amination she gave secured to satisfy her, 
 for then she quickly but softly glided out of 
 the chamber. 
 
 She [)assed down the staircase without 
 producing the slightest sound, and entered 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 101 
 
 a chamber, directly over the basement floor. 
 Here she liid the lamp in tlie fireplace, and 
 went direct to the window. This projected 
 considerably over the lower part of the dwell- 
 ing, as was the case in most houses at that 
 time, so tiiat any one could gain from it a 
 clear view up and down the street. She 
 opened the casement, and looked to the 
 right for a considerable space. She then 
 giz3d in the opposite direction, but as 
 it seemed with a like result. If she expect- 
 ed any one at that hour, it did not look as 
 though her e.xpectation would get fulxilled. 
 Tiiere was no one visible from one end of 
 Golden Lane to the other, as far as could be 
 seen of it. Indeed, all Barbican appeared 
 undisiurbed, even by so much as a solitary 
 constable of the watch. 
 
 It was a clear starlight night, that made 
 the picturesque features of tae quaint old 
 houses in that quarter of the city as goodly 
 a picture of the son as the eye might look 
 on. Millicent sat herself down by ttie open 
 casement, with her elbow restnig oa its 
 ledge, and h':r cheek supjrarted by her hand. 
 She sometimes looked up to the deep blue 
 sky, which, with its myriad lights, spread 
 far and wide over the tall chimnies and 
 sloping eaves; but her look wo;idrously 
 lacked that devotion, which the young heart 
 cannot fail to feel wlien impressed with tne 
 beauty of that marvelloas work of the Great 
 Architect. She gazed upon the buildings 
 before her with the same absolute inUif- 
 ferency. Neither the work of God nor man 
 appeared to excite in her the slightest spec- 
 ulation ; yet Vv'as her mind inliaitely busy. 
 All its energies were bent to tiie considera- 
 tion of the best means of accomplishing 
 certain purposes of her own, the policy of 
 which would have done credit to the veriest 
 grey-beard that ever sat at a council board, 
 of directed the powers of mighty states. 
 
 A slight sound disturbed her reveries, and 
 she immediately looked forth, but drew in 
 her head again, or seeing it was a neighbor 
 liastening for a midwife. Again they were 
 interrupted, but this time it was by the noisy 
 singing of a group of merry apprentices, 
 who had stolen out from their master's 
 dwellings, doubtless for some especial mis- 
 chief, which caused her to draw back so far 
 into the chamber she could not be seen by 
 them. She returned to her position, and 
 remained there some time longer. The 
 silence was undisturbed, the blue canopy 
 above seemed to have gained additional 
 brilliancy, and the sharp outlines of the 
 houses around looked to be placed in a more 
 pleasing perspective, but to Millicent ad these 
 were still as though they had never been. 
 
 Now a light quick footfall attracted her 
 attention. Slie .started up on the instant, as 
 though she recognized the sound. By the 
 indistinct light she observed a man hurriedly 
 approaching towards the house. What was 
 his age or dignity was not sufficiently evi- 
 dent ; but from the firm step he took, and 
 the uprightness of his stature, it might rea- 
 sonably be supposed he was not far advanced 
 in life. He was close upon the house and 
 just under the casement, when Penelope 
 cried out, "Hist!" which caused him to 
 stop instantly and look up. She put her 
 finger to her lips, as she leaned forward. 
 Satisfied that the sign was attended to, she 
 presently closed the casement, took the lamp 
 from its hiding-place, and noiselessly crept 
 down stairs. 
 
 In a moment after, the street door was 
 opened very gently, and the person seen out- 
 side admitted. 'I'he door was then gently 
 closed and fastened. Scarce had it been 
 done, when witiiout a word spoken on either 
 side, he received such usage as showed her 
 visiter was on the footing of a lover. The 
 two were then perfectly in the dark. Then 
 lie followed her footsteps up-stairs, at a turn- 
 ing in vviiich stood tlie ligiit which she had 
 left there when she admitted him. This she 
 took up, and proceeded, folioweJ by the 
 other noiselessly, till she entered a chamber 
 which adjoined that in which lay the uncon- 
 scious Mildred. 
 
 There was an appearance in it of studied 
 comfort. A lire burnt on the hearth, and 
 materials for an excellent repast stood oa the 
 table, iviiliicent put down the light, and 
 once more embraced her gallant — for her 
 gallant out of all tjuestion he was. Nothing 
 could exceed the deliglit she displayed. Her 
 pale features were lighted up with admira- 
 tion. Her words were most honeyed fiat- 
 teiies, and her actions the most caressing 
 fond woman ever disclosed. She divested 
 her companion of his hat, then of his boots, 
 putting on his feet a pair of comfortable 
 slippers, and made him sit down to his sup- 
 per and waited on him pressingly and dili- 
 gently, partaking of none herself, but sparing 
 no pains to make him eat and drink 
 heartily. 
 
 And who was the gallant so well cared 
 for ? It was no other than John Hall, and 
 the place in which he and the seductive 
 Millicent were was his own chaml)er, v\ hich, 
 by the way, was in some way evident, from 
 the books and other signs of study there to 
 be found, lie could not but make earnest 
 acknowledgments for the loving care she 
 took of him. In truth, her entire devoted- 
 ness to hiin, which she made every possible 
 
102 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 effort to show liim clandestinely, had not i 
 been without its due effect on his grateful 
 disposition. | 
 
 Indeed, the manner of her behavior filled i 
 him at last with a sort of intoxicatiiifr deli- 
 rium. He was never happy save when he j 
 was alone with her, and although there was 
 nothing on his part strictly evil to conceal, : 
 he was ever in a constant mood of appre- 
 hension that his feelings should betray her. 
 
 He began to feel exceeding anxious and 
 uneasy wlicn alone with the always friendly 
 LeonaVd, altliough it would have been a 
 difficuli matter to have shown any just cause 
 for it. In short, his senses were mystified 
 and confounded, and he scarce could arrive 
 at one definite conclusion, save that he loved 
 Millicent, and, although this was a mon- 
 strous injustice to his friend, he would be 
 doing a still greater wrong to the fond crea- 
 ture who strove so earnestly to pleasure him, 
 were he to love her one jot the less. 
 
 By this time the supper things had been 
 cleared away save only the flask of wine and 
 a tall glass, and Millicent had seated herself 
 on a chair on the opposite side of the 
 chimney. 
 
 Ai tiie constant request of his fair mistress, 
 the young student, from time to time, finished 
 his glass ; and the wine began to have its 
 effects upon him. His eyes flashed with 
 an unwonted brilliance ; his pale cheek had 
 on it a glow that in warmth rivalled that of 
 health, and his tongue contrived to exercise 
 its qualities after a fashion quite foreign to 
 his ordinary habits. His spirits seemed 
 every moment to rise higher and higher. 
 He uttered jests, and delivered comphments, 
 the one with humor, the other with both 
 spirit and grace ; and she seemed to have 
 equal satisfaction in both, retiirning too, the 
 coin he gave with prodigal interest. Then 
 she, when this humor of his was at its height, 
 begged of him, in too pretty a way to be 
 denied, that he would sing to her the same 
 exquisite sweet ballad she iiad heard him 
 sing to Leonard the day previous. 
 
 At another time it is like enough our 
 young student would have done all in his 
 power to get oft" attempting a love-ditty to 
 the too charming Mdlicent, but he had drunk 
 so much wine, and imbibed so much flattery 
 — the more intoxicating of the two — that he 
 was ready to do lier l)idding on the instant. 
 ] le murely uttered a few brief apologies for 
 iiis want of skill, and then commenced : 
 
 THE HEART'S REGAL. 
 
 Come back, fond lieart ! wliy wouldst thou stay ? 
 
 Content tliee with tliy present dwelling; 
 Enjoy thine ease, whilst here thou may — 
 
 What ills thou seek'st, there is no telling. 
 Fond heart replied, " Too long I've pined, 
 
 Unloved, unloving, dull, and dreaiy ; 
 In yon fair breast a home I'll find, 
 
 For of iny own lam full weary." 
 
 Ah, me, 'twas but a little space — 
 
 The least of Time's fast bursting bubbles — 
 The truant found his dwelling-place 
 
 Beset by countless pains and troubles. 
 " Oh, would I could but know again," 
 
 Quoth he, " that peace I have so needed, 
 None then should say, ' Come back,' in vain, 
 
 None then should warn, and be unheeded !" 
 
 When he came to the end of his ditty, he 
 fully expected to hear the usual gracious 
 commentary, but, to his extreme surprise, 
 there ensued a dead silence ; and turning 
 round to see why it was, to his astonishment 
 and alarm he perceived that his companion 
 was in one of those strange convulsive fits 
 that were wont to visit her so roughly. 
 
 She sat leaning back in her chair, her 
 face bloodless, her eyes fixed, and her lower 
 jaw constantly snapping against the other. 
 Her arms were in her laj), but they were 
 slightly raised once or twice, and dropped 
 down again. John Hall was hugely con- 
 cerned at this. He hurried to her, and, sup- 
 porting her in his arms, strove to open her 
 hands, which were close shut and com- 
 pressed. 
 
 Whilst he was intent in this, she heaved 
 a deep breath. Anon, she began to laugh, 
 first slightly, and then in long peals of fright- 
 ful vehemence. Then she took to talking, 
 and, to iier companion's no small gratifica- 
 tion, did say many things that spoke the 
 extent of her passion fjr him. 
 
 Crying followed laughing, and all sorts of 
 strange phrases were mixed up with her 
 passionate declarations. Sometimes there 
 was a pause, and she seemed, but for the 
 heating of her heart, like one from whom 
 life hath departed, and then the wild hyste- 
 rical laughter would burst out afresh, and 
 she would act over again with increased 
 frenzy the loving confession she had just 
 made. 
 
 To John Hall's exceeding credit, he bore 
 himself towards her throughout with an in- 
 finite greater show of the physician than the 
 lover ; and when she at last began to exhibit 
 signs of returning consciousness, he gently 
 placed her back in the chair, and merely stood 
 by her, holding one of her hands, so that, on 
 her recovery, her sense of womanly delicacy 
 miglit not be shocked by any thing which 
 might lead her into the belief that she had 
 maTle the disclosure of her feelings she had. 
 She presently drew her hands over her 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 103 
 
 face, and stared about her like one waking 
 from a strange dream. Then slie cast her 
 eyes upon her companion with a singular 
 curiousness, and slowly began to have some 
 conception of surrounding objects. She 
 heaved a deep sigh, and looked unutterably 
 wretched. Tiie young student, with an 
 evident sympathy, expressed his hopes she 
 felt better. She smileu faintly, and, in few 
 words, acknowledged she was so. Then 
 she rose from her chair as though with some 
 difficulty, and for a while leaned her head 
 on his shoulder. John Hall was too much 
 accustomed to receive such familiarities 
 from her to be surprised at such an act. 
 Yet he felt a thrill of pleasure dart through 
 his frame as her cheek came close to his, 
 and he could not refrain, by means of the 
 arm that encircled her waist, from drawing 
 her into closer neighborhood — a great bold- 
 ness in him. This was immediately respond- 
 ed to on her part by her raising her lustrous 
 eyes to his, and iixing on him a gaze, that 
 he could not have looked on for an instant. 
 His eyes fell before it, and he felt dizzy and 
 faint, like one about to sink into a swoon. 
 
 A silence followed, uninterrupted on either 
 side. Finally, MilUcent, making some ordi- 
 nary remark on the lateness of the hour, lit 
 a small lamp that was in the room, and, with 
 one of her most bewitching '• good nights," 
 faintly answered by him, took her own light, 
 and quietly glided out of the room. She 
 had scarcely closed the door when her whole 
 countenance underwent a sudden and most 
 complete change. Her brow was fiercely 
 knit, and her visage expressed utter dissatis- 
 faction. Little did the unsuspecting student 
 imagine that the whole scene, like many 
 others that had preceded it, had been acted 
 by her ; and that each and all those tits, 
 which had so distressed him to look on, were 
 simulated for the purpose of exciting his 
 sympathy. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 They that enter into the state of marriage 
 cast a die of the greatest contingency, and yet 
 of the greatest interest in the world, next to 
 the last throw for eternity — life or death, fe- 
 licity or a lasting sorrow, are in the power of 
 marriage. Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 After due consideration of the duty he 
 had so strongly bound himself to fulfil. 
 Master Shakspeare made arrangements for 
 paying a visit to his family at Shottcry. He, 
 as was usual with him on all such occas- 
 ions, took leave of his friends and fellows 
 
 at the playhouse, by means of a jovial sup- 
 per at his lodgings in the liberty of the 
 Clink ; and early ne.xt morning started off, 
 accompanied by Simon Stockfish, both well 
 armed, and otherwise well provided for a 
 long journey, on the road to Oxford. 
 
 Simon was very diflerently circumstanced 
 in this journey, to what he was then travel- 
 ling with his old master's son ; in the first 
 place, there was a very opposite style of 
 horseflesh employed on llie present occa- 
 sion ; in the ne.xt, he had no such important 
 responsibility as weighed so heavily on him 
 when acting as guardian to the young stu- 
 dent. Master Shakspeare rode a fine tall 
 horse, w-orthy to carry an emperor, and 
 Simon had for his own riding a truly ser- 
 viceable gelding, that was possessed of very 
 good paces ; and, so far from wanting a 
 guide. Master Shakspeare knew the road 
 so well, he could have gone the whole dis- 
 tance blindfold. 
 
 Simon, however, had, as in his memorable 
 journey to London, ample opportunity for 
 cultivating his genius for taciturnity. — • 
 Though he had usually found his master 
 agreeably communicative, and ever with 
 something pleasant in his speech, all the 
 way nearly to Oxford, he was so deeply in- 
 tent on his own thoughts, as to seem to take 
 no heed of any other matter whatsoever. 
 Doubtless he was considering the important 
 matters that had transpired during the ex- 
 traordinary visit he had received. He 
 seemed to be going over in his mind the 
 whole remarkable history of his Secret 
 Passion. 
 
 As he approached the University, he 
 strove to shake off the load of thought 
 which pressed upon him, and suddenly dis- 
 turbed his sedate old follower, in the midst 
 of certain deep considerations as to the pro- 
 perest policy for him to pursue for the ad- 
 vancing or securing of his master's inter- 
 ests under divers possible contingencies, 
 by affording him various pleasant remem- 
 brances of the fair city he was about to en- 
 ter. As if for to make up for his want of 
 sociality previously, he now began to enter- 
 tain his humble fellow-traveller with num- 
 berless stories of the freaks and humors of 
 the college youths. They seemed to amuse 
 Simon wonderfully ; and when they rode 
 up to " Tlie Crown," it was difficult to say 
 w^hich was in the choicest spirits, the mas- 
 ter or the man. 
 
 Simon, however, speedily recovered his 
 customary staidness, and in looking after 
 the stable-boys, and giving directions for 
 the proper dieting and attentions to his mas- 
 ter's beasts, demeaned himself as became 
 
104 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION- 
 
 his reputation for gravity or caution. lie 
 did more — fully impressed with ihe superior 
 advantages of gaining the ear of the high- 
 er powers, and feeling, bomul in conscience 
 to do his utmost for the bcnelitting of his 
 good master, lie took the liit=t o[)portunity 
 he could of speaking in private with the 
 hostess of "The Crown," in honor of the 
 exceeding worthy person whose serving- 
 man he had the good lortnne to be, and with 
 much earnestness begged she would see 
 that he had e\ery thing of the best at a fair 
 and rensonablc charge. 
 
 Simon Stoc'kOsli little know the amuse- 
 ment the relation of this studied speech of 
 Jiis, by Mistress D'Avement to Master 
 Shakspearc, caused in the little parlor the 
 latter was wont to use when staying at Ox- 
 ford. But we cannot now tarry to narrate 
 what was said on that occasion, nor any 
 other thing that pa.ssed, when it came to be 
 bruited among the O.xford scholars that 
 Will Shakspeare was at " The C^rown." 
 We must needs hurry him out of that fair 
 and ancient city, which he left early the 
 next morning, to carry him as fast as we 
 can towards Stratford. 
 
 As he travelled along, his thoughts set 
 in a totally different direction to that they 
 had taken in the earlier part of his journey. 
 The heart of Master Shakspeare was one 
 admirably attuned to all the sweet affections 
 of domestic life. God only knoweth with 
 what overmastering love he had regarded 
 liis sweet young son. He could not but 
 shudder when he considered the terrible 
 punishment he had endured in his lament- 
 able death, in which all his auibitioas hopes 
 for him had \>3cn levelled to the dust, and his 
 whole nature crushed, as it were, in the 
 ruins. 13 ut, though his beloved Hamnet 
 was no longer to gladden his eyes with his 
 beauty and intelligence, there was still left 
 him the wild and wilful Judith, who, with 
 all her strange unleminine ways, was 
 an object of love to him ; and, belter still, 
 there was the tender and loving Susanna, 
 of whose entire affections he felt himself 
 secure. 
 
 He had, as was his custom, brought with 
 him presents for every member of his fam- 
 ily, selected to meet their several wants or 
 tastes. Even the three aunts, whose hos- 
 tility to him and talent for mischief he had 
 been made to appreciate so often, had not 
 been forgotten ; and he busied himself very 
 pleasantly in anticipating the gratilication 
 these gifts would create : — how greatly 
 Mistress Anne would be enamored of the 
 piece of Norwich stuff that was to make her 
 a new gown ! — What exceeding joy Judith 
 
 would display at the sight of the gay rib- 
 bons he would set before her ! and how 
 tenderly Susanna would express her thanks 
 for the dainty car-rings of Venetian gold he 
 had bought to adorn her delicate ears ! 
 The new knitting instruments, the excel- 
 lent hose, and the admirable Cambridga 
 gloves, which he had procured for the three 
 elderly Breedbates, He doubted not would 
 suffice for the creating of their good-will 
 and good-humor — till the next opportunity 
 of backbiting presented itself. 
 
 Simon Stockfish all this while did not al- 
 low the time to grow irksome ; so thought- 
 ful a person, about to make such important 
 connexions as the family of his respected 
 master, could not fail of giving the circum- 
 stance all the benefit to be derived from suf- 
 ficient reflection, He laid down rules for 
 his guidance, prepared answers ready for 
 certain questions he expected to be put to 
 him, made up his mind to be a miracle of 
 discretion touching his master's secrets, 
 the more especial as regarded the ques- 
 tionable visiter he had strove to pass off on 
 Kempe and Allen as an ancient kinswoman, 
 and cudgelled his brains for politic strokes 
 wherewith to screen his honored master, 
 should any thing of this suspicious matter 
 have got bruited abroad. Therefore it was 
 no wonder Simon wore a graver counte- 
 nance even than usual. Truly had all the 
 cares of empire devolved upon him, he could 
 not have looked more thoughtful than he did. 
 
 As Master Shakspeare approached scenes 
 so familiar to him, and so endeared to his 
 recollection as those that were in the neigh- 
 borhood of his home, every object that met 
 his sight did, by some means or ether, con- 
 nect itself with his lost Hamnet ; and, by 
 some singular association of ideas, this in- 
 tolerable altliction drew his mind to the con- 
 sideration of other things, which did mar- 
 vellously increase the sadness of his humor. 
 He was in no mood for light converse. He 
 endured such sharp pangs, that, as he ad- 
 vanced, he became more dejected, and less 
 inclined for playing of the social part that 
 so well became him. 
 
 He was disturbed in these unpleasant re- 
 i flections, when within a short distance of 
 Stratford, by observing two figures ap- 
 proaching from the town, that, at first, from 
 the strangeness of their motions and ap- 
 pearance, did puzzle him exceedingly to 
 make out to what kind of animal they be- 
 longed. On they came, seeming to be fly- 
 ing along the surface of the ground, utter- 
 ing the most singular cries ever heard. 
 Whether they were beasts, birds, or those 
 marvellous creatures that are said to par- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 105 
 
 take of the different natures of both, it was 
 not easy to decide. Master Shakspeare 
 was at a nonplus. But Simon Stockfish, 
 who had baen preparing;' himself to meet 
 many strange things, as, in his sagacity, he 
 thought was very natural when going to 
 a strange place, was astonished far beyond 
 any astonishment he had felt all his life 
 lon^-. 
 
 On came these nondescripts with a most 
 horrible din, sometimes abreast, anon fol- 
 lowing each other ; having so singular a 
 motion withal, it could not be said, with 
 any certainty, whether they were flying 
 like birds, or leaping like grasshoppers. 
 Simon, though he was in a terrible fright at 
 meeting such outlandish things, considered 
 it was his duty to defend his master from 
 any mischief they were like to do him ; for 
 that they came with some murderous intent 
 he had no manner of doubt. He looked to 
 his pistolets, and had his hand upon one, in 
 readiness to meet the expected assault. 
 
 The wonder with which Master Shaks- 
 peare noticed them at lirst gave way to a 
 smile, as soon as tliey came near enough 
 for liim to view them correctly. He drew 
 up his horse, and, notwithstanding his mind 
 was bo ill at ease, he could scarce refrain 
 irom mirth. His faithful serving-man, 
 judging, from his master's stopping, that 
 now was the time for action, though his 
 lieart was in his mouth, he was in so huge 
 a fear, drew forth a -pistolet, and rode to his 
 side, having valorously made up his mind 
 not to be eaten up alive till he had done 
 something in his respected master's defence. 
 '• I will shoot the first villain, an it please 
 you," he said, hurriedly, and in a terrible 
 trepidation. " Perchance it would be good 
 policy were you, at the same moment, to 
 despatch the other." Simon got no other 
 answer than having his weapon knocked 
 upwards by his master's hand, at which in- 
 stant it went off, expending its ammunition 
 harmlessly in the air ; and well it was for 
 Simon that action was so quickly done, or 
 such mischief would have followed as would 
 have put him in greater peril than that from 
 which he sought to escape. 
 
 If this astonished him, how infinitely 
 more did he marvel when, at the same in- 
 stant, the horrible nondescripts appeared 
 standing before him, in the outward resem- 
 blance of men — men, too, from whom it was 
 evident there was nothing to fear, there was 
 in them so much to laugh at. 
 
 They were no other than the reader's old 
 acquainttmces, Jonas Tiettpe and Tommy 
 Hart. The latter had heard that the much- 
 respected brother of his merry little wife 
 
 was expected at Stratford, and he was sent 
 to mi-et him with a communication of grave 
 import. He was joined by his nimble friend 
 Jonas ; and, quite forgetful of the exceed- 
 ing serious nature of what he was instruct- 
 ed to state, no sooner had he caught sio-ht 
 of Master Shakspeare than he challencred 
 his companion to a race, in his favorite 
 method of progression, alternately using the 
 hands and feet. The challenge was as 
 soon accepted as spoken, and off they started. 
 Both were adepts in this strange feat, for 
 which they were famed, far and near ; and 
 it was the manner in which they advanced, 
 now with the head close to the ground and 
 now up, and at a distance showing nothing 
 but a confused bundle of arms and legs, go- 
 ing roimd like the spokes of a wneel in 
 rapid motion, with the savage cries they 
 thought tit to make, that puzzled Master 
 Shakspeare, and put his valiant and faith- 
 ful serving-man into so absolute a fear. 
 
 Simon, albeit he had so carefully made 
 up his mind to see strange things, marvelled 
 so greatly at the wonderful transformation 
 he had just beheld, that it clean took away 
 his speech. He gazed upon Tommy Hart 
 and his odd-looking associate, as though Jie 
 could not convince himself that they were 
 human. It was his master who first brought 
 all parties to feel a little at their ease. He 
 explained the mistake of his attendant so 
 pleasantly withal, that they who were likely 
 to have suffered by it so dreadfully seemed 
 to take it as the most exquisite jest they had 
 ever heard. 
 
 After making friendly inquiries f!:»r all of 
 his acquaintance at Stratford, w'hich brought 
 upon him a whole budget of news, and as- 
 suring both his townsmen he would not be 
 long before he paid them a visit, he took his 
 leave of them. Tommy Hart was so taken 
 up with the enjoyment of his mirth, and the 
 prodigious quantity of gossip he related, that 
 the message with which he had been sent 
 escaped him as completely as though he had 
 had no knowledge of it ; and Master Shaks- 
 peare rode away towards Shottery, unwarn- 
 ed of the state in which he was like to find 
 matters there. Simon rode after him, but 
 not before he had seen the two singular be- 
 ings, whose approach had so much alarmed 
 him, commence again their unnatural meth- 
 od of progress. He said never a word, but 
 he was fully satisfied, extraordinary as it 
 seemed to him, that the men of Warwick- 
 shire went upon four legs. 
 
 His master dismounted when within a 
 convenient distance of the cottage, and Si- 
 mon held tlie horse while he proceeded to 
 the door. It struck him as something mar- 
 
106 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION.' 
 
 vcllous, that no one of the family was visi- 
 ble in or about the house. At all other 
 times they were wont either to meet him in 
 a body, within a mile or so of home ; or, if 
 circumstances would not allow of this, they 
 were about tiie door, waiting anxiously for 
 his appearance ; and, directly he rode up, 
 the cliildren would rush towards h'un with 
 loud demonstrations of pleasure. Now not 
 a soul had he seen, and the place was as 
 silent as though it had been deserted. The 
 doors and windows, too, were all carefully 
 closed. Even of Talbot, a still more rare 
 occurrence, there was no sign. 
 
 This unusual state of things struck the 
 loving father and husband as exceeding 
 strange. He knocked at the door. No an- 
 swer was returned ; but on listening, he 
 fancied he could hear some persons whis- 
 pering insido. He knocked still louder, 
 and could evidently distinguish the voice 
 of his tender and atiectionate Susanna, en- 
 deavoring to quiet Talbot, who had been 
 disturbed by the knocking. Marvelling 
 greatly that no one came, though there 
 could be no doubt several persons were 
 within, and knowing he had sent word by a 
 trusty hand of his coming at this very time, 
 ho took his heavy riding-whip and beat the 
 door with suflicient violence to arouse all 
 the people in the house, were they ever so 
 deaf, and also raised his voice to its highest 
 pitch, bidding them let him in. No sooner 
 did the faithful Talbot hear his master's 
 voice, than all attempts to keep him silent 
 were vain ; he barked and whined most vo- 
 ciferously. It then appeared that he was 
 shut up, but his etforts to get out were of 
 the most violent sort. Still Master Shaks- 
 peare could hear three or four individuals at 
 least, carrying on an animated debate in a low 
 tone of voice. He could hear nothing dis- 
 tinctly, but the voices appeared to be those 
 of women. 
 
 At last, on his loudly asking the reason 
 of this strange reception of him, the win- 
 dow over his head was slowly thrown open, 
 and there appeared at it the strongly mark- 
 ed visage of Aunt Prateapace. She put on 
 at first a monstrous friendly manner, and 
 bade her kinsman " good den," as pleasantly 
 as you please, but, upon his peremptorily 
 insisting npon knowing why he was kept 
 out of his house in this unheard-of fashion, 
 she presently raised her voice to the true 
 shrewish pitch, and, as Master Shakspeare 
 could plainly hear, continually prompted by 
 some persons behind her to whom i^he ever 
 and anon turned her head, she began to rate 
 him right soundly, and let him know "our 
 Anne," with a spirit worthy of her family, 
 
 had come to the proper determination of 
 having no more to do^with him ; therefore, 
 he might take himself away with all possi- 
 ble haste. 
 
 Master Shakspeare listened to this tirade, 
 fully satisfied that the three old harridans 
 had been employing their talents at mis- 
 chief-making with more than ordinary zeal ; 
 but proud, weak, and willul as he knew his 
 blooming Anne of former years to be, he 
 could not readily believe that the influence 
 of her meddling kinswomen over her was 
 so great as to induce her to take the step 
 which, he was well convinced, they had 
 long be'en leading her to. That he was 
 greatly moved at a determination so unex- 
 pected there is no question ; but he kept his 
 feelings under control, and courteously bade 
 Aunt Prateapace acquaint " his dear bed- 
 fellow" from him, that he was exceeding 
 anxious to see her, and that he had no doubt 
 in the world that in a few minutes he would 
 explain all apparent evils to her perfect sat- 
 isfaction, and would make such arrange- 
 ments for her future comfort as should con- 
 vince her how dear to him was her happi- 
 ness and contentation. 
 
 '• In sooth, fairly spoken," replied Aunt 
 Prateapace, sharply. " But our Anne hath 
 had enough of such poor bates to catch 
 fools, I promise you." Here she disappear- 
 ed, and immediately in her place came Aunt 
 Breedbate, looking even more crabbed than 
 the other. 
 
 " Take your fine speeches to those who 
 are willing to be cajoled by them," she said 
 in her harshest tones. " Our Anne hath too 
 much sense, ay, and spirit too as becomes 
 her, i' faith, any longer to be made a con- 
 venience of." Thereupon, she took in her 
 head, and it was straightway replaced by 
 that of Aunt Gadabout, with one of the 
 most fiercely shrewish of her shrewish 
 looks. 
 
 " Wives are not to be made slaves of, 
 whatever their tyrants of husbands may 
 think !" she exclaimed in a scream like un- 
 to that of an angry peacock. '•• Our Anne 
 thinks herself made of better stuff" than to 
 be a poor hout^ehold drudge, that is to bo 
 kept at home whilst her unworthy husband 
 is to wander about the world at his plea- 
 sure ;" and then she added in an emphasis, 
 and with a look that spoke pokers and tongs 
 at the least, " An I had a husband that 
 would use me so, I warrant you I would 
 teach him better ere he was a week older !" 
 "There must be some great misunder- 
 standing in this matter," replied Muster 
 Shakspeare with a marvellous sweet pa- 
 tience. " In all reasonable things Anne 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 107 
 
 hath ever found me willing to indulge her 
 to the fullest extent of ray ability, and thi= 
 I am always ready to do." 
 
 " Therehath been nothing of tlic sort I ' 
 cried Aant Breedbate, rudely. 
 
 '■ Monstrous reasonable, forsooth !" ex- 
 claimed Aunt Prateapace, taking her place 
 at the casement directly she left it. " Pry- 
 thee, what doSt call indulgence ? Dost in- 
 dulge her by the horrible injustice of keep- 
 ing her in this poor place by herself, whilst 
 you sometimes for a whole year together 
 care not to come near her once ! And now, 
 more monstrous still, you have sent her 
 word you are about going. Heaven only 
 knoweth how many miles away, for the see- 
 ing of far off countries, saying never a 
 word of her going with you, larther than to 
 state you would like it of all things ; but it 
 could not in any way be brought about — or 
 some such poor stuff. If she put up with 
 such a slight as this, she hath no more wo- 
 manly spirit than a cracked flea !" 
 
 " Let her be assured that no slight is in- 
 tended," said Master Shakspeare, very cer- 
 tain it could not have been taken so by her 
 unless a vast deal of malicious care had 
 been used to give it that color. "My ab- 
 sence from her was hrst caused by necessity, 
 and by necessity hath been continued, and 
 all the years it hath lasted, she hath never 
 to my knowledge been otherwise than satis- 
 lied It should so remain. As for my intend- 
 ed journey out of England, it is clean out 
 of my power to take her with me, even were 
 there no such absolute cause existing as 
 there is, for her remaining at home with her 
 children, nor do I think so ill of her that 
 she would ever entertain so unworthy an 
 idea, had it not been thrust upon her mind 
 by the perverse exertions of a set of worth- 
 less mischief-makers." 
 
 " Mischief-makers !" here eagerly ex- 
 claimed all three, putting out their several 
 heads at the same moment, with every ap- 
 pearance of guilty consciousness, and the 
 most absolute rage. Forthwith each vigor- 
 ously disclaimed having any thing to do in 
 the matter, vowing nothing was so far from 
 their thoughts. They stoutly and with an 
 infinite lack of civility insisted that they had 
 a right to see that ' our Anne' had justice 
 done her, and that they could not allow of 
 her being so trampled on as she was with- 
 out feeling for her unhappy, distressed state 
 — tliat they thought it particularly commen- 
 dable of her acting as she did, and that they 
 would give her the benefit of their counte- 
 nance and advice, in spite of all the mon- 
 strous tyrannical husbands that could be 
 found. 
 
 Much more they might have said to the 
 same purpose, had not Aunt Prateapace, in 
 her impatience to be heard, interrupted Aunt 
 Gadabout somewhat sharply, which was re- 
 plied to in a terrible savage humor, where- 
 upon a squabble ensued betwixt them, which 
 Aunt Breedbate did all she could to increase. 
 In the midst of their mutual bickerings and 
 revelations, Master Shakspeare, much ex- 
 cited, declared that he insisted on seeing 
 and hearing from their kinswoman the de- 
 termination they had stated she had resolved 
 on. This took tliem from the window m a 
 very brief space. 
 
 A long and vigorous discussion followed, 
 which could not be distinctly heard by the 
 outraged husband, though he could distin- 
 guish the noisy hum of many voices. It 
 seemed to him as though others than the mis- 
 chievous three shared in the conference, and 
 he more than once fancied he could detect 
 the tones of the high-spirited Judith and the 
 affectionate Susanna. 
 
 The result of the discussion was, that 
 Mistress Anne made her appearance at the 
 window, but not before he had plainly heard 
 such phrases as. " Hold thee a good spirit, 
 Aime !" • "Never be made a slave of!" 
 " An you suffer yourself to be cajoled, you 
 descme all the ill-usage and neglect it can- 
 not nelp but bring you !" with divers others 
 of a like tendency. Her visage did not be- 
 speak any very terrible grievances, though 
 there was a certain expression of discontent 
 in it. She had still some pretensions to be 
 considered the blooming Anne, though pretty 
 well a score of years had passed smce first 
 that title had been bestowed upon her. But 
 she valued her good looks too highly not to 
 have taken particular care of them. 
 
 Master Shakspeare, at sight of her, urged 
 all arguments that a fond husband could be 
 expected to have, to bring her to reason and 
 show her the folly of persisting in a course 
 of conduct so unworthy of her : but she had 
 been too well instructed in her lesson to al- 
 low the proper influence of any thing of the 
 sort. She answered with a Arm show of re- 
 solution, that she considered herself to have 
 been exceedingly ill used, and that she would 
 endure it no longer. Her husband tried 
 every possible exertion to induce her to give 
 up so unworthy a determination, and pro- 
 mised many additional enjoyments, would 
 she determine more wisely. But the prompt- 
 ings became now eager and audible, " Not 
 to be cozened," and, " to show a proper spi- 
 rit." Unfortunately for herself, either 
 through fear or inclination, she took too 
 much heed of them, and answered she had 
 
108 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 considered tho matter well, and had resolved 
 to change not her course. 
 
 'I'his seemed so far to satisfy her husband 
 tliat he left oft" pressing the point, though he 
 wore a very disturbed countenance. He 
 asked to see his dauchters that he miglit at 
 least have the pleasure of bciiolding their 
 improved appearance, and enjoy their love 
 after his j<nirney, as it was not likely he 
 could promise himself that pleasure for some 
 time. Thereupon, one of the aunts an- 
 swered tartly, liiat, as was exceeding pro- 
 per and natural, the children shared in the 
 sentiments of their mother, and that neitlier 
 of them wished to have further speech with 
 him. 
 
 At this cruel speech, all the father was 
 in his heart, and ho replied, with an ex- 
 treme earnestness, he could not believe in 
 anything so monstrous and undutiful. It 
 was almost too unnatural a thing to be con- 
 ceived that children should be so set against 
 a loving parent, and he inveighed bitterly 
 against the ^luthors of this atrocious mis- 
 chief. How much more was his affectionate 
 heart wrung by soon afterwards beholding 
 Judith, who too, doubtless, had been well 
 taught her lesson, appear with an unbecom- 
 ing boldness at the casement, and express 
 herself very rudely. 
 
 Whether he so misliked this last di^ in 
 his cup of bitterness, or could not bring him- 
 self to strive further to obtain more alfecti- 
 onate trentment. cannot be said, — but the 
 speech had scarce been uttered when he 
 hastily left the place, mounted his horse, 
 and rode full speed from the door, as though 
 he was anxious to be as quick as possible a 
 thousand miles away. Simon Stockfish, 
 who had been an amazed spectator and 
 hearer of all that had passed, lost no time 
 in following ; but what he had already seen 
 and heard of the people who were natural 
 to the place, suificed to satisfy him that they 
 were a sort of savages, who had as mon- 
 strous a way of receiving a tender father 
 and husband, after a long journey, as they 
 had of taking an ordinary ramble on the 
 king's highway. 
 
 Master Shakspeare did not draw rein till 
 he arrived at the porch of the goodly man- 
 sion of his excellent friend, Sir George Ca- 
 rew. That estimable, worthy gentleman, 
 and approved good soldier, chanced, at the 
 time, to be sitting at an oj)en window on the 
 ground-floor, giving orders to some of his 
 people who were employed in clipping some 
 old yew-trees into the strange hgures then 
 in fashion. But o)i the instant he caught 
 sight of his visitor, riding like a post, with 
 a wild, unnatural look, such as he had ne- 
 
 ver seen in him before, he made no more to 
 do but leaped out of the window as nimbly as 
 ever he could have done in his youth, in the 
 fullest conviction that something dreadful 
 was the matter. 
 
 Giving orders to one of his varlets to look 
 to the horses, he lost no time in leading his 
 disturbed friend into a retired chamber, 
 where, in a strange, incohere'nt, passionate 
 manner, the latter made known to him how 
 matters stood. At this the valiant old sol- 
 dier was greatly moved, and with no small 
 stock of soldier-like oaths did he denounce 
 the conduct of the three old mischief-mak- 
 ers, whose dishonest meddling had disturbed 
 his friend's peace, and he strove, as well as 
 he was able, to console him. 
 
 But the unhappy father was then in no 
 mood to profit by his kindly intentions. The 
 iron seemed to have entered into his soul, 
 and he did nought in the world but rave, in 
 an unconnected and vehement manner, on 
 the singular and hateful ingratitude of his 
 daughters. He burst but with a passionate 
 phrenzy of language that was quite awful 
 to hear. His words seemed to flow from his 
 mouth like a stream of living fire. All the 
 agonies of a great heart, hurt in its tender- 
 est part, were shown in him both by lan- 
 guage and action — for his movements were 
 no less wild iind forcible than his speech. — 
 In brief, it presently showed such undenia- 
 ble signs of a disturbed mind, that Sir 
 George, in great concern, despatched mes- 
 sengers for the nearest cliirurgeon, and his 
 guest was shortly carried to a chamber that 
 was immediately prepared for him, in a fit 
 of raving, of so outrageous a sort, it took 
 several persons to restrain him. 
 
 In this state he continued for several days, 
 to the terrible alarm and grief of his approved 
 good friend, Sir George Carew, and to the 
 no less concern of his sedate and trusty serv- 
 ing-man, Simon Stockfish, whose grave 
 countenance took on it an expression infin- 
 itely more serious, as he witnessed the 
 course of his worthy master's malady. With 
 so sharp a sickness as he had, it was won- 
 derful to hear with what intensity his mind 
 would run on, on the subject of his children's 
 disobediency. He seemed to have but one 
 subject for his thoughts, that could hold it 
 for any length of time ; for, although his 
 mind would wander from time to time to 
 other matters, it quickly returned to the one 
 theme, and thereupon treated it in so mov- 
 ing a manner, it was truly pitiful to hear 
 him. 
 
 He would seem, to be addressing his 
 daughter, Judith ; and would pour out such 
 a tempest of bitter reproach for her contu- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 109 
 
 macy, that the ob^hiratest heart ever heard 
 of must have shrunk under it. Perchance 
 she might have been all the better, had she 
 been brought in to hear it — it could scarce- 
 ly have failed to have touched Iier nearly. 
 Indilferent as she seem?d to the ties that 
 bind the child to the parent, it must have 
 wakened in her a proper sense of her intol- 
 erable ingratitude. Jiut the style in which 
 he, in his unhappy conceit, discoursed to his 
 daughter, Susanna, was of a totally diJerenl 
 sort. The bruised lieart of the loving fither 
 was apparent in every word. Tiie speech 
 was gentle, loving, and pregnant with a 
 melancholy tenderness. It spoke of the un- 
 utterable delight those tokens of an affecti- 
 onate nature she had previously displayed 
 had given to her doting f.itlicr ; and how oft 
 he had strove to show to her, by every kind 
 of acccptalile remembrance, how exceeding 
 dear she was to him; and then it entered 
 into the monstrous cruelty of suffering one 
 who had made for her so high a place in his 
 heart to be so stricken by h ir hand as tD make 
 t!io horri blest torture of body to be desired in 
 preference. 
 
 Tliere wns so much sweet earnestness, 
 and a misery so sharp in the manner in 
 which all this was spoken, that there was 
 not a dry eye in the chamber during its ut- 
 terance. Many of his most esteemed friends 
 at Stratford, and thereabouts, hastened to 
 the mansion of Sir George Carew, as soon 
 as they heard of the lamentable sickness 
 t'rat had overtaken so v/orthy a man ; and 
 when they learned, as they quickly did, that 
 it arose Irom the ill-behavior to him of his 
 family, there was a general denunciation of 
 one and all. 
 
 The three meddling busy-bodies, in espe- 
 cial, were spoken of in good set terms. — 
 They were in considerable ill repute in and 
 about Shottery. as it was ; and the account 
 Simon Stockfish gave of their appearance 
 in this unhappy business, whilst it satisfied 
 all v.'ho had in any way heard of their pranks, 
 that the whole matter had been one of their 
 handling, spread their bad names far and 
 wide. All tho*c persons who felt a proper 
 respi.'ct for IMaster Shakspeare would have 
 no sort of association with them, and the 
 feeling against them became at last so strong, 
 that even some of their most familiar gossips 
 thought it best to hold them at a convenient 
 distance. 
 
 Their kinswoman, too. Mistress Anne, 
 was greatly condemned for being so led 
 against her husband by such bad counsel- 
 lors. As for Susanna and Judith, it ap- 
 peared as if nothing could be said of them 
 sufficiently condenmatory. To behave in 
 
 so contumacious a manner, particularly to 
 a father, who gave them so many proofs of 
 his prodigal love and kindness, was sad evi- 
 dence of a natural badness of lieart : and it 
 was confidently prognosticated that disobedi- 
 ent children of this sort must needs come to 
 an evil end. 
 
 To the great joy of all his friends, after 
 some days, the violence of Master Shaks- 
 poare's fever showed some abatement, and 
 he began gradually to recover. Sir George 
 Carew had sent several times to the cottage 
 at Shottery, in hopes of getting the family 
 of his guest to act more becomingly ; but 
 his messengers met with no one but the 
 three arch instruments of mischief, and they 
 had set their hearts too strongly on the evil 
 they were doing, to allow of its being set 
 aside — therefore, nothing but unsatisfactory 
 answers had been obtained. This, when his 
 guest was sufficiently recovered. Sir George 
 thought proper to inform him of; and the 
 intelligence was so distasteful, that, waiting 
 only to make some arrangements which 
 should secure ample comforts for the unna- 
 tural inhabitants of the Cottage, he must 
 needs take himself at once to London. 
 
 He vowed he would never again seek a 
 roof whence he had been so shamefully dri- 
 ven, and was in a monstrous hurry to get as 
 far as possible from it. Without waiting to 
 gain a proper strength, he started off, mak- 
 ing as little delay on the journey as he could 
 help ; whereof the consequence was, that, 
 when his faithful old serving-man had got 
 him saffly within his dwelling, in the Liber- 
 ty of the Clink, his intense an.xiety, over- 
 fatigue, and unhappiness of mind, brought 
 on a relapse, which caused him to be worse 
 even than he was before. Simon thought 
 he could not do better than send for his old 
 master's son, and, very shortly afterwards, 
 John Hall was at the bedside of his patient, 
 and, as ho ascertained, not before he had 
 been wanted there. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 A modest maid decked with a blush of honor, 
 Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and 
 
 love ; 
 The wonder of all eyes that look upon her ; 
 Sacred on earth ; designed a saint above ; 
 Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes. 
 Live reconciled friends within her brow. 
 
 Samuel Daniel. 
 
 Whatever success the three villanous 
 ministers of mischief met with in their pro- 
 
110 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 cecdings in the cottage atShottery, they had 
 no iiiaiincr of assistance in it from tlie gen- 
 tle ami tendor-hcarted Susanna. But, it is 
 believed, they hold her in so little account, 
 they cared for none at her hands. She was 
 in no way consulted in the matter. Never- 
 theles.-?, she regarded the whole proceedings 
 witli the most intense interest. She listened 
 to all the plans and arguments of the arch- 
 conspirators with a feverish impatience, and 
 when she heard her dear father abused, she 
 could scarce refrain from calling the slan- 
 derers to task for their insolency. However, 
 she knew of old what little good was like to 
 arise from any interference on her part ; 
 therefore, she was fain to hold her peace, and 
 weep in silence. 
 
 Her knowledge of such vile behavior, 
 shown to one whom she so greatly loved and 
 venerated, preyed on her spirits so that she 
 could take no pleasure in any thing. Most 
 unhappily the day passed over, and most 
 wretched was the day that followed. She 
 was exceeding anxious to have some certain 
 intelligence of her father, but she heard no- 
 thing trom the villanous conclave who ruled 
 the little household of which she was so un- 
 important a member, that was sufficiently to 
 the purpose, and she knew but too well the 
 unprofitableness of asking. 
 
 To such a height at last arose her anxie- 
 ty, that on the evening of the second day she 
 t'iW into a violent hysterical fit, that did so 
 weaken her, that she was forced to keep her 
 bed for several days. She thus remained 
 in entire ignorance of the critical state of 
 liealth of that beloved object to whom all 
 her thoughts had lately been so painfully 
 devoted. It was more than a week before 
 she was so far recovered she could return 
 to her usual duties. For some reason or 
 other, there was little then said, either by 
 her mother, sister, or aunts concerning her 
 father. If they conversed on that subject, 
 they took care to do so when she was not 
 by. This conduct perplexed her exceed- 
 ingly. Desiring more every hour to learn 
 how her dear father took the monstrous un- 
 kindness that had been shown him, and 
 longing most heartily to find some means of 
 acquainting him, that in her heart, at least, 
 there was a proper love and obediency to- 
 wards him, Susanna sought an opportunity 
 of going to Stratford, in the hope of learn- 
 ing from her merry kinswoman, Joan Hart, 
 with vvho.n she had ever been an especial 
 favorite, all that she knew of the matter, her 
 ignorance of which so distressed her. 
 
 She found little dirllculty in this, and in 
 a state of mind made up of rejoicing, that 
 she was now pretty sure of hearing intelli- 
 
 gence of her father, and a dread that it 
 might be of a terrible bad complexion, she 
 proceeded as rapidly as she could towards 
 Stratford. She had not left the cottage 
 far behind her, when her attention w^as at- 
 tracted by the sound of horses' feet, and she 
 soon discerned two horsemen coming from 
 the place to which she was going. One of 
 these she perceived was Sir George Carew, 
 and the other young Squire Clopton. 
 
 She had never met the former without 
 his showing towards her a most kind and 
 fatherly attention. He would stop her 
 wherever they chanced to meet, and make 
 all manner of friendly inquiries respecting 
 her and her mother and sister, and would 
 usually inform her of some piece of pleas- 
 ant news respecting her father, lie had 
 heard from some trustworthy intelligencer, 
 and he would season his discourse with cer- 
 tain pretty commendations of Iiis own re- 
 garding her appearance, that never failed 
 to call a blush to her cheek, and a touch of 
 grateful pleasure to her breast ; and there- 
 upon he would take his leave of her with a 
 show of gallantry, as though she were as 
 greatly in his esteem as his own lady. 
 
 The young squire, also, had not been 
 wont to pass her by uniieeded Indeed, it 
 the truth must be told, this was very far 
 from the case. He had seen something of 
 a camp life, and moreover something of 
 a court life, the which the great repute his 
 kinsman and guardian enjoyed in both 
 places threw open to him, but he had brought 
 little from either, save an inordinate love of 
 brave apparel, and a desire of distinguish- 
 ing himself as an irresistible fine gallant. 
 
 The beauty of Susanna Shakspeare 
 seemed sufficient to entitle her to as prodi- 
 gal an extent of gallantry as it was in his 
 power to evince. Therefore, he sought 
 every opportunity to meet her when she 
 was abroad, or see her alone when she Vv'as 
 at home, at which times there was sure to 
 be as fair a selection of sugared phrases 
 and dainty conceits on his part, as might 
 have sufficed for the use of some half a do- 
 zen of the perfectest gallant*of the time. 
 
 As Susanna felt fully satisfied that one 
 or both these persons would detain her, she 
 was by no means pleased at meeting them. 
 Notwithstanding she was sure they were 
 both well inclined to make their greetings 
 as gallant to her as possible. Right glad- 
 ly would she have got out of their way — 
 so desirous was she of using all speed to 
 get to Joan ILirt's for the one great purpose 
 with which she had bit the cottage — but 
 there was no time to avoid them, they came 
 at such speed. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Ill 
 
 As she fully expected, they both reined 
 in their horses at sight of her, but how 
 much was she astonished, when, instead of 
 tilt) exceeding courteous and Mattering at- 
 tentions she had ever before received from 
 him, Sir George shouted to her with a stern 
 voice and manner; — " So, Mistress Susan- 
 na ! a pretty daughter thou hast proved 
 thyself— a murrain on thee ! I hope thou 
 wilt be satisfied witli thy horrible and un- 
 natural disobediency, now that, in conse- 
 quence of it, thy poor unhappy father, as I 
 have just been credibly informed, is lying 
 at death's door, in his lodging at South- 
 vvark." Saying this. Sir George put spurs 
 to his horse, and, followed by his compan- 
 ion, was soon out of sight, leaving the mis- 
 erable Susanna like one stunned by the 
 overwhelming intelligence she had so unex- 
 pectedly heard. 
 
 As soon as she had recovered so far as 
 to proeeed, she bsnt her steps towards the 
 well-known dwelling of her jovial kinsman. 
 Tommy Hart. Here she found evidence 
 that all was not as it should be, for not a 
 sign of mirth of any sort was visible. — 
 Strange to say, Tommy and his merry bed- 
 fellow Were completely chapfallen, and Jo- 
 nas Tictape, who had come to comfort them, 
 was for a marvel standing quietly on his 
 legs — a sure sign he was in no very pleas- 
 ant lunnor himself. Their faces, instead of 
 the joyous expression they were wont to 
 iiave, seemed monstrous sorrowful. Joan 
 was crying, as it was believed, for the first 
 time in her life, and her husband and his 
 gossip looked on the point of following her 
 example. 
 
 Susanna soon learned the cause of this 
 wondrous change. They had just learned 
 tiiat her estimable, worthy father was sick 
 of a fever, and reduced to so sore a strait 
 as to be given over by his physicians. She 
 heard the news with an appearance of indif- 
 ferency that made her friends half inclined 
 to think there was an infinite lack of the 
 loving daughter in her ; but they did her 
 huge injustice. The blow struck her so 
 forcibly, it seemed to have stilled all her 
 emotions. She could not feel. All sense 
 seemed dead in her for the time. 
 
 There was a good deal said by one and 
 the other respecting what had been done in 
 the cottage, and a full measiire of indigna- 
 tion was poured out upon the authors of the 
 horrid mischief, but Susanna heard not a 
 word, — and even the forms of those present 
 had ceased to find a place in her vision. 
 She was as one stone deaf and stone blind. _ 
 
 When consciousness returned to her, she 
 Bought an excuse for hurrying away, for, in 
 
 sooth, she was in no mood for society of any 
 sort, and returned with what haste she could 
 to Shottery. She thought much and deeply, 
 and could not reflect on the imminent dan- 
 ger of her father without a shudder. She 
 frequently endeavored to be alone on that 
 day, and succeeded. Much self-accusation 
 — much bitter remorse — visited her, for not 
 having assured her parent that she had no 
 part in the unnatural proceedings against 
 him ; and then there would come question- 
 ings as to what was now her proper line of 
 duty. 
 
 There can be no doubt that she gave these 
 matters her closest attention ; for, early the 
 next morning, before any of the family were 
 astir, after a fervent prayer that God would 
 prosper her in her perilous undertaking, .she 
 first crept into the chamber where her mo- 
 ther and sister were asleep, and kissed them 
 both without disturbing them ; then, fully 
 equipped for a long journej', and as well 
 furnished for it as it was possible, in her 
 state, she crept softly out of the house. She 
 lingered awhile upon the threshold, and then 
 made her way to the ordinary resting-place 
 of Talbot, who made not the slightest dis- 
 turbance, for, though he was fully awake, 
 he knew her step, light as it was, and would 
 have known it from a thousand. 
 
 She fondled him, and, as she did so, shed 
 n;any tears, for he had long been regarded 
 by her as the only true friend she had in her 
 own home, and the noble hound whined, 
 and seemed exceeding restless as he return- 
 ed her caresses, after his fashion. At last, 
 she left him where he was, — doubtless, 
 much against his will — and took her way 
 along the high road. She did not expect in 
 her own neighborliood, if she met any one 
 at that early hour, to be closely questioned 
 as to her being abroad at such a time, as it 
 was no unusual thing for her to be so early 
 afoot ; and as she advanced, she did not fear 
 that strangers would be inconveniently cu- 
 rious, for it was a common thing with a coun- 
 try girl, such as she seemed, to be met, going 
 of her errands to the nearest town, as soon 
 as it was day. 
 
 Her great care and anxiety was to re- 
 member the names of the different towns 
 that lay betwixt her own village and the fair 
 city of Oxford, for her object was to get there 
 with as little delay as possible, and thence to 
 find her way to London. As to her induce- 
 ment to undertake so long and hazardous a 
 journey for one of her delicate nature, me- 
 thinks there needs no great trouble to dis- 
 cover it. The deep affection she bore her 
 loved and honored father, her exceeding 
 anxiousness to show she was not so unna- 
 
112 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 turally indiflVrcnt to him as flio fciircd lie 
 had been led to believe, and an earnest hope 
 tliat she miglit bo enabled, by cont^tunt and 
 caTcful attendance, to adiriinister to his re- 
 covery, all helped in it. Such inducement 
 as it was, it seemed to carry her along- I'a- 
 mously. The very sad expression of her 
 young and beautiful face appeared to be 
 fad ng away under an aspect of cheerful- 
 ness such as she had been a strariger to a 
 long time. 
 
 She had so often hoard her father mention 
 the manner and way of his journeys to and 
 from London, she was under no fear that, 
 with what she remembered, and what infor- 
 mation she might acquire by asking, she 
 should miss her way ; nor was she under 
 any apprehension as to the kind of treat- 
 ment she might meet with. For the first 
 hour or two, she saw none but laborers go- 
 ing to their work in the fields, w'ho gave her 
 a civil greeting and passed on ; yet not 
 without being especially impressed in lier 
 favor by her neat and pleasing appearance. 
 Anon, a farmer or substantial yeoman would 
 come by on horseback, going to look after 
 his farm-servants, or to be at market be- 
 times, and would venture upon some com- 
 mendation of her remarkable comeliness, 
 which she would receive with a proper mo- 
 desty that increased their regard. And then 
 she met wayl'arers of all sorts, from the huiji- 
 blest vagrant, trudging vvea,rily afoot, to the 
 the powerfuUest noble, surrounded by a train 
 of serving-men, in their coats and badges, 
 on fair horses, perchance speeding on an er- 
 rand of state. 
 
 But it often happened that she continued 
 her journey for a long time without meeting 
 any one. When she began to feel tired, she 
 sat herself down a little from the road, and 
 refreshed herself with what victual she had 
 brought with her. The birds were twitter- 
 ing in the hedges, apparently their little 
 hearts greatly re,oicing at the brightness of 
 the day ; and every thing, animate and in- 
 animate, looked to be full of a like pleasant 
 spirit. Had she been in the mood, doubtless 
 she would have regarded, with an admiring 
 feye, the richness of the landscape outsjjread 
 before her. Wood and water, field and or- 
 cliard, with here and there a windmill, a 
 farm-house, a stately mansion, an ancient 
 church, and a straggling group of cottages, 
 made a choice picture for the eye ; but Su- 
 sanna could not now give her attention to 
 such graces, however attractive they might 
 be. Her thoughts were with lu^r sick pa- 
 rent ; and her anxiety to get to him made 
 lier regardless of every other thing what- 
 soever. 
 
 She soon finished her h;; sty meal ; and, 
 after a draught at a n(ighboiiiigsi)ring, con- 
 tinued on her way with renewed sjiirit. She 
 came to where two roads met, and which 
 of them she ouglit to take she knew not. — 
 She had no knowledge of where either led 
 to, and there was none near to whom she 
 could make inquiries; but, after a fev/ mi- 
 nutes of uneasy hesitation, she went for- 
 ward at a hazard. A man passed her soon 
 afterwards, riding on a stout horse ; and, 
 seeing a young girl, of a more than ordi- 
 nary comeliness, going his road, as he 
 thought, he stopped, and was so civil as to 
 ask her to ride beside him as far as she lik- 
 ed. Susanna did not greatly incline to trust 
 herself to a stranger, but her anxiousness to 
 get forward with all haste overbalanced her 
 fears ; and, after a scrutiny of the man's 
 features, which were noticeable for good 
 hiimor and honesty, she accepted his ofier, 
 and a minute after was jogging along Viith 
 liim like a farmer and his wife going to mar- 
 ket. 
 
 Her confidence was not misplaced, for be 
 behaved with a kindness, though of a rusti- 
 cal sort, which showed the goodness of his 
 nature. He asked very few questions, seem- 
 ing to take his companion lor what she ap- 
 peared, a yeoman's daughter going to the 
 market-town to make purchases, but he rea- 
 dily answered what questions were put to 
 him, by which she gained much information 
 of infinite value to her in her present under- 
 taking. The horse they rede was a great 
 fat creature, of the cart-horse breed, deco- 
 rated with gay ribbons ; and the man was 
 taking it to a cattle-fair, at a town some 
 twenty miles off, with the hope of getting a 
 good price for it. Dobbin's speed, therefore, 
 was not very great ; but, as it was faster 
 than her own travelling pace, and promised 
 to forward her twenty miles on her journey, 
 Susanna was well content she had got on his 
 broad back. 
 
 On their way, as her companion stopped 
 to victual Dobbin, he took care his fellow- 
 traveller should be provided for in a like 
 maimer ; and, having borrowed a pad for her 
 to ride on, they resumed their journey, la 
 due time they came to the town to which 
 Dobbin was bound, and not without souk' 
 sort of regret from his owner, who had got 
 so content with the ple.asant couipiiny ho 
 had had, he was not willing to be so s(jon 
 quit of it ; nevertheless, with a wondrous 
 show of good-will, he was fain to lake his 
 leave, and Susanna proceeded alone on her 
 road. She had managed to get such minute 
 directions from her recent acquaintance, that 
 she was now pretty confident she should be 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 113 
 
 able to find her way without any very great 
 difficulty. The town was crowded by buy- 
 ers and sellers, and a liberal sprinkling of 
 idle spectators ; but she passed on, heedless 
 of pedlars, mountebanks, dancing-bears, and 
 motions of the rarest quality ever exhibited, 
 though nought was left by them undone to 
 stay her steps. 
 
 Having got completely free of the fair, 
 and all its wild uproar and confusion, she 
 found herself passing over a wide common, 
 overgrown with furze, with here and there 
 a pollard, or blackthorn, the deep silence of 
 which contrasted very forcibly with the bu- 
 sy scene she had left behind. Here she had 
 full leisure to consult her thoughts ; and 
 this she did with so huge an intentness, 
 having them directed to a subject of no less 
 interest than her sick father, that she was 
 unaware of being closely watched, and her 
 steps dogged by a savage-looldng woman, 
 of a complexion like unto an Indian in 
 brownness, dressed in tattered weeds, coarse 
 and patched, that spoke of vagrancy m every 
 fold, and had a child at her back, with a vis- 
 age peeping over her shoulder of a like dark- 
 ness with her own. 
 
 She appeared a few steps in advance of 
 the young traveller, and, with a manner 
 half-supplicating, half-threatening, asked an 
 alms. Susanna was startled by her unex- 
 pected presence, and her surprise partook 
 largely of alarm when she had glanced at 
 her forbidding features. In the lonely place 
 in which she was, it was by no means desir- 
 able to meet such a person. Of her small 
 store she knew she had little to spare, but 
 her eagerness to get rid of the applicant 
 was infinitely stronger than was her desire 
 to retain unbroken the funds she had thought 
 proper to take with her to meet the necessi- 
 ties of her journey. Therefore she took her 
 purse from oft' her girdle, and untied its 
 strings, intending to give the woman a pen- 
 ny, at the least. The avarice of the beggar 
 was awakened at the sight of the few couis 
 it contained, and a powerful longing began 
 to show itself in her, to have it by hook or 
 by crook ; so she cast a furtive glance to- 
 wards the town, then along the road, then 
 on both sides of her, jabbering the whilst a 
 rambling jumble -oi wants and thanksgiv- 
 ings, when she suddenly made a snatch at 
 the purse, but not before Susanna was aware 
 of her design, and drew it so quickly back, 
 she completely failed in her purpose. 
 
 Thereupon, with divers horrible impreca- 
 tions, the strange woman drew, from a bag 
 that hungsn spended before her, a long knife, 
 and rushed forward, calling on her to deliver 
 her money, or she would have her heart's 
 
 blood. At any other time, Susanna would 
 have been content enough to have escaped 
 the peril she was in, by parting with a much 
 larger sum ; but the sole thought she had at 
 that fearful moment was the impossibility 
 of her ever reaching her sick father's dwel- 
 ling, were she deprived of it, and therefore 
 she was not content to part with it. She 
 avoided tiie woman as she made up to her, 
 and the next moment took to running at the 
 very top of her speed. 
 
 The young traveller was light of foot, and 
 fear seemed at first to have given her wings, 
 but on turning her head round, and finding 
 she was hotly pursued, her heart seemed to 
 jump to her mouth, and she felt almost in- 
 capable of exertion. She screamed as long 
 and loudly as she could, hoping it might 
 bring some one to her assistance, and 
 strained every nerve to increase the dis- 
 tance that was betwixt herself and her pur- 
 suer ; but the latter, though not so light of 
 step, and, moreover, burthened with the 
 child at her back, was more used to a fleet 
 pace than the other, and soon began with 
 long strides to gain sensibly upon her. Su- 
 sanna ran wildly on, half-dead with fright, 
 and screaming at the very top of her voice, 
 and the woman followed, shouting such 
 bloodthirsty resoUitions as were like to turn 
 the current of her veins into ice. 
 
 Thus they proceeded to a distance of full 
 a quarter of a mile. At last Susanna found 
 she had neither breath nor strength to con- 
 tinue the race a minute longer. Her 
 motions and aspect were those of one frantic 
 with excess of terror, and her cries were 
 awful and heart-rending. The threats of 
 her savage enemy, who tracked her heels 
 like a blood-hound, became every instant 
 closer to her ear, and every step looked as 
 though it brought the murderous knife she 
 had menaced her with nearer to her heart. 
 She began to reel ;ind .stumble as she ran, 
 her strength was fast failing her, every 
 thing seemed to swim unsteadily before her, 
 and at last, with a piercing scream of agony, 
 she fell to the ground. 
 
 At this terrible moment, when a violent 
 and dreadful end was so imminent, one feel- 
 ing of regret took entire possession of her. 
 Of losing her young life thus early and thus 
 horribly she thought but little ; the feeling 
 that was almost insupportable arose from 
 despair of being able to show her beloved 
 parent that she was not so vilely unmindful 
 of him as he had been led to suppose. Her 
 pursuer came up with every bad passion 
 written in legiblest character on her gloomy 
 brow. There could be no doubt as to her 
 intentions, and the little imp at her back 
 
114 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 seemed to clmclde with unnatural doliglit, 
 as she hastened, with tit-rce curses and 
 I)loody tiireats, to wreak licr vengeance for 
 llie opposition she had met, and then satisfy 
 her dishonest purposes at lier leisure. 
 
 The fair young traveller had no mercy 
 to expect. Her hours, nay, her minutes, 
 seemed numbered, and drawing to a speedy 
 close. The murderess seized her savagely 
 by the arm with one hand, as she knelt upon 
 hor panting body. Susanna niurmured a 
 short j)rayor. Tiie upraised steel glittered 
 before iier eyes, and was descending with a 
 force tiiat must have buried it to the very 
 haft in her flesh, when the arm that directed 
 the blow was suddenly grasped from behind, 
 and witii a swing, that a person of prodi- 
 gious strength only could have given, the 
 woman was hurled I'rorn her destined victim 
 to a considerable distance. With such force 
 was this done, tiiat the knife was sent flying 
 through the air, and the child was cast out 
 of his resting-place and safely transferred to 
 a clump of fern several yards off; neverthe- 
 less, as though in some measure used to 
 treatment of the roughest sort, he raised no 
 outcry, but presently employed himself, as 
 well as he was able, in delivering himself 
 out of the mass of leaves in whicii he had 
 been thrown. 
 
 The person who had thus timely inter- 
 rupted the beggar-woman's murderous de- 
 sign was a man of mean and slovenly appa- 
 jel, with a visage bearing no slight preten- 
 sions to manly beauty, tliough having on it 
 a wild and desperate expression. His figure 
 denoted luiusual strength and activity, bat 
 his whole appearance was in no manner 
 likely to predispose any one very greatly in 
 his tavor. He mtist have leaped out from 
 one of the hollows, or sprung from behind a 
 neighboring clump of brambles, where pos- 
 sibly he might have been lying his length, 
 for his intervention was so sudden as to 
 make it doubtful he had been brought to the 
 fair traveller's assistance from any great 
 distance. His interference was at the very 
 nick of time, and appeared to be as effec- 
 tual as any one could have desired ; the 
 vile wretch, wlio had been so intent on her 
 deadly purpose, now l;iy her length on the 
 hard road, apparently stunned by the fall. 
 
 Of this the man took no further notice, 
 than some words, perchance a tierce male- 
 diction ; the language in which they were 
 spoke, sounded uncouth and strange, so that 
 their exact meaning could not be come at. 
 It was, out of all doubt, the common tongue 
 of the gipsies, and on close observation it 
 was as evident that the speaker, though 
 greatly changed for the worrie in his visage 
 
 and outward appearance, was no other than 
 that villanous murderer whom the reader 
 hath already some knowledge of by the 
 name of Black Sampson. 
 
 Since he had behaved so roughly to 
 Simon Stockfish, in his memorable journey 
 to London with his young master, he had 
 lived a terrible restless life. Pursued by an 
 avenging hand, that seemed, to his fancy arm- 
 ed with a deadly weapon that was ever within 
 an inch of his heart, he had wandered from 
 one extremity of the kingdom to the other, 
 in the vain hope of security. It was singular 
 that, though of a more fearless spirit than all 
 the wild tribe of which he was the acknow- 
 ledged chief, either by some superstitious 
 feeling, or the weight of a wicked con- 
 science, he never could hear the name of 
 the man whose dear and only son he had so 
 ruthlessly slain, without being seized with a 
 sudden panic, and to know that he had been 
 seen in his neighborhood was sufficient to 
 cause him to flee from the place as though 
 pursued by the legions ot the damned. 
 
 This occurred frequently. He would re- 
 tire to the wild fastnesses of Wales, and for 
 a time fancy he was safe from further pur- 
 suit ; but at last he got certain intelligence 
 from his scouts that a gaunt, grey-bearded 
 churl was lurking about his retreat, and off 
 he would be as secretly and expeditiously 
 as possible to the weald of Kent, where, in 
 some apparently impenetrable wood, he 
 would hide himself and his dusky band. 
 Ere he grew confident of security, he would 
 learn that the same terrible form had appear- 
 ed within some few miles of him, which was 
 quite sufficient to make him abandon, with 
 all speed, his late secure position ; and per- 
 chance he would seek some lonely moor or 
 solitary common in Devon. Here he would 
 remain, but only for a brief season. He got 
 good reason for knowing the untiring blood- 
 hound was upon his track, and away lie 
 started, like a hunted deer, to the deep cavea 
 on the rough coast of Cornwall. 
 
 Mayhap he would abide here in peace — 
 in such peace as the wicked know, whereof 
 he knew about the least of any ; but, when 
 he thought from all absence of rumor touch- 
 ing his enemy, he might rest secure in his 
 deep concealment, he was ^ure to learn that 
 one answering but too truly to his descrip- 
 tion had arrived at the next village, and at 
 once he would quit the place which hereto- 
 fore looked as though it might have defied 
 the very searchingest eye, and never rest 
 foot till he liad buried himself in one of the 
 most remote and savngest parts in the high- 
 lands of Scotland. Here even he met with 
 the same fortune. The old shepherd dog- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 115 
 
 ged his heels with a pertinacity that was 
 truly marvellous. Go where he would, 
 hide as closely as he might, use the cun- 
 ningest disguise, sooner or later Wattle 
 Elliott was certain to get so close to his 
 neighborhood, as to induce him to quit it 
 with all speed, and in the terriblest fear. 
 
 Although Black Sampson avoided a per- 
 sonal encounter with his pursuer, this was 
 by no means the case with divers of his 
 trusty followers. They felt no compunctions 
 or dread of any sort ; and, soeing the 
 straits in which tiiey were put by their chief 
 through his sudden and desperate changes, 
 as well as being made sufferers by the wild- 
 ness and unreasonableness of his humor, 
 were well inclined to put an end to it in the 
 only way which presented itself to them. 
 With this object they banded together, and 
 lay in wait for the old man. But for a long 
 time he avoided falling into their hands. He 
 seemed as cunning in escaping their toils 
 as he was in following up the tierce chase 
 he was pursuing. Nevertheless, he did not 
 succeed at all times. Though ho made the 
 most determined resistance, which cost 
 some of his assailants their lives, he was at 
 last overpowered, beat with sticks, and left 
 for dead. 
 
 This result achieved, all felt sure their 
 leader would speedily recover his wonted 
 greatness of soul. They assured him his 
 enemy had got his quietus, and related how 
 completely it had been done. A month or 
 two might pass over, and hearing no sign of 
 him, Black Sampson would relax somewhat 
 in his precautions, when, lo ! to his horror, 
 he would himself, when abroad, catch a dis- 
 tant view of his well remembered figure ; 
 and off the outlaw would start on the instant, 
 like a heron who spycth the hawk afar off. 
 Again the gray-haired shepherd would be 
 set upon, and, alter a furious contest — not 
 without much injury to many of the assail- 
 ants — he would sink at their feet pierced 
 with innumerable deadly wounds. Again 
 the terror-struck gipsy would be persuaded 
 he had nothing to fear, and again, after a 
 due interval, he would tind the slaughtered 
 man, as hale and vigorous as ever, close 
 upon his footsteps. 
 
 At last, the wildest of the band began to 
 be as fear-struck as their cliief. Tlie old 
 shepherd had been shot at by all their best 
 marksmen ; he had been stabbed in the 
 vitalest parts ; he had been beaten, as it were, 
 to death with heavy cudgels ; nevertheless, he 
 was certain to appear in their siglit in 
 some brief space as whole as though nothing 
 had happened to him — it looked as though 
 
 he bore a charmed life, or was a creature 
 not of this world. So deep did this impres- 
 sion enter their minds, that they forebore 
 ever after from molesting him in any way, 
 and were as ready to be a hundred miles 
 from him at all times as was Black Samp- 
 son himself, who felt a secret assurance 
 that his enemy had so unconquerable a spirit, 
 he could not or would not be allowed to die 
 till his just revenge upon the murderer of 
 his son had been fully satistied ; and this 
 haunted him so by night and by day with 
 such continual apprehension, that lie grew 
 to wear the altered appearance he possessed 
 at this date. 
 
 After so forcibly separating the woman, 
 who was one of his own tribe, from her 
 threatened victim, he raised the latter gently 
 from the ground, and seemed to marvel at 
 her sinirular beauty. Susanna, tliough in 
 a horrible fear, and with scarce strengtli to 
 breathe, she was so spent with running, 
 still lield possession of her senses, albeit it 
 was with but a slight thread. Siie under- 
 stood she had been saved from a frightful 
 death, but, on the hrst glance she got of her 
 deliverer, she seemed to liave little cause 
 for satisfaction — so dreadful a visage to 
 look on had she never seen before. It was 
 so unnaturally wild and terrible, she shud- 
 dered as she gazed upon it ; nevertheless, 
 she made no effort to remove herself from 
 his hold, but lay helpless on his arm, as 
 though she could not take away her eyes 
 from the unnatural, searching gaze that was 
 li.xed upon her. 
 
 What feelings the contemplation of such 
 comeliness, united to so much helplessness 
 and innocency, might have created in the 
 breast of this caitiff, cannot very clearly be 
 known ; but, of whatever sort they may have 
 been, it is out of all manner of doubt they 
 were righ^ summarily put an end to, for, on 
 his quick ear detecting the sound of distant 
 footsteps, he presently turned his gaze in 
 that direction, and, on the instant, with a 
 marvellous lack of ceremony, dropped his 
 gentle burthen to the ground, and, with a 
 cry of alarm, ran off at the very top of his 
 speed. It was soon manifest what had been 
 the cause of this sudden movement. A man 
 was seen passing over the common with 
 marvellous quickness of foot ; and as he 
 drew nearer, it was observed he was of a 
 gaunt figure, ill and rudely clad, with a 
 tierce and haggard expression of counte- 
 nance. On he came — in sooth an awful 
 sight — his grey hair and beard of unnatural 
 length, streaming in the wind ; his eyes 
 sunken under shaggy overhanging brows. 
 
116 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 yet gleaming with an unnatural fire, and 
 one hand branditiliing tlircatoningly an open 
 dagger. 
 
 As he passed swiftly by our gentle tra- 
 veller, she could not believe he was any 
 thing human ; and the unearthly maimer in 
 which she heard him raise, as he hurried 
 on, his ordinary cry of " Blodd ! Blood !'' 
 seemed enough to turn her to stone. It was 
 the. old shepherd in pursuit of the murderer 
 of his dear son. On he sped with an eager- 
 ness far beyond what his more youthful days 
 had witnessed; and, holding the murderer 
 in sight, he kept at his heels over bush and 
 hollow, hedge and ditch, till both were lost 
 to sight in the depths of a neighboring wood. 
 
 Susanna had just began to breathe with 
 a little more freedom than she had done for 
 some minutes past, wlien she was again 
 overwhelmed with deadly fear by the sight 
 of the woman from whose murderous hand 
 she had so lately been rescued again 
 making towards her. Doubtless she could 
 now have wreaked her vengeance uninter- 
 rupted, and have plundered her at her lei- 
 sure, and such it is more than probable was 
 her intent ; but at this critical time, a com- 
 pany of carriers from the fair made their 
 appearance at a little distance, and she was 
 fain to content herself with breathing the 
 horriblest threats ever heard, as she reco- 
 vered her weapon, and then replacing her 
 child at her back, who had been all the 
 while playing about as though he required 
 no better nursing than had Romulus and 
 Remus, she took herself quickly off in a 
 contrary direction. 
 
 The carriers, who were simple men, mar- 
 velled greatly at the tale they heard when 
 they came up ; and when the fair traveller 
 appealed to them for protection, so eager 
 were they to render it, they were ready to 
 go to loggerheads before they could settle 
 who should be the fortunate man to guard 
 so much beauty and innocency. At last 
 the matter was settled in some sort satis- 
 factorily, and Susanna was raised on a pack- 
 saddle on a fine mule that belonged to one 
 of the party, all agreeing that she should 
 ride upon it, because it was the goodliest 
 beast of them all, and set off, nothing loath, 
 in their company. 
 
 It was curious to see the sudden change 
 that appeared, as soon as Susanna took her 
 place in the midst of them. They had ap- 
 proached in very boisterous style, with an 
 abundance of rude jests, and prodigal display 
 of riotous mirth, consequent doubtless on 
 the long draughts they had taken in fellow- 
 Ghip at the last town ; but now, as though by 
 common consent, each one put a bridle on 
 
 his tongue, so that there should be no of- 
 fence in it, and essayed to distinguish him- 
 self above his fellows by courtesy, serious- 
 ness, and all manner of civil speech, where- 
 of the consequence was, our late terror- 
 struck traveller quickly recovered her 
 proper spirits, and journeyed on, with no 
 other wish than for increased speed, that she 
 unght the sooner reach the lodging of her 
 dear father in Southwark. 
 
 No further adventure happened till they 
 arrived at Oxford, wherein she had scarce 
 entered when a number of Oxford scholars, 
 struck at first by the strangeness of so fair 
 a creature riding in the midst of a parcel 
 of rude carriers, were for a closer acquaint- 
 ance, and in their admiration becoming too 
 familiar, to the great scandal of divers of 
 her si.'uple company, one must needs break 
 the head of the foremost, which was so re- 
 sented by his associates, that a fierce attack 
 was made upon the offender and all his fel- 
 lows. These defended themselves with 
 such spirit, emboldened by the presence of 
 their gentle fellow-traveller, in whose de- 
 fence they considered they were fighting, 
 that soon a most violent battle raged be- 
 twixt them. The scholars every moment 
 were reinforced ; nevertheless, the carriers 
 with their cudgels fought so desperately, 
 macy of their numerous assailants got sore 
 hurt. 
 
 Susanna sat on her mule, wringing hei 
 hands, begging and praying each party to 
 leave off tlieir quarrel ; but the greater part 
 of the scholars, who had seen nothing of the 
 beginning of the affray, believed that she 
 was held against her will by the knaves in 
 whose company she was, and that her dis- 
 tress was occasioned by her detention, felt 
 a chivalrous desire to rescue her from out 
 of the hands of such Philistines, and they 
 returned to the charge again and again with 
 increased numbers and tenfold fury. The 
 street was a scene of the wildest riot seen 
 there for many a day. All were attracted 
 to the neighborhood, alarmed by the horrible 
 outcries and fierce contention that raged in 
 that spot, and, as is usually the case in dis- 
 turbances in that fair city, they took differ- 
 ent sides. The citizens, satisfied that where 
 the scholars were fighting it must be against 
 them, without question of any sort ranged 
 themselves on the opposite side, and with 
 whatever weapons they could get, gave bat- 
 tle furiously by the side of the carriers. 
 
 In this way every instant the fight was 
 increasing with such vast strides, that it 
 looked as though two rival armies were con- 
 tending for mastery. The more peaceable 
 sort were in a monstrous fright, and the au- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 117 
 
 thorlties were getting ready as strong a 
 force of constables, as they had at their 
 commandment for the immediate quelling of 
 the riot, and securing the disturbers of the 
 peace. By this time the scholars had grown 
 to so huge a force, that they had been able 
 to beat back her doughty champions and 
 tlieir now numerous adherents, and were in 
 triumph leading away in the midst of them 
 the unoffending cause of the battle they 
 considered they had so gloriously won. 
 Their shouts of victory and martial songs 
 drowned every attempt the poor distressed 
 damsel made to show them how little reason 
 she had to be content with their services. 
 None knew what was to be done with her, 
 and none troubled themselves lo think, their 
 minds were so tilled with their hard-fought 
 success. 
 
 As they crowded along in this state, they 
 were made aware of the approach of the 
 strong force of foot sent by the civil autho- 
 rities against them, among whom were se- 
 veral of the principal persons in the Uni- 
 versity on horseback ; but, in their present 
 mood, there is little doubt the victorious 
 scholars would have given tliem instant 
 battle. It so chanced, however, that the de- 
 lectable young creature they felt assured 
 they had rescued from unmannerly kn ives, 
 spied, amongst the horsemen, two gallants, 
 whose persons she recognized with a vehe- 
 ment cry of pleasure. There could be no 
 doubt as to who they were. They were 
 Sir George Carew and young Master Clop- 
 ton, then journeying to London, who from 
 curiosity had joined the civil power, to be- 
 hold the quelling of the violent disturbance 
 that had so unaccountably sprung up in the 
 city. By singular good fortune tiicy imme- 
 diately recognized her. which was in some 
 sort easy, she being on her mule, above the 
 heads of the riotous assembly whicli sur- 
 rounded her. 
 
 Seeing her, like one in the very absolutest 
 distress, as if calling and making signs to 
 them to come to her. Sir George and his 
 companion marvelling to behold her in so 
 strange a company, put spurs to their horses, 
 and dashed forward ; but they would have 
 been roughly handled, had not the old sol- 
 dier had the exceeding good policy to cry 
 out that the young female they had got 
 amongst them was his fellow-traveller, and 
 he desired she might be allowed to return 
 to her friends. Many knowing Sir George, 
 made way for him, and others did the same, 
 seeing he was a person of note by his wor- 
 shipful tigure, and the number of his retain- 
 ers, with their blue coats and silver badges, 
 
 so that the two found no difficulty in making 
 their way to the distressed damsel. 
 
 Sir George appeared to have forgot his 
 late cause of displeasure, as he rode to her 
 side with the courteous bearing towards 
 women so familiar to him ; but when he 
 listened to her hurried narrative, and dis- 
 covered that she had gone through such 
 troubles and dangers out of her anxious de- 
 sire to minister to the wants of her sick 
 father, his very estimable good friend, he 
 seemed to regard her with unusual interest, 
 interrupting her with many soldier-like com- 
 mendations, and bidding her to be of good 
 heartj for he was her assured friend till 
 death, and she should travel in his company 
 without delay of any sort. 
 
 Then, turning to the crowd, in a brief and 
 energetic speech, he showed them the mis- 
 take they had been under, and begged them 
 as a proper token of respect for the fair 
 damsel for whom they had so manfully ex- 
 erted themselves, to dis])erse each to their 
 homes as speedily as possible. This proper 
 advice was instantly acted upon, and in a 
 brief space all were making what haste they 
 could to their several colleges; perchance, 
 some using the more expedition from a 
 wholesome fear of punislunent. Sir George 
 did not find much more difficulty in satisfy- 
 ing the authorities and tlie citizens, and he 
 allowed but little time to pass over before 
 he sought out the trusty carriers, to reward 
 them for their exceeding commendable con- 
 duct. 
 
 In due time he set off, with the fair Susan- 
 na, on a goodly palfrey, in his company, for 
 London, and they arrived the next day, with- 
 out further adventure, at Master Shaks- 
 peare's lodgings in the Liberty of the Clink. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A honey shower rains from her lips. 
 
 Sweet lights shine in her face ; 
 She hath the blush of virgin mind. 
 The mind of viper's race. 
 These things we write merrily, but we would 
 that the reader should observe God's just judg- 
 ments, and how that he can deprehend the 
 worldly-wise in their own wisdom, make their 
 table to be a snare to trap their own feet, 
 and their own purposed strength to be their own 
 destruction. John Knox. 
 
 From what hath already been stated, mine 
 especial friend, the reader, hath good war- 
 rant for suspecting that our young student 
 
118 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 of medicine was not in such good hands in 
 the dwelHng of that famoiK« physician, Mas- 
 ter Dr. Posset, as his excellent mother trust- 
 ed he was, and that the abundance of admi- 
 rablo coiui.sel she had so impressively given 
 him, toncliing his behavior to women, liad 
 not been altogether superHuoiis. But what- 
 ever little insiglit there may have been 
 obtained by the progress of this story, as to 
 the characters ot the several inmates of the 
 doctor's liouse, it is essential for its full un- 
 derstanding that something more should be 
 known. With the object of furnishing such 
 information, the reader is urgently requested 
 to allow hiuiself to be transported to a cer- 
 tain closet, in which the doctor, after the 
 labors of the day were over, was wont to 
 solace himself in private with a few glasses 
 of slierris-sack, and the enjoyment of the new 
 fashion of smoking a pipe of tobacco. 
 
 This closet was lighted by one small 
 window, and was wainscoted ail round from 
 ceiling to tioor, with projecting cupboards 
 at the corners, in whicli, under lock and key, 
 were kept the napery, and other household 
 siutf, of which he was possessed. Inhere 
 was an oak table in the middle of the room, 
 on which were placed the customary tank- 
 ard, and two glasses, with a small brass- 
 bound box> wiierein was kept the Indian 
 weed with which he furnished his pipe. 
 Doctor Posset sat, leaning against a high- 
 backed chair, his legs resting upon a tall 
 stool ; he was dressed with a formal sort of 
 neatness — a compromise between the plain- 
 ness generally ait'ected by the old and the 
 bravery of the young physician of his day. 
 His hajr and beard, though scant and grey, 
 were kept in excellent order by the barber ; 
 and though his years were far past the best, 
 there was a piercing quickness in his eye 
 that made him seem more youthful than he 
 was. As he had lost all his teeth, his mouth 
 was drawn in with monstrous little improve- 
 ment to his wrinkled and leaden visage ; and 
 when he took on himself the humor ol laugh- 
 ing, he looked like one of those grinning 
 satyrs sometimes to be found carved on the 
 stalls of our ancient cathedrals. 
 
 It would be no ditficult matter for any skill- 
 ful peruser of faces to have guessed, after a 
 careful observation of that of this famous 
 physician, in his private hours, the sort of 
 character he was. There was a mixture of 
 craftiness and self-conceit in the continual 
 expression of his visage that occasionally 
 made way for a sort of sneering devilishnoss 
 that became it no better. Of this craftiness 
 he prided liimself extravagantly, althcugh it 
 was merely just sufficient to keep his neck 
 out of a halter, and his jierson from the 
 
 rough handling, as it liad been w]iispered,he 
 had too frequently deserved. Obsequious- 
 ness, impndency, and some chances of for- 
 tune, had greatly be'riended him. To those 
 more ignorant than himself, he ever assumed 
 a marvellous extent of knowledge, whilst, 
 to any likely to be better informed, he cau- 
 tiously held his peace, and looked as pro- 
 foundly sage as he could. 
 
 On the side opposite to that on which lie 
 sat stood an empty chair, and the doctor 
 seemed by his frequent glance at the door 
 to expect some person to till it. Nor had he 
 long to wait. Presently the door opened, 
 and there entered the seductive Millicent, 
 apparently in the best of humors, or assuming 
 such for some secret purpose. She soon sat 
 herself down, and, as was her wont, proceeded 
 to fulfil her first duty — the making of the 
 sack; the which she did with a constant 
 affectation of light-hearted gossiping. Had 
 her too-devoted lover, John Hall, been 
 present, he would have marvelled hugely to 
 have heard his melancholy mistress making 
 a most bitter mockery of the grief of Tabitha 
 Thatchpole, her especial friend — as she had 
 led him to believe — because her boy Launce 
 had given his indentures a fair pair of heels, 
 and run away with Martin Poins, as it was 
 supposed, to try their fortunes on board an 
 armed ship that had sailed down the river, 
 bound for the Spanish main; and he had 
 marvelled still more to note the exceeding 
 heartiness of her good will towards her 
 father, of whom she never spoke to him in 
 confidence, without conveying to his mind 
 the idea that he was a monster to be regard- 
 ed only with execration. 
 
 Her merry, biting jests, and the excellence 
 of the sack she had brewed with even more 
 care than usual, had their expected efl'ect. 
 The old man was in the mood she desired. 
 Sitting herself to the enjoyment of her own 
 glass of the exquisite beverage she had been 
 manufacturing, she gradually and skilfully 
 led the conversation of her companion's most 
 favorite subject, the success he had had as 
 a gallant. 
 
 The old fellow threw liimself back in his 
 seat, his satyr-like visage growing more 
 hideous as the expression of vanity which 
 lighted it with smiles became more intense. 
 He smoked on and chuckled, occasionally 
 interrujiting his associate to add more im- 
 portant features to the things she reminded 
 him of with such singular satisfaction. 
 Then she eluded him slightly, and seemed 
 to think it was high tirue he should give over 
 such unbecoming matters, take to himself a 
 wife, and live in matrimonial respectability 
 for the rest of his days. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 119 
 
 He fell into this humor very readily, as 
 he had long entertained the desire of having 
 for his wife his daughter's little friend, 
 Mildred ; but began to despair of its accom- 
 plishment, as she, besides being young 
 enough to be his grand-daughter, did nought 
 but make sport of him. The wily MiUicent 
 knew this well, and had determined to turn 
 it to her own profit. It matters little what 
 was said on both sides ; suffice it that a 
 bargain was entered into betwixt the two, 
 that the father was to pay to the daughter 
 the sum of two hundred crowns as a mar- 
 riage-portion with her betrothed, on the day 
 Mildred became his wife. 
 
 She stayed not long after this, excusing 
 herself that she had much to do to bring 
 matters to the conclusion desired, and there- 
 upon left him to enjoy his customary after- 
 noon's sleep which followed upon his stuffing 
 lus skin so full it could hold no more. 
 
 Truly she had much to do. To effect the 
 infamous sale she had set on foot, there was 
 no small difficulty. There was first to be 
 got over a strong feeling of dislike in her 
 friend to the old man, considering him only 
 as an acquaintance, which doubtless would 
 amount to abhorrence, if he were to be pro- 
 posed to her as a husband. The disparity 
 of age was not greater than the disparity of 
 disposition. Even could that natural feeling- 
 be removed which disinclines the youthful 
 tasting the hrst rich draught of life to par- 
 take of the cup of another which hath nothing- 
 left of it but the lees, the opposition of 
 'thoughts and feelings, pursuits, habits, and 
 tastes is hardly possible to be overcoare. 
 Doubtless there are some to be met with, 
 among womankind in general, who are pos- 
 sessed of that singular indifTerency which 
 renders them insensible of any preference, 
 and there can be no question divers aged 
 persons may be found more worthy the en- 
 ■ tire love of the young heart than others of 
 fewer years, but these are extreme cases. 
 
 In the instance here given, nothing could 
 be more atrocious ; but the utter selhshness 
 of the crafty Millicent took no note of any 
 thing but her own base ends. She sold her 
 youthful acquaintance, and cared for nothing 
 in the wide world save the price slie was to 
 obtain for the infamous bargain. 
 
 There was one thing in the aspect of 
 affairs, which she could not regard without 
 uneasiness. For objects of her own, she had 
 done all she could to foster the growth of 
 friendly feelings betwixt her betrothed and 
 her new lover ; this had led to a more than 
 ordinary affectionate intimacy in the young 
 men for each other ; but now, as she found 
 it more to her interest to wed the former, it 
 
 was requisite that she should put herself to 
 particular pains to lessen this attachment. 
 It might, in spite of all her care to prevent 
 it, lead to so profound a confidence, that her 
 double-dealing and infamous views regard- 
 ing both would surely be discovered. 
 
 There was still a great obstacle, and this 
 was no other than the much-abused John 
 Hall. His love for the worthless creature 
 by whom he had been so played upon had, 
 by this time, become the better impulse of 
 his hfe. The frequent recourse she had to 
 mystery he had got so used to, that however 
 strange the matter might seem, he put it 
 down to her humor, and gave himself no 
 further concern in it. 
 
 VVe will, however, with the reader's con- 
 sent, penetrate into anotiier part of the same 
 tenement. This was the chamber in which 
 were made all the surgical and pharmaceu- 
 tical preparations wanted for Master Doctor 
 Posset's numerous patients. There were in 
 it the usual objects that make the vulgar 
 marvel when entering such places, to wit — • 
 the stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceil- 
 ing, a multitude of bottles and jars and galli- 
 pots of sundry sorts, with strange characters 
 marked upon them, a shelf of monstrosities 
 preserved in spirits, sundry bundles of sim- 
 ples hung up to dry, a nest of drawers with 
 Latin names no each, a strong table with 
 vials, measures, weights, scales, knives, 
 scissors, pestles and mortars, and the like 
 necessary things, for the use of a chirurgeon ; 
 and a large iron mortar, fixed on a huge 
 block of wood, with a famous ponderous pes- 
 tle of the same metal, stood in the centre of 
 the same chamber. 
 
 At the further end, opposite to a window, 
 was a stout chair for patients to sit in when 
 undergoing any operations. Close to it was 
 another table, containing basons and other 
 vessels for making infusions, decoctions, and 
 syrups ; with tape, plaster, bandages and 
 ointment-pots, for the dressing of wounds. 
 On one side was a chimney, where, on the 
 tire, in an open earthen pipkin, some pre- 
 paration was simmering, intended as a re- 
 storative for a sick courtier, which was care- 
 fully watched by John Hall, who, ever and 
 anon, stirred it carefully with a ladle. 
 Leonard was engaged at the large table, 
 with an open book before him, weighing and 
 mixing together certain powders, and then 
 dividing them into small papers, for the bar- 
 ren wife of a gouty alderman. They were 
 intent upon a discussion connected with the 
 art they were studying, when they were in- 
 terrupted by the entrance of a gentleman 
 borne like unto a dead person in the arms 
 of Ned Allen and Will Kempe, whilst a 
 
120 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 crowd of players, among whom was Ben 
 Jonson, followed at their heels, with concern 
 and alarm depicted in all their coiintoiiaiices. 
 Even the humorous visage of Will Kempe 
 had a cast of melancholy that might even 
 have become one at a funeral. 
 
 The party were shown into an adjoining 
 chamber, used only by the Doctor for private 
 consultations with his patients, and the 
 person they had brought placed convenient 
 on a table. He gave no sign of life, which 
 tlie players did not fail to notice with an 
 increased length of visage. The physician 
 was hastily sent for, and all things were got 
 ready handy for his using — plasters, band- 
 ages, and the like, with certain surgical- 
 looking knives and probing instruments, in 
 case an operation should be required. The 
 poor players scarcely breathed, they seemed 
 so frightened at this array, assured that the 
 danger must be imminent that called for such 
 ominous-looking things, and whispered to 
 one another brief sentences signiticatory of 
 the badness of the case. 
 
 At last JMaster Doctor came, not in the 
 best humor that his sleep should be disturb- 
 ed. Either by accident or design, a towel 
 had been thrown over the face of his patient, 
 so that he was not recognized by the Doctor. 
 The latter asking what had happened, he 
 was told that the poor gentleman who was 
 there in so pitiable a case, had given some 
 offence to Ben Jonson, which he could not 
 stomach ; so, making him draw, he attacked 
 liim furiously, and, it was believed, had killed 
 him outright, for he presently dropped like 
 a stone at his feet, and had since given no 
 sign of life, save one or two most piteous 
 groans, that seemed to denote the utter rend- 
 ing of his soul from his body. 
 
 " 'Tis a sad case," said one. 
 
 " Indeed, 'tis most lamentable," added 
 another. 
 
 " Sblood I" exclaimed Ben Jonson, greatly 
 vexed, " am I also to have this poor gentle- 
 man's death at my door ? I had rather a 
 hundred pound I had never set eyes on him." 
 
 " Thou art ever of too hasty a spirit, Ben," 
 observed Master Allen, " and I doubt not it 
 will some day or other put thine own life in 
 jeopardy from the hands of the law." 
 
 " I fear it will go hard with Ben at As- 
 size," said another of the players gravely. 
 " The dead man's friends may pursue him 
 with such rigor, he may chance to find him- 
 self in nigh upon as bad a case himself." 
 
 " I fear hugely he his dead," said the first. 
 
 " Assuredly there is no room to doubt it," 
 replied a second. 
 
 All this time the doctor, assisted by his 
 apprentices, examined the body of the wound- 
 
 ed man very carefully ; but he lay stiff and 
 motionless, as though all such care was 
 superfluous. 
 
 " Alack, poor gentleman !" exclaimed 
 Master Allen. 
 
 "Alack, indeed!" added Will Kempe. 
 
 Now the doctor, looking somewhat puz- 
 zled, felt the pulse of the dead man — many 
 there present thinking such as unnecessary 
 a thing as could be ; and in a moment pulled 
 the towel off his face. 
 
 " Captain Swashbuckler, o' my life !" he 
 cried in a monstrous surprise, as he caught 
 sight of his well known visage ; then, turn- 
 ing to the company, added, " Had I not seen 
 it with mine own eyes, I would not have 
 believed there were in the world such easy 
 gulls as those I now see before me. Be 
 assured, my masters, that the valiant Cap- 
 tain hath received no wound of any sort, and 
 is at this present in as perfect health as ever 
 he was in his life." 
 
 " Why the cozening rascal !" 
 
 " Out on the pitiful knave !" 
 
 " Get thee gone, thou intolerable base 
 trickster !" exclaimed the players. 
 
 " A goodly football, my masters !" cried 
 Will Kempe ; '• and i' faith, we'll play a fine 
 game." Thereupon the poor captain, as he 
 tound his trick discovered, and was fur get- 
 ting out of the place as fast as he could, as 
 soon as he was on his legs, was sent forward 
 with a hearty kick by the last speaker, at 
 which he turned round to mark who did it; 
 but had scarce done so, when he received 
 a like favor from Ben Jonson, given with so 
 fine a zeal he was thrust to the end of the 
 chamber. Nevertheless, his stay there was 
 exceeding brief ; one of the players who had 
 recently been most concerned at his supposed 
 death propelled him from it forthwith, after 
 a fashion that was so quickly and closely 
 imitated, that he was soon thrust into the 
 street, amid the jeers and laughter of those 
 who had waited outside to learn whether the 
 wounded man was past cure. 
 
 Whilst the players were vigorously follow- 
 ing their game, John Hall was surprised by 
 the appearance of Simon Stockfish, with 
 whom, after one or two of their marvellous 
 brief speeches on either side he presently 
 left the house. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ' His mirth was the pure spirit of various wit, 
 
 Yet never did his God or friends forget ; 
 
 And when deep talli and wisdom came in view, 
 Retired and gave to them their due. 
 
 For the rich help of books he always took, 
 Though his own searching mind before 
 Was so with notions written o'er, 
 
 As if wise nature had made tliat her book. 
 
 COWLET. 
 
 The tender-hearted Susanna had now the 
 full enjoyment of her own sweet will. She 
 was in constant and most loving attendance 
 upon the father, whom she regarded with so 
 V dutiful an afTection, to show which she had 
 put herself to a difficult and perilous jour- 
 ney, on foot and unattended save by the 
 courage of her own pure heart ; but though 
 she had escaped the knife of the assassin, 
 and was secure from the insults and rude 
 questioning of unmannerly strangers, she 
 had to meet with treatment of a far more 
 intolerable sort. 
 
 The mind of her sick father was a prey 
 to the flmtasies of a wild delirium, the con- 
 stant theme of which was the in^jratitude 
 of his daughters. On this he would ever 
 and anon dilate very movingly — in especial 
 dwelling on the undutiful behavior of 
 liis favorite Susanna, after so touching a 
 fashion, that the poor damsel, who was close 
 at hand, feared her heart would break, it did 
 touch her so deeply. Nevertheless, she 
 would on no account allow her feelings to 
 betray her ; so, keeping up a high heart, 
 albeit it was often a most aching one, she 
 busied herself in ministering night and day 
 to the wants of him who spoke of her so 
 hardly. 
 
 Sleep took she none, at least none of any 
 account, for at all hours she was to be found 
 playing the faithful nurse with such admira- 
 ble matchless skill, it was the marvel of all 
 who beheld it. The pillow was smoothed 
 for the aching head, tiie dampness wiped 
 from the burning brow ; the parched mouth 
 was kept moist with refreshing drinks, and 
 the burning skin bathed with cooling lo- 
 tions ; the various medicines were adminis- 
 tered to the patient by none but her hand ; 
 the little matters of diet she herself prepared 
 and placed before him ; every comfort that 
 could be procured for one in his hapless 
 condition she obtained for him ; and it was 
 her musical voice that sought to make him, 
 as readily as might bo, follow the directions 
 of his physician, and the dictates of her 
 tender love. The words she spoke soothed 
 the sick man, but the voice he did not recog- 
 
 nize ; he appeared to understand the great 
 comfort of her careful nursing, but the once 
 loved form passed before him as that of a 
 stranger. 
 
 This was a sore trial to her, but she held 
 up bravely ; and none who saw the untiring 
 patience and sweetness of disposition with 
 which she fulfilled her office, could have 
 guessed how piercingly her poor heart aclied 
 the while. 
 
 Her loving attentions were well seconded 
 by John Hall, whose assistance had been 
 hastily sought, with the fullest conhdence in 
 its superiority over that of all other doctors 
 whatsoever, by his father's faithful follower, 
 Simon Stockfish. Together had they watch- 
 ed at the bedside of their suffering patient, 
 seeking to take immediate advantage of 
 every favorable symptom — together had they 
 administered to his wants and provided for 
 his- comforts. Surely had no man in the 
 like strait such great heed taken of him, as 
 had Master Shakspeare in this sharp sickness 
 of his. The young physician employed all 
 the resources of his art to conquer it, partly 
 to serve his humble friend, and in a great 
 measure from the deep interest he felt 
 in him whom he was attending. He soon 
 learned in what nearness of relation his 
 matchless nurse stood to him, and the frantic 
 declarations of the poor gentleman did inform 
 him sufficiently of how matters stood betwixt 
 them. This, as may be supposed, did not 
 in any way lessen his respect, or check his 
 sympathy. Indeed its effect was exactly 
 the reverse. Simon Stockfish also afforded 
 such service to his sick master as it was in 
 his power to perform, and did it with an 
 earnest affection and reverence which could 
 only be exceeded by the more ardent love of 
 his devoted daughter. These three in their 
 constant attendance followed their natural 
 inclinations, for they spoke marvellous little, 
 but it would have been difficult to have found 
 the like number of persons who, under any 
 circumstances felt one-half as much as they 
 did. 
 
 The chamber in which Master Shakspeare 
 lay was of a fair size and height — as indeed 
 were all the principal ones throughout the 
 house — one of the best in all Southwark, it 
 having been, at no distant date, the mansion 
 of a person of worship, from whom Master 
 Shakspeare had bought it, with a great part 
 of its chattels and household gear. All 
 round was a goodly suit of tapestry hang- 
 ings, representing certain notable scenes and 
 adventures in the life of William the Con- 
 queror, with labels issuing from the mouths 
 of divers of the chief characters. A large 
 
122 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 window, or casement, which was thrown 
 open, gave a refresiiing view of the green 
 trees of the adjoining gardens, whence the 
 pmall birds were heard twittering histily 
 their cheerful chorus. Througii an open 
 door, a view was got of part of the next 
 chamber, up to the window w^liicli over- 
 looked the street, with glimpses of its quaint- 
 ly-carved cupboard ; some one or twa tall 
 chairs, having about them a cittern, a rapier, 
 and a hat and feather ; a table with a rich 
 coverlet, and its goodly burthen of books, 
 manuscripts, writing utensils, and -other fur- 
 niture of a like sort. 
 
 On each side of the bed's head was a 
 stout arm-chair, wherein the watchers of the 
 sick man were wont to keep guard. There 
 was a small table at a convenient distance 
 from the casement, covered with a fair cloth 
 of damask, whereon was a mirror in an 
 ebony frame, with an antique vase of fresh 
 flowers before it, which were prettily imaged 
 in the glass, having on one side a crystal 
 bottle daintily figured over, and a large gob-- 
 let of a like material and fashion on the 
 other, containing a delectable beverage for 
 the patient's own drinking ; whilst in a 
 china plate that stood betwixt them, in-front 
 of the vase, were grapes and oranges, 
 whereof of the latter one was sliced ready 
 for his eating. In a corner adjoining were 
 the proper utensils for washing, and nigh 
 the fireplace was a table of polished oak, on 
 which were sundry bottles and vessels, and 
 all conveniences for the concocting of such 
 articles of diet and drink as were deemed 
 necess-ary for him ; and it was here th-at the 
 neat-handed Susanna was wont to prepare 
 them. 
 
 Elsewhere were other chairs, and also 
 other necessary furniture, the chief of which 
 was a massive oaken press, for the contain- 
 ing of linen and wardrobe. The bedstead 
 was handsomely provided with all proper 
 matters of bedding, most conspicuous of 
 which was a rich counterpane, such as 
 adorned the beds of the wealthiest sort in 
 those days. With his head supported by 
 pillows, the occupant of this chamber was 
 there and then lying, his noble visage bear- 
 ing evident marks of the ravages of sick- 
 ness ; but, his beard and hair being new- 
 trinimed, and his face constantly and care- 
 fully refreshed with the necessary ablutions, 
 he showed no signs of that neglect in such 
 things which others less lovingly attended 
 never fail to exhibit. 
 
 John Hall and Simon Stockfish stood on 
 each side of him, regarding their charge 
 with a vigilant eye, yet even with more 
 
 seriousness than ordinary, for he was in one 
 of his raving moods, and it behoved them 
 to interpose when there was a likelihood of 
 his doing himself a mischief. And where 
 was the ever-watchful and loving Susanna? 
 In honest truth, she had but turned her head 
 away to conceal a tear that came unbidden 
 to her eyes, through hearing the sharp re- 
 proaches which her fond, distracted father 
 did heap on her, whereof every word seemed 
 armed with a barb that pierced and tore her 
 sensitive heart to an agony insupportable. 
 She considered she had merited it all, hard 
 as it was to bear, for she loved her father 
 with such entireness, she could not believe 
 him capable, even in his distraction, of any 
 unkind behavior to her. Therefore was 
 she now raising a look to Heaven with so 
 strong an appeal in it, it could have been 
 withstood by nothing of mortal nature, her 
 beautiful figure supported by one hand lean- 
 ing heavily against the table, striving to re- 
 cover such composure of mind as would 
 allow her again to attend diligently to the 
 duties of her office. 
 
 But her brave spirit was soon to have it? 
 fitting recompense. Her loving nursing had 
 j in time its jjroper effect. The sick man 
 mended apace ; and be sure there were no 
 pains spared to hasten his recovery. But 
 greatly as she rejf)iced — and no imagination 
 can do justice to the exceeding exquisiteness 
 of her feelings, as she beheld this irtuch- 
 desired improvement — there \yas one conse- 
 quence attending on it which she allowed 
 with infinite reluctance — this was banish- 
 ment from the sick chamber. 
 
 From the many intolerable speeches she 
 had heard, she was painfully impressed with 
 the opinion that, when her dear father should 
 come to know her, it might perchance make 
 him worse, and he would be sure to bid her 
 begone for a disobedient daughter, that de- 
 served not the pleasure of attending upon 
 him. Therefore she kept herself in the next 
 chamber as privily as possible, albeit she 
 took good heed to have constant intelligence 
 of aught relating to the object of her so 
 much love that could be told her, and was 
 as busily engaged in providing tor his wants 
 and comforts as though she had remained 
 with him. 
 
 Whilst Master Shakspeare remained in 
 this deplorable state, and even from the first 
 notice of it that was bruited abroad, tli(M-e 
 came to his lodging every day vast numbers 
 of persons, some his very good friends and 
 gossips, and others known unto him only by 
 the fame of his singular great worthiness, 
 and these were of various classes and con- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 123 
 
 ditions, from the humblest 3rawer at " The 
 Mitre," or call-boy at " The Globe," with 
 whom his pleasant speech and liberal hand 
 made him ever a inonr^troiis favorite, to the 
 highest noble in the kingdom, who had en- 
 joyed many a well-spent hour in taking into 
 his mind the prodigal store of deligiitful 
 thouglits and images he had furnished in the 
 exercise of his matchless talents. His 
 brother players, all tiie principal writers, the 
 most notable of the citizens, and the most 
 worthy of the courtiers, either came them- 
 selves or sent continually to inquire what 
 hopes were had of him ; and Simon Stock- 
 fish was, out of sheer necessity, forced to 
 abandon his humor of taciturnity somewhat, 
 he had such a horrible press of questions 
 forced upon him. 
 
 Of those who were most anxious in their 
 inquiries and most frequent in their visits 
 were Master Edward Allen and Sir George 
 Carevv. Nothing could exceed tiie former's 
 concern at the pitiful plight to which his 
 assured friend had been reduced ; and he 
 straightway sent his excellent partner to 
 afford Susanna such advice and lielp as the 
 exigency of the case needed ; and well and 
 kindly did she fiiltil his wishes. Sir George 
 was no less deeply interested in him, and 
 was continually bringing or sending such 
 things for his use as he thouiiht might ad- 
 vance him in his recovery. To the marvel- 
 lous sweet satisfaction of all, as hath been 
 said, his worst symptoms left him. He grew 
 conscious of all that was being done, and 
 was evidently gaining strength rapidly. 
 One thing was in especial noticeable at this 
 time — :that he carefully avoided all manner 
 of allusion to his family. What was so re- 
 cently the one sole theme of his thoughts 
 and of his tongue, was now, as it were, 
 driven from botli — perchance from dread its 
 entertainment might induce the evil conse- 
 quences he was still smarting under. 
 
 This state of things Sir George Carew 
 liked not at all, as it made a difficulty in 
 what he was waiting to venture on, on the 
 first favorable opportunity, which he knew 
 not how to get over. Nevertheless, the mat- 
 er he had undertaken could not be delayed ; 
 therefore, when the sick man grew suffi- 
 ciently hale to converse on ordinary topics, 
 he began, though not w'ithout some misgiv- 
 ing, to come to the point with him. Master 
 Sliakspeare was then dressed for the first 
 time since his sickness, and sitting in his 
 chair, leaning against a cushion, and in- 
 haling the invigorating breeze that came 
 through the open casement, for it was a most 
 balmy day, that was like to fill his mind 
 
 with all manner of healthy impressions. 
 His noble features still bore on them the 
 marks of sickness, but the old expression 
 of infinite good humor seemed forcing itself 
 through the painful gravity so deeply im- 
 pressed upon them. He was informing his 
 friend of all that he remembered of his re- 
 cent sufferings, and entered at length, and 
 not without some show of animation, into 
 certain fantasies, under the infiuence of 
 which he had spoken and acted. 
 
 " But what I can by no means satisfy my- 
 self of," said he, " is a marvellous powerful 
 impression my disordered senses have retain- 
 ed, touching a fair vision, by which I was 
 constantly visited during the fiercest stage 
 of my malady." 
 
 " A fair vision ! I warrant you now some 
 black-eyed wench," observed Sir George, 
 merrily. 
 
 " To the best of my memory, her eyes 
 were of no such color," replied Master 
 Shakspeare ; " but rather of the deep pure 
 blue, such as the heavens seem made of in 
 the sunniest weather. Indeed, she seemed 
 in her majestic motions, her youthful grace, 
 and most seraphic voice, a creature of the 
 skies, rather than of the earth." 
 
 " Prythee say no more of her by way of 
 description. Will, for my mouth waters vil- 
 lanously," said his friend, in his usual cheer- 
 ful humor. " But, what was her errand ? 
 doubtless, she took your heart into her keep- 
 ing without more ado, and proclaimed you 
 to be her sworn servant." 
 
 " Her errand was that of a ministering 
 angel," answered the other, fervently. " She 
 soothed my pains, she created my comforts ; 
 her delicate hand smoothed my pillow ; her 
 loving eyes watched my rest. All that I 
 knew of ease, or comfort, or satisfaction of 
 any sort, seemed to come at her command- 
 ment, and was provided by her care." 
 
 " A golden girl, truly !" exclaimed Sir 
 George, right heartily. " Had she ever a 
 sister ?" 
 
 " I fear not," replied his friend ; " I can- 
 not think there can be two of such a sort. 
 But I know not how it was — of a sudden I 
 missed her. 1 felt no more her dainty hand 
 upon my fevered brow ; I heard no more the 
 gentle rustling of her dress, or tiie scarce 
 audible sound of her light footsteps, as she 
 glided like a creature of air about my cham- 
 ber ; and her soft voice, every tone of which 
 was the delicatest music, I listened for in 
 vain. In brief, the deprivation of this looked 
 so intolerable, notwithstanding I was con- 
 scious of greatly amended h'^alth,that more 
 than once I felt disposed to have endured 
 
124 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 tho full fierceness of my malady, to have 
 enjoyed again the wondrous solace I found 
 in this exquisite vision." 
 
 " Saw you nothing in the features of this 
 matchless creature, familiar to you ?" in- 
 quired Sir George, in a more earnest tone 
 than he had hitherto used. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " They in no way reminded you of, in no 
 long time since, the chief object of your 
 love and worship, your own fair daughter 
 Susanna ?" asked liis companion ; whereat 
 the other seemed greatly moved, and could 
 not for some lapse of time answer the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " I pray you, Sir George," he at last said, 
 evidently with some difficulty of utterance, 
 " out of the especial regard you have had 
 for me so long, never more to mention to me 
 that unworthy name." 
 
 " That can I not promise, Master Shak- 
 speare," said Sir George, gravely. " In 
 sooth, I mu-^t needs have your serious atten- 
 tion to much in which that name is nearly 
 concerned." 
 
 " Torture not a bruised spirit !" cried his 
 companion, greatly excited ; " I cannot heed 
 you. I am in no way capable of enduring 
 any allusion to one by whose horrible diso- 
 bediency and ingratitude I have been so 
 sorely tried."' 
 
 " Hear me this once," urged his friend. 
 " For be assured I have that to tell which is 
 worth your hearing." Master Shakspeare 
 said not a word, but, with a distracted sort of 
 gesture, seemed to say he would have none 
 of it. " You have spoken of disobediency 
 and ingratitude," continued Sir George. 
 " These are bitter charges to make against 
 a child. Suppose, now, for a moment, they 
 should be without any manner of warrant. 
 Suppose that the very child thus villanously 
 accused should, at the imminent hazard of 
 her life, and, despite all difficulties in the 
 way of such an undertaking, as soon as she 
 got knowledge that the father she so dearly 
 loved — she cared not to suffer a thousand 
 deaths to prove it — was sick of a fever, and 
 like to die in a city several days journey 
 from her, she set oft" afoot, and, unattended, 
 travelled through a strange country, every 
 step of which was attended with perils 
 enough to daunt the most courageous of her 
 sex ; and, after enduring and triumphing 
 over all with unheard of constancy and pa- 
 tience, made her way to his .sick room, 
 where night and day she fulfilled the tender 
 office of nurse, with a sweetness of dispo- 
 sition and entireness of devotion, which 
 made all marvel to see her. Suppose now 
 that the blessed creature, you thought was 
 
 the ofTspring of a disordered brain, was in 
 truth no vision at all, but a real and palpa- 
 ble being, gifted with all the noblest graces 
 of womanhood, who did keep watch and 
 ward, and tended over you like a minister- 
 ing angel, as you have said, and suppose this 
 matchless creature of such infinite perfec- 
 tion was no other than the much-abused 
 Susanna — what say you then ?" 
 
 Master Shakspeare had listened to this 
 strange speech with increasing interest, till 
 interest grew to amazement, and amazement 
 became a wild, bewildering phrenzy of ex- 
 citement, that could keep within no bounds. 
 As soon as he could find speech, he ex- 
 claimed, very urgently, " Can this be true ?" 
 
 " Ay, on mine honor and life, is it, every 
 word !" replied the other. 
 
 " Where is she ? Bring her to me. I 
 pray you let a fond father have the satisfac- 
 tion of holding her to his heart." He had 
 scarce said the words, when Susanna, who 
 had previously been placed in the adjoining 
 chamber in readiness, rushed into his arms. 
 
 Her joy was not loud, but nnfathomably 
 deep. She laid her head upon his breast, 
 and wept. He disturbed her not, but ever 
 and anon seemed to draw her to hini with a 
 firmer pressure, as if to assure himself she 
 was still in his embrace. All this while 
 they were alone, for Sir George Carew had 
 suddenly slipped away when he had secured 
 his desired end. 
 
 With the happy Susanna, all cares and 
 pains were now in as perfect an oblivion as 
 though they had never existed. She felt 
 herself richly rewarded for whatever had 
 been thrust upon her, which seemed hard to 
 bear, and would readily have undertaken a 
 much more hazardous enterprise than her 
 long terrible journey, to have secured but 
 half the priceless satisfaction that she now 
 possessed. She was assured lier dear and 
 honored father did not regard her as one un- 
 mindful of his love : nay, there was a most 
 flattering conviction she had that share in 
 his heart she had so long coveted. With 
 such impressions, she thought no evil could 
 touch her — no pain annoy her — neither vex- 
 ation, nor sorrow, nor doubt, nor fear, trouble 
 her under any circumstances. 
 
 But the so late unhappy father, how took 
 he the gaining of this incomparable pleas- 
 ing knowledge ? As a bird escaping an 
 unwholesome cage to the grandsome free- 
 dom of the invigorating air. He experi- 
 enced feelings to which he had long been a 
 stranger, and his breast became lightened 
 of a most weary load. He made his fond 
 and dutiful daughter tell over and over again 
 all her various adventures, from the com- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 125 
 
 mencement of her brave journey up to the 
 j)resent hour ; and much lie marvelled, and 
 greatly he praised, as he listened to her sim- 
 ple n rrative. 
 
 The discovery that he had met with a 
 heart truly devoted to him, that would, with 
 a prodigality ot" affection akin to liis own, 
 pay him back his love with an interest that 
 smacked largely of usury, was undoubtedly 
 a wouderfid blessing to him. Its effect on 
 his health savored of a miracle. He gain- 
 ed strength and spirits so fast, that the happy 
 change was visible to the dullest eye ; and 
 of the numbers who hailed it with genuine 
 pleasure, it was evident in none so strongly 
 as in the doating Susanna, the attentive 
 John Hall, and the faithful Simon Stockfish. 
 Of the two latter, the young physician was 
 looked on as one, for his absolute painstaking, 
 deserving especial gratitude, and this be 
 sure was shown him in exceeding liberal 
 measure ; whilst his attached follower, from 
 that time, was regarded by him as certain a 
 h.\ture in his household as the most stable 
 thing in it. 
 
 It chanced, however, ere he was scarce 
 well recovered of his sickness, that he had 
 another subject presented to his thoughts, to 
 whicli they seemed to cling with a prodiuious 
 powerful hold, and this was caused by his 
 receiving, in a close and mysterious manner, 
 the following letter : 
 
 " By a trusty intelligencer, I heard of 
 your lamentable sickness, and have since 
 learned, with singular satisfaction, of your 
 assured recovery. This I am desirous of 
 hastening and securing as much as possible, 
 and with such a view I bid you prepare to 
 take the charge on yourself already men- 
 tioned to you. W. 11. is a youth of quick 
 parts, and is kindly dispo,->ed to all wliom he 
 believes mean well towards him ; yet in his 
 disposition so unstable, he requires constant 
 directing to prevent him so'^n S'"'?^'^'y a-stray 
 whenever he may think he finds proper ex- 
 ample for it. All is ordered for your and 
 his sufficient accommodation. Methinks I 
 need not commend him to you. I feel well 
 assured you are prepared to satisfy me in 
 all things relating to him, to yourself, and to 
 ine. Make then what despatch you can in 
 your own affairs, so as, with only such 
 slight delay as cannot bo helped, you may 
 be able to "transport yourself to where the 
 pure bright atmosphere of Italian skies is 
 like to afford you the health and strength 
 most urgently desired by your well-wishers ; 
 among wliom not the least sincere, let there 
 be ranked, 
 
 " Your fist friend, and her own enemy." 
 
 Master Shakspeare pondered on the con- 
 tents of this long and deeply. It stirred a 
 current of feeling, which, tliough carefully 
 hid from all obervance, was the strongest in 
 his nature. Powerful as it was, it was 
 wonderfully sweet and delectable ; a sort of 
 delicate intoxication, as it were, that ex- 
 cited the senses into a wild, ecstatic delirium, 
 that tlirust aside all common matters of life 
 as unworthy of any account. That he most 
 passionately, and with a wondrous earnest- 
 ness of devotion, loved the f lir writer of this 
 letter, there can be no denying ; it was 
 scarce in the ordinary nature of things that 
 he could avoid this, considering how singu- 
 larly choice a pattern she was of all womanly 
 excellence ; admirable in form, and more 
 admirable than all in the exquisite worthi- 
 ness of her heart ; and this matchless com- 
 bination of rare qualities had regarded the 
 intellectual graces of his exalted character 
 under circumstances that appealed most 
 irresistibly to her sympathies, and had 
 showed her appreciation of him in a mai]ner 
 too flattering not to touch the heart of one 
 so exceedingly sensitive of kindly offices. 
 
 This love, be it remembered, must not be 
 classed with the selfish passion which usu- 
 ally goeth by that name. Here, in both 
 parties, it was the better impulses of deep 
 feeling, exalted by the constant operation 
 of high intellect. It was an adoration or 
 soul worship, wherein the moral and intel- 
 ligent being was wondrous powerfully ope- 
 rated upon by a like intensity of the moral 
 and intellectual quality in another. I will 
 not say that physical beauty had no hand in 
 it, for where it exists it cannot help but 
 make its due impression on the nature pre- 
 pared to receive it ; but as the channel 
 through which its impressions were con- 
 veyed was completely under the influence 
 of the mind and heart, each acting upon the 
 other, it standeth to reason that whatever 
 was physical got so idealised and moral- 
 ised in its course as to be regarded only in 
 its best and most ennobling aspect. 
 
 Master Shakspeare loved this noble lady 
 then after the same fashion that singular 
 choice poet, Petrarch, loved his inestimable 
 sweet mistress, the Lady Laura. He loved 
 her, as it is familiarly said, with all his 
 heart — and, an excellent addition, with all 
 his mind also. There is no manner of doubt 
 this was a marvellous sum. But he loved 
 not her alone ; he loved whatever belonged 
 to her with a like prodigal extravagance, 
 and this his promised intimacy with VV. H. 
 seemed particularly to call forth his loving 
 feelings. Nevertheless, though he might 
 
126 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 indulge in private to what extent he pleased 
 in this lii.s fond devotion, he i<ne\v, before 
 the public eye, he must be intent on noth- 
 ing so much as showing his inditferency, 
 and therefore he sought to school his atTec- 
 tions with a severity such as the absolute- 
 ness of tiic occasion called for. 
 
 On the perusal of the foregoing communi- 
 cation, his thoughts took an excursive flight 
 — rising high in that elevated region where 
 whatever is pure and noble is readily found, 
 and floating long among the crowd of great 
 and worthy images that properly belong to 
 it. His present mood was one admirably 
 adapted for the ready creation of those 
 thoughts and feelings which are called and 
 considered poetry ; which, with one whose 
 whole being was constituted of this choice 
 quality, cannot seem singular : thereupon 
 he suddenly took pen in hand, and presently 
 wrote down the following succession of 
 verses. 
 
 THE LOVER TURNED MERCHANT- 
 
 The thriving merchant, moved by former gains, 
 
 Doth readily his venturous trade increase. 
 Taking such wondrous pleasure in his pains. 
 
 As thougb his good fortune was ne'er to 
 cease. 
 Day after day doth find him grosv more bold — 
 
 He sends out merchandise of ev'ry sort, 
 And sees his ships, heavy with silk and gold, 
 
 Amber and gems, float proudly into port. 
 He adds, he doubles, trebles ev'ry chance, 
 
 And doubled, trebled, every chance returns ; 
 At last, his huge wealth hugely to enhance, 
 
 He ventures all his store : this Fortune 
 spurns, 
 Scati"ring it to the winds in divers ways. 
 And leaving him a bankrupt ail his days. 
 
 I fear me much my goods I do embark 
 
 In trafiic no less hazardous and blind. 
 Albeit though pounds at least for ev'ry mark 
 
 I in my ventures rarely fail to find. 
 And by such proiit has-e I been led on 
 
 To make my chances greater than before, 
 Whilst tears that held me back at first are gone. 
 
 And I am thrust on risking more and more. 
 Within my warehouse, all in swelling piles, 
 
 My stores are garnered, making a fair show ; 
 That proveih how man fares when Fortune 
 smiles. 
 
 And what vast increase her adventurers 
 know. 
 Yet am I not content — a sumless gain 
 Tempts me to risk the heaps which there re- 
 main. 
 
 At first I sent forth but an humble freight, 
 
 Of admiration void of flatt'ring gloss; 
 And in the venture my ambition's height 
 Was but to be secured from heavy loss. 
 When proper lime elapsed, my ship came in 
 
 With a fair cargo of sincere esteem, 
 Which so well paid me, I was moved to win 
 More large returns with what should worthier 
 seem. 
 Straightway I fell to gathering wliat I had 
 
 Of courteous sentiment and gallant speech. 
 Then put them forth, and, with a heart right 
 glad. 
 Gained kindly thoughts in rich return for 
 each. 
 Next on my gladdened feelings I laid hand, 
 And found, well pleased, they were in good de- 
 mand. 
 
 My traffic flourished— and, now bolder grown, 
 
 I ventured on a precious store of hope ; 
 The which, in sooth, I ne'er had called mine 
 own. 
 
 Had not my ends attained so wide a scope. 
 I scarce was sure my good ship held her course. 
 When I had notice she was coming back. 
 So richly laden, merchants on the Bourse 
 
 Might deem her of the seas the Queen Car- 
 rack. 
 Thus bountifully gifted, an invoice 
 
 I then made out — " Item. A rare supply 
 Of strong affections, very pure and choice." 
 
 Wherewith my ships sailed onward gallantly. 
 They owned when next they to their anchorage 
 
 drew, 
 The treasures of the old world and the new I 
 
 Is this similitude too finely drawn ? 
 
 Smacks it not roundly of the poet's dream? 
 Nay, 'tis so true, I'd put my heart in pawn, 
 
 I've done scant justice to the worthy theme. 
 For what, in honesty, can poor words do 
 
 The profit I have lit on to express? 
 What bravest speech sulficiently make true 
 
 The prodigal source which gave to such ex- 
 cess ? 
 Ah, my heart's queen ! but little reck the crowd 
 
 'I'he iieaped abundance of all goodly things. 
 Which in thy matchless nature stands avowed, 
 
 Which from thy bounteous heart uncounted 
 springs ; 
 E'en the blest few to whom thou dost come 
 
 forth. 
 Have not intelligence of half thy worth. 
 
 I speak not of the crisped gold that waves 
 Its glorious treasure o'er thy noble brow ; 
 
 Or of the pearls lodged in their coral caves, 
 Whose smiling glimpses glad me even now; 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 127 
 
 Nor speak I of those gems of sumless price, 
 
 Worthy the proudest spot in Heav'n's blue 
 zone, 
 That, without foil or other artifice. 
 
 Can dim the lustre of the rarest stone. 
 I look not to the sun that untold lies 
 
 In ev'ry curve of thy fair arm ami hand ; 
 The African might gaze with wild surprise 
 
 To see such store of ivory in the land — 
 For with such cosily gifts doth Nature grace 
 Those in her court who hold the highest place. 
 
 'Tis not of outward bravery I speak, — 
 
 That doth not enter into this account ; 
 For the most rounded bust or rosy cheek, 
 
 Which e'er hath made the eager blood to 
 mount 
 In the wrapt lover's veins, must in its time 
 
 Be turned to dust. There doth exist 
 A beauty boasting a perpetual prime. 
 
 That the Destroyer's sythe hath ever missed. 
 Age lays no wrinkle on its fair aspect, 
 
 Its sweet complexion ne'er was known to 
 fade, 
 It steals no grace from gauds wherewith 'tis 
 decked ; 
 
 From canning art it never looks for aid. 
 This quality, of such great eminence. 
 Hath for its name and title " Excellence." 
 
 Herein we find a wondrous aggregate 
 
 Of every gift that clothes humanity ; 
 Where noblest hopes and kindest wishes wait 
 
 Where charitable thoughts are standing by. 
 There Virtue prospers — there in worthiest 
 guise. 
 
 Honor with stately mien doth glance around ; 
 There Pity seeks to dry her tearful eyes. 
 
 And Modesty looks blushing to the ground ; 
 There sits Religion with a brow serene. 
 
 And calm-eyed .Tustice eloquently grave, 
 Whilst meek Obedience so rarely seen. 
 
 With Temperance a quiet nook doth crave. 
 And breathing round a soul-entrancing thrall. 
 Love, with a regal power, ennobles all. 
 
 Such is the marvellous goodness of her heart ! 
 But of her mind — snatch from a seraph's 
 wing, 
 A quill, and — fashioned by the scholar's art — 
 
 Dip it in truth's most delectable spring : 
 Where should we find a tablet large enough 
 
 To hold its worthiness — save Heav'n itself? 
 (Forced though I be to put it in the rough, 
 I'll lodge the abstract on my heart's first 
 shelf) 
 There Wit on honest fellowship is bent. 
 
 And Learning reaps where most are feign 
 to lease ; 
 
 There Thought is great with child of Good 
 
 Intent, 
 Where Wisdom, the grave mid-wife, takes 
 
 her ease. 
 There Judgment, Fancy, Taste, and Genius 
 
 dwell. 
 And do become their lodging passing well. 
 
 In traffic like the merchant Prince of ola, 
 
 A very Crcesus in her treasury, 
 Hath she not funds to pay a thousand fold. 
 
 For whatsoever I would have her buy ? 
 Ay, with such gen'rous spirit doth she trade. 
 
 It seems you cannot greatly sink your store ; 
 And with the wondrous profit I have made 
 
 I well may hope to better me siill more. 
 Like a successful gambler do I pause. 
 
 Exulting in my winnings. " On ! still on ! 
 Once more be swayed by Fortune's crooked 
 laws. 
 
 Great gains remain — all comes or all is 
 gone I" 
 Shall I seek ruin, in th' increase I crave. 
 Or rest me now, content with what I have ? 
 
 Down, ye insatiate longings ! Hence, avaunt 
 
 All covetous influences ! In vain 
 With eager restless impulses ye haunt 
 
 The secret chambers of my heart and brain ! 
 Have I not gained a gracious competence 
 
 In this adventurous barter of the soul i 
 And shall I do my worth such huge offence. 
 
 When blessed with part, to hunger for the 
 whole ? 
 Nay, let such selfish ends be thrust aside. 
 As very mire that muddles the pure fount. 
 We have sufficiently the traffic tried — 
 
 Let us, like honest merchants, close th' ac- 
 count ; 
 And should there be a balance small or large. 
 Let each to the other grant a full discharge. 
 
 But think not, bounteous spirit, I withdraw 
 
 From thy fond dealings, here to make an end: 
 Conscience, a sworn accountant, learn'd in law, 
 
 Is in this matter pleased to stand my friend : 
 And sheweth me a way where without ill 
 
 I can my grateful feelings cultivate ; 
 Whereof to take advantage is my will. 
 
 And shall my study be, early and late. 
 Trust me, that nei'her damp, decay, nor moth. 
 
 Shall ever touch my precious merchandize ; 
 Nor shall there be a sign of ease, or sloth 
 
 In my behavior when this change shall rise, 
 I shall have constant use for all my store. 
 And in its care be busier than before. 
 
 Then farewell, honorablest of all thy kind, 
 Epitome of Heav'n, for earth to grace ! 
 
138 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Farewell, thou trusty heart — thou noble mind, 
 
 Thou exquisite in nature as in face ! 
 Farewell the bounteous hand, whose princely 
 aims, 
 
 Were not more fair than is its dazzling hue ; 
 Farewell the seraph tongue, whose music claims 
 
 More soul-subduing power than Orpheus 
 knew. 
 Oh, what a sum of sweetest womanhood 
 
 Makes the grand total of thy worthiness ! 
 How vast a heap of all things great and good 
 
 Doth in thine excellence upon me press ! 
 Blessings, and happiness too great to tell. 
 Be ever in thy path — Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Such is her beauty as no arts 
 Have enriched with borrowed grace ; 
 Her high binh no pride imparts. 
 For she blushes in her place. 
 
 Folly boasts a glorious blood — 
 
 She is noblest, being good. 
 
 Habington. 
 
 Master Shakspeare liad by this got so 
 far towards recovery as to be able to resume 
 his ordinarj' duties and employments; and, 
 being busy in the brinoing out of the new 
 play at " The Globe," his mind liad no time 
 to dwell upon any troublesom'^ matter like 
 to disturb his peace. He iiad many very 
 liberal arrangements for the comfort of those 
 of his family remaining at Sliottery, the 
 knowledge whereof doubtless gave him great 
 contentation ; but the gentle and faithful 
 Susanna still abode with him, one cause of 
 which was, that he had grown so attached 
 to her, he delayed parting with her till the 
 last moment ; and another was, he knew not 
 for the best how to dispose of her during 
 his travels, for he doubted she would live in 
 any sort of comfort if she returned to the 
 cottage, and he was undecided where else 
 she could be placed with satisfaction to her- 
 self and him. 
 
 The subject of the new play he had taken 
 from Scottish story, in compliment to the 
 Scottish king, liis own sovereign ; and he 
 was earnest to have it brought out with as 
 little delay as might bo, as the time was fiist 
 approaching when he was to leave England, 
 in charge of one of whom ho could never 
 think without emotions of the tenderest sort. 
 It was now complete, and ready i'or the 
 players ; but, before he gave it for perform- 
 ance, he must needs try if it wanted not 
 any finishing touches, and he did so after 
 this fashion: — He sat in his chair in a 
 
 thoughtful attitude, with Susanna over- 
 against him, reading aloud from his MS. 
 She, pleased to besoemploycd, went tiirough 
 her task very lovingly, and, with a sweet, 
 womanly voice, did give such melody to the 
 vigorous lines, that the author felt himself 
 much better content with his work than lie 
 had before been, and greatly did he marvel 
 at the excellent rare judgment and taste dis- 
 played by the reader, as she entered into the 
 spirit of that especial masterpiece of the 
 writer's genius. 
 
 Of a surety, it made a most admirable, 
 loving picture the father and daughter so 
 employed, set off, as their figures were, by 
 their brave apparelling, and surrounded by 
 the picturesque furniture of the chamber in 
 which they sat ; and the understanding 
 spectator, had he seen, could not have failed 
 to have noticed how much the pleased ex- 
 citement in the reader, and the gratilied 
 pride in the listener, did add to the expres- 
 sion of their noble countenances. Susanna 
 iiad scarce finished her task, which, in se- 
 cret she thought much too soon — an opinion 
 shared by her delighted parent — when Sir 
 George Carew entered, and, after saluting 
 the blushing Susanna, with an air a much 
 younger gallant might have envied, and 
 cordially congratulating his friend on his 
 greatly improved looks, he at once opened 
 on his errand. This was no other than to 
 inform his old acquaintance that he had 
 been appointed atnbassador to the court of 
 France — whereupon he received congratu- 
 lations no less hearty than awhile since he 
 had bestowed. He went on to say he had 
 a project in his mind, which not only him- 
 self but Lady Carew had set her heart on, 
 that JMaster Shakspeare could alone effec- 
 tually help him to. On hearing this, the 
 other lost no time in assuring him his poor 
 services were ever at his disposal, and that 
 he should be infinitely glad to be a means 
 for securing him and his sweet lady their 
 several desires. 
 
 On this assurance, Sir George proceeded 
 to state that he had thought very much of 
 late of " his dear mistress" — as he styled 
 his friend's daughter — and that the sorrow of 
 parting with one he afiected so deeply was 
 so great he could by no means be brought 
 to endure it, and that it did seem an especial 
 hard case that so true and well-disposed a 
 servant as was he should be debarred the 
 exquisite sweet content he had been used 
 to find in his dear mi>tress"s delectable com- 
 pany — indeed it was altogether intorerablc, 
 and not to be borne — so that, after much 
 debate on the matter with Lady Carew, it 
 had been decided that the latter should in- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 129 
 
 vite his dear mistress to accompany her to 
 Paris, where it was earnestly desired she 
 might be allowed to stay under her honora- 
 ble guardianship, whilst the worthy gentle- 
 man, her father, proceeded on his travels till 
 he reached Paris on his return home. 
 
 During this sportive speech, which want- 
 ed no grace the courtier could bestow upon 
 it, was in coui-so of utterance, Susanna 
 turned a rosy red, and her eyes did flash 
 very prettily, as much at the conceit of it, 
 as at the exceeding pleasant prospect it 
 opened ; and her father could not conceal 
 the extent of his satisfaction — for the propo- 
 sal was what he had never dared to hope 
 for — it was such an unlooked-for lionor ; 
 yet nothing could have come so seasonably, 
 seeing that he had been at a loss, for some 
 time past, to dispose of her during his ab- 
 sence fro;n England. Therefore, with a 
 heart-felt thankfulness for so agreeable a 
 proof of his consideration, he gladly agreed 
 to such a disposition of his faithful Susan- 
 na, and soon got her to express her conten- 
 tation at it, tliough she did so witli tiiat dif- 
 fidence tlie nature and extent of the obliga- 
 tion could not fail of creating. 
 
 After this, in an excellent, pleasant hu- 
 mor, the two friends fell to discussing the 
 state of the Frencli king, Henry the Fourth's 
 court, and Sir Ge<jrge promised both his 
 companions he would take care they should 
 both have a proper knowledge of it, of the 
 gallant Henri Quutre, of the stately Marie 
 de Medicis, of the grave and politic Da Ros- 
 ni, and of all the other notable characters 
 there to be found. 
 
 " But," said he, in his own cheerful hu- 
 mor, " 'tis of another Henry you must now 
 think of making the acquaintance, who 
 bids fair to rival the French king in all his 
 more sterling qualities.'' Then, seeing the 
 other looked puzzled, he added, " I speak of 
 our promising young Prince of Wales, than 
 whom a more honorable, noble nature never 
 breathed in tliis world ; and for the proper 
 qualities of a gentleman, as to learning, 
 carriage, and the use of arms, I know not 
 where to find his peer. In some discourse 
 with him I had yesterday at Hampton Court, 
 where he is staying, he chanced to make 
 an allusion to yourseli', and, being of a mar- 
 vellous inquiring mind, put to me a vast 
 number of questions concerning you and 
 your writings, of which he appearetb to have 
 a fair knowledge. I answered him in such 
 sort, acquainting him with your intended 
 journey, that he commanded me to bring 
 you to hmi without fail this morning ; there- 
 fore you must e'en surrender yourself at 
 once, and away with you to Hampton Court, 
 9 
 
 for which journey I have taken care to pro- 
 vide horses ready for our riding." 
 
 Master Shakspeare expressed his willin"'- 
 noss to be gone on the instant ; and, after 
 making certain arrangements regarding his 
 new play the necessity of its speedy perfor- 
 mance required, he left the house, accom- 
 panied by his assured friend, but not till the 
 latter had nrade many gallant speeches to 
 the fair Susanna, with a devoteJness wor- 
 thy of the perfectest example of knighthood 
 in the most chivalrous times ; and in a lit- 
 tle while they were both riding together in 
 the direction of Hampton Court, followed at 
 a respectful distance by several mounted 
 serving-men of Sir George Carew's, in 
 their coats and badges. 
 
 " I hugely mislike the complexion of this 
 trial of my right noble friend. Sir Walter 
 Raleigh," observed Master Shakspeare in a 
 confiiential tone. " I am assured he is 
 much too wise a man to have been guilty 
 of the practices attributed to him, and his 
 unworthy associate the Lord Cobham. I 
 have heard from a trusty intelligencer that 
 Cecil poisoned the king's ear against him 
 before his com.ing to the throne, out of jeal- 
 ousy of his greater virtues and talents; 
 and, having completely abused the king's 
 mind, so that he coul 1 not endure the sight 
 of him, notwithstanding his surpassing ex- 
 cellency, both as a soldier and a scholar, 
 more securely to get rid of him, he devised 
 tills incredible charge of treason, and had 
 iiim sent to the Tower, where he now is a 
 close ])risoner." 
 
 " I know not how this may be, Will," 
 said Sir George, somewhat reservedly ; 
 " but this I do know, that if any of Cecil's 
 spies be abroad, who are said to hear every 
 thing, you stand an exceeding fair chance 
 of sharing his imprisonment for what yofl 
 have just said ; and, indeed, if you escape 
 being cast ibr a traitor, you will be in bet- 
 ter fortune than many others in a like con- 
 dition." 
 
 " Doubtless," replied his friend. " Yet 
 there is warrant for my safety that I am not 
 a rival, or am like to be one. In sooth, to 
 teU you my exact sentiments, I like not 
 much that has been done at court of late." 
 
 " Neither do I, Will," said the other, in 
 a like confidential manner. " And in all 
 honesty I have sought this appointment, 
 that I might not continually see what I 
 C-tnnot but disapprove." 
 
 " I would have sworn as much," observed 
 Master Shakspeare ; then, after a pause, 
 asked : — " Holds the king still to his minion 
 Carr ?" 
 
 " Ay, with fonder conceit than ever," an- 
 
130 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 swcred lie. " This eliallow popinjay not 
 only h;Uh no ono merit to entitle him to b; 
 jToferrcd over the heads of the hravest and 
 Lest that seek the king's scrvice,but ho hath 
 M marvellons ill reputation, that is like to 
 dislionor all with whom ha may chance to 
 get connected." 
 
 "And our sweet young prince, how takes 
 he such undue preference ?" 
 
 "He is too deeply intent upon his various 
 studies to heed greatly what is going on 
 around him ; nevertheless, his carelessness 
 in this matter is not like to do him any sort 
 of service where it sliould be most ef- 
 fective." 
 
 " How so, Sir George ?" 
 
 " Truly, after this (ashion. Will. He is 
 already gaining to him the general voices, 
 for which his many admirable sweet quali- 
 ties are sufficient warrant, and not without 
 Bome comparisons in no way pleasing to the 
 principal subject of tliem. Now a displea- 
 .sure so created will greedily be taken ad- 
 vantage of by those who feel assured they 
 can make their advantage of it, and I fear 
 me much he will hardly escape some terri- 
 ble mischief, however discreet may be his 
 carriage." 
 
 " Like enough. But Heaven preserve 
 our fair young prince from all such evils!" 
 
 " Amen, with all my heart, Will !" 
 
 By this time they had rode so far, all the 
 beauties of the country were fairly display- 
 ed before them, and greatly it delighted both 
 travellers to see the farms which lay on 
 every side, with here and there a windmill, 
 a group of hay stacks, and a goodly man- 
 sion, till they came to the villages on their 
 way. They beheld much which excited 
 their observation in the groups they passed, 
 which were of singular variety, from per- 
 sons of the highest authority and worship, 
 going or returning from the court, with such 
 speed and state as bespoke the greatness of 
 their business, to those of the humblest call- 
 ing, who trudged quietly along, with a per- 
 fect indil!erency of all their prouder way- 
 farers evidently held in such huge estima- 
 tion ; and much was said by them of very 
 excellent purport ; but, when they had reach- 
 ed the neighborhood of Hamilton, and saw 
 spread before them, as in a picture, the live- 
 ly beauties of all that part of the pleasant 
 county of Surrey, though each had beheld 
 them scores of times before, they frequently 
 stopped their horses the better to admire 
 them, and warm were the commendations 
 both expressed. 
 
 Nor did the magnificence of the building 
 they were approaching escape without a 
 due share of admiration, and before they 
 
 entered its walls many a pleasant anecdote 
 and many an interesting history had been 
 told of the gay doings they had witnessed 
 from the stately days of Cardinal Wolsey, 
 to a date much nearer their own experience. 
 And thus it was Master Shakspeare made 
 himself so singularly well liked wherever 
 he went, either alTording entertainment from 
 the bounteous stores of his own mind, or 
 eliciting it by judicious questioning from 
 such as could dispense it, yet lackecl incli- 
 nation, that his company was ever eagerly 
 sought after by any who had once enjoyed 
 the opportunity of knowing how profitable 
 it was. 
 
 In the courtyard were men waiting with 
 horses, dogs, hawks, statues, pictures, books, 
 armor, and weapons, and divers other things, 
 hoping to find a purchaser in their liberal 
 young prince. 
 
 After giving their horses to the grooms, 
 they advanced into the house together, un- 
 checked by the porters and guards standing 
 v/itli their halberts about the entrance, 
 whose duty it was to see none had admis- 
 sion who came not by proper authority, for 
 this especial reason — Sir George Carew, 
 being so well known there, any gentleman 
 in his company would be sure to pass im- 
 questioned. But, on their reaching the re- 
 ception-room. Sir George was speedily ac- 
 costed by one of the grooms of the chamber, 
 who, on hearing the other's errand, cour- 
 teously bade him wait with his friend 
 amongst the company, with which the place 
 seemed well crowded, whilst he went to ac- 
 quaint the Prince of Wales of his coming. 
 
 " Surely, that is my Lady Countess of 
 Essex !" exclaimed Master Shakspeare, as 
 they stood together, where they could have 
 a good view of the company. 
 
 "My Lady Countess that was, Will," 
 whispered his friend. " She hath succeed- 
 ed. Heaven only knoweth by what arts, in 
 getting a divorce from her husband, on 
 whom, as 1 am credibly informed, by devil- 
 ish practices, she hath infamously imposed 
 ever since they married." 
 
 " I have heard the like," answered Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare ; " in especial of her deal- 
 ings for charms and drugs, by the help of 
 which she might effect her horrible purpose. 
 Yet to look at her, as she stands there so 
 bravely apparelled, dealing out to the gal- 
 lants around lier such delectable smiles, one 
 cannot but doubt that she could be guilty 
 of such thorough infamousness. She hath 
 an angel's shape." 
 
 " And a devil's heart — if ono half of what 
 is bruited abroad be true," added Sir 
 George. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 131 
 
 «' It hath been confidently said," observed 
 his companion, " yet I know not on what 
 grounds, that the prince is enamored of lier, 
 and that she favors liim." 
 
 " Tiiat tlie prince hicetli lier passing well 
 I have seen enougii to think probable, and 
 that she is disposed to return tlie liking with 
 unlawful interest I cannot doubt, but I ques 
 tion there is such attacimient between them 
 as is like to be lasting ; for, in the first 
 place, his Highness hath no more know- 
 ledge of her, than her woman's grace and 
 woman's wit hath bestowed upon him ; and 
 J have that good opinion of his regard for 
 lionesty, I am in hopes, when he discovers 
 what a terrible cockatrice she is, he will 
 speedily be quit of her, and in the second 
 place, I have good reason for believing that 
 she hath cast her eye on the king's favorite 
 — nay, I have been assured that he hath got 
 himself made Earl of Rochester at her in- 
 stigation, and that it is his intention to mar- 
 ry her fortiiwith." 
 
 " It is at least a marvellous fit and proper 
 match," said Master Shakspeare, jestingly ; 
 " never were two peo])le so well assorted. 
 Their tastes are so equally abominable and 
 abliorrent, there can surely be no falling 
 out betwixt them ; and their reputations are 
 so wondrous alike in baseness, it is clean 
 impossible they should ever lake to calling 
 each other names." 
 
 Sir George Carew laughed heartily at 
 this conceit, which brought to them a cour- 
 tier of his acquaintance, who would needs 
 know the cause of his mirth ; which the 
 other, not being willing to tell, very gravely 
 laid it to some cause so trivial and ridicu- 
 lous, a child would scarce have taken it for 
 a jest; nevertheless, the courtier laughed 
 famously, and, satisfied he had been told an 
 exceeding g.iod thing, went, to the infinite 
 satisfaction of his present company, to re- 
 peat it to divers of his friends there present. 
 Master Shakspeare and his companion, af- 
 ter this, continued their remarks on certain 
 of the persons who thronged the chamber, 
 occasionally interrupted by such as they had 
 knowledge of, who were not disposed to 
 pass them without a courteous recognition. 
 
 The company was of a mixed sort : gal- 
 lant ladies, each ambitious to monopolise 
 the young prince's smiles — with the most 
 powerful of the great nobles of the state, 
 anxious to testify their respect to the heir 
 to the throne ; divines and lawyers, elbow- 
 ing each other in the hope of gaining the 
 attention of their prince to certain ponder- 
 ous tomes of their inditing; whilst poets 
 and play writers trod on their heels, ready to 
 tear each other to pieces to be first in get- 
 
 ting his Highness to accept their high-flown 
 dedications to their labored trifies. Then 
 came scores of commanders and captains, no 
 less eager of the prince's countenance of 
 their merit; whilst ingenious mechanics 
 same with their inventions and contrivan- 
 ces, that, in their opinions at the least, were 
 marvels, such as the world had never seen 
 before. With these came jockeys to brag 
 of their horses ; virtuosos, to put off their pic- 
 tures and statues ; musicians, matchless in 
 the practice of their art ; possessors of 
 choice dogs and hawks ; armorers, paint- 
 ers, players, famous swordsmen, and gun- 
 ners unrivalled any where in the world. 
 
 They were employed in this way, when 
 a stately gentleman, with a serious aspect, 
 yet gracious manner, came up and accosted 
 Sir George Carew with a friendliness that 
 showed they were of old acquaintance, af- 
 ter which the latter introduced him to his 
 friend as Sir Thomas Chaloner, the prince's 
 chamberlain; and he having stated that he 
 had been sent by his Highness to bring 
 Zvlaster Shakspeare and Sir George Carew 
 to him, they immediately proceeded with 
 him to the chamber, where the prince await- 
 ed them. This they found to partake much 
 of the character of a museum of arms and 
 other warlike matters, with a few things of 
 a more peaceful sort. There were ranged 
 round the room sundry sorts of armor, of 
 curious fabric, confusedly dispersed with 
 all manner of weapons — models of ships, 
 boats, and pieces of ordinance stood upon 
 the tables, with a crowd of books and 
 pamphlets — whilst in other places were 
 many ingenious instruments, with globes, 
 maps, and the like objects of philosophical 
 study. 
 
 When Sir Thomas Chaloner entered, an- 
 nouncing his companions, they beheld a 
 youth of grave and studious aspect, earnest- 
 ly attending to the explanation of a plain 
 seafaring sort of man, who was describ- 
 ing the various parts of the model of a fine 
 ship before them. He was not dressed with 
 such grandeur as would denote his dignity, 
 yet there was that princely air with him, a 
 stranger would have been at no loss to give 
 him his right title. At a distance was one 
 in the habit of a priest, with a mild expres- 
 sion of countenance that greatly became his 
 calling, who appeared to be regarding the 
 young Prince with an unusual deep interest. 
 This was his secretarj' and tutor, Master 
 Adam Newton. 
 
 Prince Henry received the homage of his 
 visitors with a very Prince-like courtesy, 
 noticing of Master Shakspeare, as it seem- 
 ed, with singular curiousness, the which 
 
132 
 
 THE SECRET TASSION. 
 
 was returnee] by its objcrt. coupled with a 
 feeling of tlie purest gratification ; and, af- 
 ter tlie first few [)roper speeciies had pass- 
 ed, his Highness addressed iiini, as though 
 he was his assured h'iend and counsellor. 
 
 " I hear you are about venturing on a 
 long journey" said lie, " for that you are 
 going to travel as governor to my Lord of 
 Pembroke's heir, to show him whatsoever 
 things are worthy of note in other coun- 
 tries." 
 
 Master Shakspeare briefly answered that 
 he was about taking upon himself such an 
 office. 
 
 " Surely, my Lord of Pembroke hath sin- 
 gular good fortune !" he exclaimed. " Me- 
 ihinks, it is rare for any one, let him be as 
 rich as he please, to secure for his son in 
 such a case a person so like to do honor to 
 his judgment, and justice to liis son's good 
 qualities." The compliment was graceful- 
 ly and gratefully acknowledged. 
 
 " I have read several of your works 
 Master Shakspeare," added the Prince, 
 " and have seen others represented by mine 
 own players ; and believe me I am exceed- 
 ding taken with them." Here the well 
 pleased author could do no less than buw 
 very reverently at being so commended by 
 his Prince. " There are passages which 
 methinks can never be read or repeated too 
 often, that will bear no addition to their ve- 
 ry exquisite sweet beauty, and from which 
 nothing can be taken without irreparal)le 
 loss." Master Shakspeare again testified 
 his sense of the honor of such praise. " I 
 have long wished to have speech with you, 
 having received such excellent profit from 
 all that you have writ ; and, hearing of 
 your speedy dejiarture, I begged of my 
 greatly esteemed friend. Sir Geerge Carew, 
 that he would manage so that I should see 
 you before you sailed. I feel infinitely 
 thankful to him he hath so readily accom- 
 plished my wishes." 
 
 At this Sir George said how heartily 
 glad he was, at all times, to serve so gra- 
 cious a prince, but more especially in this 
 instance, when his office v.-as to bring be- 
 fore His Highness's attention an honorable 
 gentleman, whose qualities of mind and 
 lieart were of such a sort, he felt it a dis- 
 tinction to be of his acquaintance. There- 
 upon Master Shakspeare thought himself 
 bound to acknowledge, more at length than 
 he had before done, the honor he had re- 
 ceived ; and he spoke to such good purpose, 
 and with such force of language, the prince 
 seemed to listen with a visage that plainly 
 expressed his satisfaction. He then in- 
 quired concerning his route ; and on learn-, 
 
 ing the cities in Italy he intended visiting, 
 he turned to his secretary, and bade liim 
 write such and such letters to the king his 
 lather's ambassadors in those places, to be 
 sent to Master Shakspeare's lodging with 
 all jiroper speed. Then, learning lie was 
 to pass through France, he prou.ised he 
 would write a letter in his own hand, to 
 his excellent good friend the French king, 
 as well to recommend unto His Majesty a 
 person of such note as Master Shakspeare, 
 as to thank him for certain presents of ar- 
 mor and arms Henri Quatre had lately pre- 
 sented him with. 
 
 These he presently showed his visiters, 
 and got Sir George Carew, wliose intimate 
 knowledge of such things he seemed to 
 take into great account, to give his opinion 
 of them, after which he spoke of certain 
 horses he had got fit for the great saddle, 
 and exhibited, in various ways, the interest 
 he took in every thing of a warlike charac- 
 ter, particularly dwelling on the model he 
 had been so intent on of a certain ship that 
 was to be built for him under the direction 
 of that approved shipwright, Phineas Pelt, 
 who, on their entering, had been explain- 
 ing to him many interesting particulars re- 
 lating to it, and speaking of a number of 
 other subjects with such vivacity of tongue 
 and extent of knowledge, that his hearers 
 were as much gratified by his speech as 
 they were charmed by his courtesy. 
 
 On their moving to depart, the prince 
 again spoke very earnestly of the marvel- 
 lous sweet pleasure he had had from the 
 productions of Master Sliakespeare ; so 
 handsomely alluded to the entertainment he 
 looked forward to on his return from travel, 
 from new eficirts of liis fantasy, and in his 
 deportment so kindly carried himself to- 
 wards him and his friend, that it seemed as 
 though neither could find language suf- 
 ficiently strong to express their contenta- 
 tion. Sir Thomas Chaloner accompanied 
 them, and to him they mentioned the pride 
 they felt in their good fortune, in having a 
 prince so worthy to reign over them ; upon 
 which the worthy chamberlain, who was so 
 well pleased to hear as they were to speak 
 his praises, gave them many choice anec- 
 dotes of the like behavior of his, at which 
 they found excellent entertainment. 
 
 They were pushing their v.^ay through 
 the crowd, waiting the prince's appearance, 
 when they were struck with the stir that 
 was made at the other end of the cham- 
 ber, and soon they heard the cry spread of 
 ■'The King! the king!" 
 
 " King James is returning from hunt- 
 ing," said the chamberlain ; " and if he 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 133 
 
 Cometh back in no better liumor than he 
 went, I would as lief hang as ask him a 
 favor." 
 
 " Hath any thing in particular put him 
 out ?" ask-^d Master Shakspearo. 
 
 " Ay, something exceeding particular," 
 answered he. 
 
 " Carr hath got tlie tooth-ache, per- 
 chance ?" inquired Sir George, with an af- 
 fectation of gravity he was far from feeling. 
 
 " No, by this light it is scarce so bad as 
 that,"' sail Sir Thomas, laughingly. '" But 
 touching this new-made Earl of Rochester, 
 for I hear tiie patent of his nobility is al- 
 ready made out, high as he holds himself, 
 and secure as he thinks himself, methinks 
 his fall shall not be very far distant." 
 
 '• How so, pray you ?" asked both, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 "See you that handsome yovi'Ii, in the 
 satin doublet, curiously embroidered 7" de- 
 manded the Prince's chamberlain. 
 
 " A well-limbed youth, by tliis liand ! and of 
 a very excellent aspect,"' said Muster Shiks- 
 peare. '• Of what name and rank is he ?"' 
 
 " His mine is Villiers," answered Sir 
 Thomas ; " and the graces of his manners 
 are not more conspicuous than those of his 
 person. Now King James hath more than 
 once been seen to cast an admiring eye on 
 his delicate figure ; and those who know him 
 best say it waitcth only some slight differ- 
 ence to spring up betwixt Carr and his patron 
 for Villiers to stop in and be preferred at 
 once." 
 
 " But what was it, I pray you. Master 
 Chamberlain, that hath so discomposed His 
 Majesty, as you said but now ?" said Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare. 
 
 '■ Marry, matter enough, of all consci- 
 ence," answered he. " Some one, more 
 blessed with tongue than brains, hath, in his 
 place in parliament, so roundly abused 
 Scotland and tlie whole Scottish nation, that 
 every one of that honest people, from the 
 king to the lowest beggar among his liege 
 subjects, look upon it as an intolerable af- 
 front. His Majesty, in especial, is in hor- 
 rible disdain ; and, if the orator succeed in 
 keeping his ears, he will have better fortune 
 than some predict for him." 
 
 Here the approach of King James, and 
 the bustle it created, put an end to the dia- 
 logue. He approached in a huniing-habit, 
 with as little of the trappings of royalty as 
 of its demeanor, wearing a dull, stolid counte- 
 nance, marked by no pleasing lineaments, 
 and exhibiting a form possessing as little 
 pretensions of kingly state as to manly grace. 
 Near him were several of the courtiers, who 
 
 had been his companions in the chase, look- 
 ing tired and heated, and not a whit better 
 pleased thin their master, for they had al! 
 had ill success. All at once, as the king 
 was advancing through the crowd, who 
 respectfully made way for him, a well- 
 apparelled female, of noble appearance, rush- 
 ed forward, an J, with every sign of the 
 deepest distress, threw herself at his feet. 
 The king looked no less displeased than 
 surprised ; but he evidently knew not who 
 she was, or what was her object. 
 
 " By this light, 'tis Dame Raleigh!" ex- 
 claimed Sir George Carew. 
 
 " Ay." added Sir Thomas Chaloner, " she 
 hath come ta sue his Majesty for the restora- 
 tion of her husband's' lands, which the king 
 hath seized, considering them forfeited by 
 Sir Walter's late abominable treason." It 
 was no less than he had said. They could 
 hear her imploring the king, in the most 
 passionate, moving arguments woman's elo- 
 quent tongue ever uttered, not to strip her 
 innocent children of their inheritance ; but 
 the monarch turned from the beautiful ma- 
 tron impatiently ; and, with a severe aspect, 
 and almost savage voice, cried out, "I maun 
 ha' the land! I maun ha' it for Carr!" 
 then hastily continued his progress. 
 
 Master Shakspeare smothered the execra- 
 tion that readily rose to his lips ; and his 
 companions, whatever their thoughts may 
 have been, had too much experience of court- 
 life to betray them ; nevertheless, they also 
 remained silent till it came to leave-taking. 
 Such eft'ect had the scene on him, that, for 
 some time, he rode on in silence ; and, 
 though he entered into conversation with his 
 friend during their return with his accustom- 
 ed spirit, he did not shake off" the feelings 
 in had created till he found himself at the 
 Globe, and was busily employed in making 
 the requisite preparations for the immediate 
 performance of his new play. 
 
 It is here only necessary to state, that this 
 ills very admirable and right-moving tragedy 
 of Macbeth, so took with the public, that 
 more complete success was never known; 
 and when he beheld it thoroughly established 
 witu the audience, he took leave of his 
 friends, and prepared himself for the imme- 
 diate commencing of his travels. 
 
134 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 But wot you what 1 The young was going 
 To make an end of all his wooing ; 
 
 The parson for liiiii staid ; 
 Yet by his leave, for all his li.iste, 
 He did not so much wish .-ill past, 
 
 Perchance as did the maid. 
 
 Suckling. 
 
 Marvellous was the stir in the cottage 
 at Shotter)', when it was discovered that 
 Susanna had taken herself away from home, 
 on the hazardous and difficult errand her 
 affectionate, grateful heart had set her. 
 The tongue of Aunt Prateapace wagged as 
 tliough it was never to stop, to the infinite 
 disparagement of her gentle niece. Aunt 
 Gadahout lost no time in going hither and 
 thither to pick up what information she 
 could of the runaway, and returned with a 
 budget of scandal, for which she found 
 eager listeners ; but, ere she had well got 
 rid of it, these two came to words, which 
 Aunt Breedhate did so encourage, tliat no- 
 thing was like unto the fierceness of their 
 quarrel. Nevertheless, they agreed at least 
 in this — that they had always been satisfied 
 in their own minds she would come to no 
 good : and then they glanced irom her to 
 her estimable worthy father, who, for the 
 crime of encouraging her to quit her home 
 in .so horrible scandalous a fashion, was 
 every thing most intolerably villanous and 
 to be abhorred ; and, for the shamefulness 
 of his behavior to his wife, was all the 
 brutes that ever went into Noah's Ark, with 
 a commodity of monsters sufficient to supply 
 a similar establishment. 
 
 Then they set to lamenting most pitifully 
 how poor wives were horribly tyrannized 
 over, and laid it down, as a well-ascertained 
 fact, that husbjnds and wives were natural 
 enemies, and that the latter being so abomi- 
 nably put upon, ought to look the sharper 
 after their proper riglits and privileges ; the 
 which, as it seemed, })rincipally consisted in 
 doing as they pleased, whether right or 
 wrong, and deceiving and defrauding their 
 tyrannical helpmates to the very be^t of their 
 abilities. On this fruitful subject, it may be 
 said to their credit, they spoke like unto 
 those who practiced what they preached, 
 and with an eloquence equally moving and 
 edifying, until, as usual, sometliing was said 
 offensive to the otlier, which the third hantl- 
 led to such good purpose, that a bitter wran- 
 gle ensued more sharp and lasting than the 
 one so lately concluded. 
 
 She, for whose pretended benefit thoy 
 labored so assiduously, said little ; in truth, 
 she began to entertain misgivings she had 
 
 been led to act a good part ; but such ideas 
 were quickly driven from her by her mis- 
 chievous kinswomen, and she was fain to 
 rest under the exceeding consolation, that of 
 all ill-used wives she was the most infamous- 
 ly abused. Her favorite daughter, Judith, 
 however, was not to be so easily contented. 
 Under the careful tutorings of her arnts, 
 she had made such progress in what they 
 took to be a woman's proper sense of her 
 own worth, that she outrivalled each in her 
 peculiar merit. She was as indiflferent to 
 the proper pleasures of home as Aunt Gad- 
 about — as greedy of gossip as Aunt Pratea- 
 pace — and, not only was as prone to strife 
 as Aunt Breedhate, but shou'ed her discon- 
 tent of things by a shrewishness that had 
 come to be the general talk of the whole 
 county. Though it was a matter of doubt 
 a young woman of a more enticing appear- 
 ance could have been met with anywhere — 
 for her form h^id now been moulded in that 
 ripe and tempting perfectness for which her 
 mother had been so famed at a like age, and 
 the rich blooming beauty of her countenance 
 was admirable to look on, at those rare 
 times, when it was free from the marks of 
 passion — yet the yonng men who knew her 
 took such heed to avoid her, as though she 
 were ugly as Hecate. 
 
 The simple truth was, several had already 
 taken some pains to prove themselves her 
 true lovers ; but one having, as a choice 
 proof of affection, got a broken pate, with a 
 besom-handle from her own fair hand, for 
 venturing to express an o])inion of colors 
 differing from her own, another, equal'y 
 fortunate, escaping by a miracle, a martyr- 
 dom she intended him by casting a pasty, 
 two wheaten loves, a neat's tongue, and a 
 dish of pippins at his head, because, at din- 
 ner, she took offence at his arguing for 
 brown meats whilst she was expressing her 
 preference for white; and divers luiving 
 been pretty nearly annihilated by the flash- 
 ings of her dark eyes, and the torrent of 
 searching words she poured upon them, for 
 some small fault they had unwittingly com- 
 mitted that had provoked her violent temper, 
 that all had resolved she was of so cursed a 
 tongue, and so evilly disposed withal, they 
 would have none of her. Therefore had she 
 come to be carefully avoided of them all, as 
 though she had the pestilence. 
 
 At home she was often as difficult to 
 please as abroad, and liad more than once, 
 in scolding, proved herself a match for 
 either of her aunts, proficient though they 
 were in the art. But, though they had 
 been taught to understand the force of her 
 temper, never did it come upon them with so 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 135 
 
 sharp and pitiful a shower as after the dis- 
 covery iiad been made of her sister's flight. 
 On a sudden, she turned upon theui, and so 
 mauled them with her tongue, they were for 
 a time clean dumbfounded with astonish- 
 ment; nevertheless, they were too experi- 
 enced in such warfare to be easily beaten, 
 and were inwardly asliamed so young a 
 hand should get the better of them, even for 
 a moment ; therefore they took to their 
 weapons very briskly, in the hope of quickly 
 silencing their rash antagonist. Thereupon 
 ensued a terrible din, to which that confu- 
 sion of tongues whicli existed at the build- 
 ing of tlie Tower of Babel was harmony in 
 comparison. Judith, so far from being- 
 abashed at so overpowering an attack, did 
 presently meet it with a countercharge so 
 furious, it swept down all before her. In 
 sooth, she raised such a hurricane of words, 
 the three scolds were one and all fairly driven 
 out of the held ; and, after this, ever held 
 their young kinswoman in especial respect, 
 looking up to lior with much the same sort 
 of admiration men of war regard a famous 
 commander. 
 
 The niijre grave among the burgesses of 
 Stratford became at this time exceedingly 
 disturbed by the wild pranks of a young 
 kinsman, from London, of Malmsey, tlie 
 vintner, wlio was called Dick Quiney. He 
 not only spent his money prodigally in 
 roystering with divers his loose companions, 
 to the scandal of the greybeards, but kept 
 the whole town in continual ferment by 
 some mad prank oranotiier, which exceeded 
 all things in audacity and recklessness the 
 longest liver amongst them had ever heard of. 
 
 At onetime he would cause an ass, dress- 
 ed in the robes of the High Bailift^ to be 
 found taking the bailiff's place in the Town 
 Hall ; at anotlier, he would so change the 
 signs that usually hung at the burgesses' 
 doors, that every one had something as dif- 
 ferent as possible to what he had before, 
 which oft had some satirical meaning in't, 
 of which the witty rogues mnde rare sport. 
 There was a bunch of grapes seen hanging- 
 over the parson's porch, and a fleece swung 
 before the lawyer's ; the apothecary's door 
 boasted the sign used by the furnishers of 
 funerals ; and the baker's liad that whicli 
 belonged to the dealer in bones, chalk and 
 the like stores. One who was known to 
 have a scolding wife found his house deco- 
 rated with the sign of the good woman — 
 that is, a woman without a head ; and an- 
 other, who had shown himself dehcient in 
 courage, was siiniliarly pointed at by a 
 board beforr his dwelling, representing a 
 white hart. In brief, there was never a day 
 
 passed that did not bring forth some freak 
 of his wanton wit at the expense of the 
 more sober-minded of the community. 
 
 But tiioUj^li by some be was regarded as 
 a scandU lo tiie puice, his free spirit and 
 manly bearing iiiadj him a favorite with 
 others. He artected neither fineness of dress 
 nor of phrase, though his well knit limbs 
 and comely visage would have right well be- 
 come the one, and his ready wit miglit not 
 have turned the other to bad account. And 
 his readiness to join in any sport, as well 
 as to create such sport as all those of his 
 station were sure totlock to, made him well 
 liked of many, among whom be sure were 
 Tommy Hart and his merry partner, and 
 their constant associate and good gossip, 
 Jonas Tietape, who, by the way, was 
 shrewdly suspected of assisting in most of 
 the jests which young Quiney played upon 
 the grave burgesses of Stratford. In the 
 kitchen of the jovial hatter he was a fre- 
 quent visiter ; and there, often after the gay 
 song and merry tale, many a famous scheme 
 had been devised for the furnishing of good 
 occasion for honest mirth. 
 
 One night they were altogetlier, as merry 
 as s<i many crickets in a clover-field. The 
 hatter and the vintner's nephew were play- 
 ing at tables, with the good-humored Joan 
 looking on, yet occasionally casting aside 
 her eyes to watch the strange movements of 
 Jonas, who was balancing himself on two 
 chairs, and employing other strange antics, 
 much to the diversion of herself and the 
 players, both of whom, ever and anon, forgot 
 their game to be spectators of his grotesque 
 antics. There was no lack of converse 
 amongst them, but it looked not to be of the 
 very gravest import, if any judgment of it 
 could be drawn from the mirth it excited. 
 The chief source of tliis was the laughing 
 dame, strongly recommending to the young- 
 bachelor beside her, certain honest maids of 
 her acquaintance as wives, the whole of 
 wliom she knew to be as little to his taste 
 as ugliness, shrewishness, age, or folly, 
 could make them. At last, she seemed to 
 fix upon her neice Judith, of whose exceed- 
 ing gentleness, quietness, and pleasantness 
 of temper, she expatiated so largely, out of 
 tlie niischievousness of her spirit, that ho 
 looked to be greatly taken with the descrip- 
 tion, and swore lustily he would have her, 
 come what would, for she was exactly what 
 he wished to find in a wife. At this Tommy 
 Hart turned his head on one side, and laugh- 
 ed in his sleeve. 
 
 Then the merry Joan went on to state 
 what a blessed family he would unite him- 
 self to, particularly referring, with famous 
 
136 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 imposing words, on the marvellous sweet 
 disposeilness of her three ancient kins- 
 women : — iiow singiilarl}' homely a body 
 was Aunt Gadahout — how reserved and 
 prudent witli her tongue was Aimt Pratea- 
 j)ac'e — and how precious and notable a 
 1 euccmaker was Aunt Brcedbate. There- 
 npcn young Quiney answ'ercd tliese were 
 tiie very sort of persons he would most de- 
 sire as relations. At liearing this, his merry 
 licst could contain himself no longer ; and, 
 after the hugeness of his mirth had some- 
 what abated, he undeceived his companion 
 as to tlie characters and dispositions of the 
 damsel and her intolerable meddling, mar- 
 ring, miscliief-making kinswomen. And all 
 laughed at the jest that had so cleverly been 
 ])layed upon him. They very ccrdially con- 
 gratulated liim on his meeting a person so 
 well fitted to secure his happiness, and as- 
 sured him tliat, if his heart was really so 
 pet on having a shrew, he might bo certain 
 in Mistress Judith to have the most perfect 
 example of shrewishness of which all War- 
 wickshire could boast. 
 
 " Odds, cat o' mountains !" said he, very 
 merrily. " Be she ever so savage, I will 
 tame the shrew, I warrant you," and, out 
 of bravado, woidd still continue in his hu- 
 mor of taking her to wife ; and the tales he 
 was told of tlie villanous manner she had 
 behaved to her suitors only seemed to in- 
 flame him the more. He seemed to like 
 the conceit of wooing such a tigress, and in 
 this humor started the next morning for 
 Shottery. 
 
 It so fortuned that Judith had that morn- 
 ing chose to remain at home whilst her 
 mother went on some errand of revelry with 
 Aunt Gadabout, and was sitting in the 
 kitchen, earnestly engaged in spinning, 
 when she was startled by a loud knocking 
 at the outer door. Thinking it was some 
 one of her acquaintance, she bade them 
 enter, tliough in no gentle voice, for she 
 was not in a mood to be disturbed ; but this 
 mood was in no way lessened, when she 
 beheld enter a young fellow with a counte- 
 nance and manner betaking of a careless 
 impudency, negligently apparelled, whom 
 she knew slightly by sight, but more by re- 
 port, as the wildest roysterer in Stratford. 
 The cloud on her brow darkened ominously 
 as he hailed her on his entrance in intolera- 
 ble familiar language, and made to salute 
 her with a huge profession of gallantry. 
 She started up from her seat with no less 
 indignation tlian amazement, for it was a 
 marvellous thing for any man to offer to 
 come near her, much less to address her 
 after such a fashion. 
 
 "Away with thee, fellow !" exclaimed she, 
 in a right angry pitch. '• On what fool's 
 errand hast thou come here? Get thee 
 hence, on tiie instant, or by my halidome 
 I'll crack thy crown for thee, thick as it is !" 
 " What exquisite music !" exclaimed 
 j'oung Quiney, in a seeming ecstasy. " Had 
 the trees and rocks, that were so moved by 
 the power of Orpheus, but have heard thy 
 harmonious voice, they must needs have 
 reeled again in the infinite sweet intoxica- 
 tion of its too absolute charm upon the 
 senses. Permit me to claim a faithful ser- 
 vant's privilege " 
 
 " Hands off, knave I" cried Judith, as she 
 started back. " Nay, by the rood ! this im- 
 pudency exceedeth my poor patience. Pry- 
 thee, have done with it straiglit, or I will 
 give thee cause to repent it the rest of thy 
 days." 
 
 " Deny me not, fair arbitrcss of my des- 
 tiny !" continued he, putting himself into 
 all manner of extravagant attitudes, in what 
 looked to be the likeness of a courtly lover, 
 only the homeliness of his garb made it 
 seem infinitely ridiculous. " My heart is 
 overburthened with the weight of my ex- 
 ceeding love for thee, which I can no longer 
 contain in pining secrecy, as I have, O light 
 of my life, for so long a time past." 
 
 " Thy heart and thee may go hang to- 
 gether," replied tlie damsel, sharply. " 1 
 need no sucli garbage. Thou wilt find, I 
 tell thee, thou hast taken t.'ie wrong sow iiy 
 the ear, an thou congest any tliy fool's tricks 
 upon me." 
 
 " The greatness of my passion must needs 
 find vent, dear heart," persisted he. " Love 
 hath such wondrous potency, nought can 
 stay him in his fond career ; and, having 
 such food to feed on as thy exquisite beauty, 
 and admirable sweet gentleness of nature, 
 wliat marvel is it he should be uncontrolla- 
 ble, as in mine own case. Matchless ex- 
 ample of woman's peril'ctne.ss, I must needs 
 do thee a pardonable violence " 
 
 " Wouldst !" cried she in a fury, as she 
 snatched up a rollingpin that was nigh at 
 hand. " Fll pardon thee, i'failh!" And 
 she aimed a blow at him which, had it taken 
 effect, would have (jucnched the fire of his 
 love had it burned ever so fiercely ; but he 
 caught her wrist ere she had time to use it, 
 and, despite her struggles, not only deprived 
 iier of her weapon but infiicted the violence 
 ho had spoke of; uttering, ail the whilst, 
 such affectionate declarations as it seemed 
 only could have been drawn from the most 
 thoi-ouglily enamored heart. Site broke 
 away from his caress, and, in a very mon- 
 strous passion, took to flinging at his head 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 137 
 
 with a prodigal store of abusive and con- ! 
 temptuous epithets, every sort of tiling within j 
 her reach, that might do him a mischief; 
 but lie, by his quickness, succeeded in es- 
 caping all harm, and continuing in tlie same 
 loving mood, again caught her in his arms, 
 and took his revenge, nialgre all her kick- 
 ings, plungings, and cuthngs, till he was 
 content. It was terrible for her to be so 
 foiled ; so direct y she could get away, her 
 first effort was either by taking up some 
 heavy weapon to fell him to the ground, or 
 to drive him out of tlie place by means of a 
 furious shower of missiles ; but she had 
 small prolit of her pains, for he allowed no- 
 thing to touch him, and, watching his op- 
 portunity, soon succeeded in again taking 
 the freedom which did so enrage her. 
 
 At last, thoroughly exhausted, and pant- 
 ing with her long and violent struggles, with 
 a heated face, and disordered hair and dress, 
 she threw herself into a chair. Seeing 
 which, young Quiney sat himself familiarly 
 on the table over-against her, and pursued 
 the gallantry of his huaior in his speech, as 
 thouLfh nothing could ruflla him. Judith 
 was so spent by her exertions, she could 
 only get a few words oat now and then, but 
 their virulence showed the greatness of her 
 spirit was in no way diminished. 
 
 " Thoa art an insolent knave ! I doubt 
 thy trae errand is to rob the place." 
 
 " My true errand, sweet heart, is to woo 
 tliee.'" 
 
 " Woo me ! Ere I will suffer myself to 
 be wooed by such a scurvy rogue, I'll eat 
 my lingers by way of breakfast." 
 
 "I will not only woo thee, .sweetest, but 
 wed thee ; and that shortly." 
 
 " Nay, if thou dost, I will let thee call me 
 a snipe. / marry such a lackfarthing — 
 such a ruffian roystering pickthank ? \\ by 
 thou hast no more credit than wit, and as 
 little honesty as either ! I would as lief 
 marry the whipping-post, for it could not 
 put me more in mind of all manner of knav- 
 ishness and ill-dealing. 
 
 " Nevertheless, sweet Judith, be assured 
 1 will marry thee and none other ; and I 
 doubt not at all, out of the absolute air.'ction 
 thou dost kindly entertain for me " 
 
 '■ / entertain atF^ction for such a worth- 
 less, ill-behaved knave as thou art. I would 
 right willingly give all I am worth in this 
 world to see theo have thy deserts from the 
 hands of the hangman." 
 
 " Thou wilt shorten the time of my woo- 
 ing, so that I may take thee to church in as 
 brief a space as may be possible." 
 
 Judith bitterly disclaimed any such in- 
 tention ; nevertheless, her lover continued 
 
 to sit with his heels dangling under the 
 table, perseveringly insisting on the won- 
 drous greatness ot her love for him, and the 
 necessity of their speedy marriage, and took 
 no manner of heed of her interruptions. But 
 whether it was it so chanced she could not 
 help being influenced by such singular be- 
 havior, or, as she sat, had time to scan the 
 handsome features and well-knit figure of 
 her determined gallant, whicii was evident 
 enough in spite of his rough, unhandsome 
 garment^, her abuse began perceptibly to be 
 less violent. 
 
 At this time, her aunts Breedbate and 
 Prateapace — who had hitherto been no 
 farther off than the garden, yet were en- 
 gaged in so violent a dispute they had heard 
 nothing of what had been going on in the 
 kitchen — entered, and no sooner did they 
 spy young Quiney, sitting at his ease so 
 famously, than thev took to calling him to 
 task in the severest language they had at 
 their commandment; during which he look- 
 ed them quietly in tiie face, and whistled 
 and drummed on the table with an excess 
 of impudency th;it inflamed their rage the 
 more. His mistress, who seldom missed 
 an opportvmity of defying her meddling 
 kinswomen, was drawn more towards him 
 by this opposition of theirs to him ; yet she 
 did not think proper to interfere in tlie mat- 
 ter. 
 
 Aunt Breodbate and aunt Prateapace now 
 became quite furious, and in a torrent of 
 villanous language bade the intruder be- 
 gone, or they would tear his eyes out ; at 
 which he suddenly jumped down, and put- 
 ting on a liorrible fierce look, snatched 
 up a spit that was hanging above the 
 chimney, levelling it at them, shouted out in 
 a most murderous voice : 
 
 "Hal dost dare attempt such sacrilege 
 as to disturb two happy lovers ? Nay, then, 
 I'll pin thee to the wail like a couple of cock- 
 chafers." But the sight nf the point of the 
 blade, presented in so formidable a manner, 
 was enough for them, and ere you could 
 count one, they turned tail and fled, shriek- 
 ing like scalded pigs, into the garden, in 
 their haste stumbling over each other as 
 they got to tlie threslihold. 
 
 Judith could not forbear laughing at the 
 
 ridiculous fright the two old women were 
 
 put into — but there were other laughers 
 
 besides herself — for young Quiney "s gossips, 
 
 Jonas Tietape and Tommy Hart, had come 
 
 to see how their friend fared in liis wooing 
 
 of the terrible shrew, and from the open door 
 
 I had been spectators of it from first to last. 
 
 1 Jonas was so well pleased with the conceit 
 
 I of the cockchafers, that, wtiilst his companion 
 
138 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 was enjoying his mirth, ho commenced before 
 tlie house a series ol" tumbles, with ail his 
 might, quite forgetful of a young terrier lie 
 had got in each pocket, who put out their 
 heads, and yelped most lustily at being so 
 strangely turned about. 
 
 Judith's lover ni.w took his departure, yet 
 with many famous speeches denoting the 
 excess of his love, and the intolerable hard- 
 ship of tearing himself away ; but, the next 
 day, after watching the absence of her 
 mother and aunts, he again presented him- 
 self before her, and a like scene passed be- 
 tween them, with this difference, that she 
 did not ].uc iierself in so tearing a passion, 
 nor abuse him quite so scurvily as she had 
 done the day before. The truth was, her 
 mother and her aunts, hearing of his strange 
 visit and its object, did declaim against him 
 so fiercely, that, out of sheer opposition, as 
 washer wont, she took up the cudgels- in 
 his defence, and swore very roundly he 
 should marry her, an she liked it, come what 
 would. Nevertheless, when he repeated his 
 visit every day, assuming to himself the 
 appearance of one who is greatly beloved, 
 she was frequently exceeding sharp upon 
 him ; but his perseverance won so upon her, 
 that at last, looking to be in a great rage, 
 she promised she would marry him, that slie 
 might be the better able to punish him for 
 his matchless impudency. 
 
 In this huinor the wedding-day was soon 
 fixed, but, when the neighbors came to hoar 
 of it, there seemed no end to their marvel- 
 ling. To think that Judith should find a 
 husband ! They could scarce believe it 
 possible ; and that so reckless a fellow as 
 Dick Quiney should have sought out a 
 helpmate of Judith's villanous temper, so 
 monstrous looked the union, they could 
 hardly be brought to believe it. The matter 
 though was settled : and every day the dis- 
 inclination of tlie damsel to it became less 
 and less evident ; in truth, she could not but 
 admire tlie spirit with which her lover pur- 
 sued his object, and be amused with the 
 extravagance of his professions in averring 
 the prodigious extent of her affection for 
 him. Ever and anon she broke out into 
 sudden rages, but these latterly had come at 
 longer intervals. 
 
 The wedding day approached, and she 
 determined on carrying it with a high hand, 
 bid all her friends to the ceremony, and got 
 together as much finery as she could to 
 grace the occasion. Some of her acquaint- 
 ance affected to lament her so casting of 
 herself away; but others — and these were 
 such as had had most knowledge of her dis- 
 position — by this time had assured them- 1 
 
 selves this marriage promised to be a good 
 riddance of her. 
 
 The wedding-day arrived, and the bride 
 and all the company were assembled in 
 their holiday suits, ready to go to church. 
 Of the latter, whatever might have been 
 their thoughts, their visages were as pleas- 
 ant as though the match was one of their 
 own contriving. They had been waiting- 
 some time, to the damsel's infinite impa- 
 tience, and yet no bridegroom had arrived. 
 Juditli began to chafe at this neglect, and 
 her brow darkened, and her foot beat the 
 ground. Still no bridegroom came. His 
 absence began to be marked, and whisj)ers 
 went round, which the bride observed not 
 without a marvellous increase to her former 
 discontent. For a time she managed to 
 comfort herself to some small extent, by 
 imagining that in honor of her he had been 
 making extraordinary preparations which 
 delayed him, and in a brief while he would 
 doubtless appear at the head of a gallant 
 cavalcade, all in new suits, got ready ex- 
 pressly for the occasion. But, as time 
 passed, and still there was no sign of him, 
 she began to suspect he had no intention of 
 marrying at all, and only cared to put her to 
 this public shame. 
 
 The idea of it so galled her, that she was 
 about bursting fortli in a horrible tearing 
 rage, to send every one sans ceremony 
 about his business, when she heard the wel- 
 come intelligence of his coming. She took 
 a hasty pee|) at the casement, to observe the 
 brave fashion in which he had chosen to 
 lead her to church, but words of mine can- 
 not picture her dismay, indignation and 
 shame, when she beheld him approaching 
 on foot with hasty strides, not only in tlie 
 old buff jerkin and slops, the soiled bouts, 
 and the worn beaver, she had ever seen on 
 him, but so covered with dust from head to 
 foot, he could scarce be recognized. Instead 
 of the gallant company she expected with 
 him, there followed close at his heels the 
 well-known figure of Jonas Tietape, in a 
 similar rude suit, making the most extrava- 
 gant strides to keep pace with hinii with 
 the heads of two young water-dogs peeping 
 out of his pockets, a long rusty sword at 
 his side, and a pair of pistolets in his belt. 
 
 Without a word said, young Quincy strode 
 through the astonished crowd assembled to 
 do honor to his nuptials, and the wouian's 
 tailor quite as indifferently strode aft(;r hiin. 
 The bridegroom stopped before the enraged 
 and humiliated bride, and, malgre her black 
 looks, accosted her with a iamiliarity in no 
 way corresponding with tlie time, and in a 
 voice all could hear, vowed he had been 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 139 
 
 playing at bowls, and had nipfh forgotten 
 his appointment; then, hastily turning to 
 his trusty squire, who had assumed a very 
 owl-like visage, he inquired whether he 
 thouo-lit not ijowls an exceeding pleasant 
 pastime to while away a dull hour or so, to 
 which the other answered, in a monstrous 
 aggravating voice : — " By goles, there was 
 none such in his estimation, when he was 
 of the winning side, and the tipple was 
 
 The whole assembly looked thunderstruck, 
 and the bride could not conceal her intense 
 mortilication, liut time pressed so closely, it 
 admitted of no remonstrance on her part ; so, 
 comforting ijer loving nature with tlie pros- 
 pect of an ample revenge, she allowed her- 
 self to be led to cluirch, her lover all the 
 way behaving towards her as tliough he 
 had done all that was best and fittest, and 
 that sJie must needs be satisfied with him 
 in every respect, and occasionally turning 
 away from her to ask some question about 
 the game he had been playing, of the wo- 
 man's tailor, who chose to walk in the pro- 
 cession a little way behind him. Judith felt 
 disposed to have brained them both, so hor- 
 ribly indignant was she with the sHghts 
 that had been put upon her, but she satis- 
 fied herself with nursing her wrath, and 
 vowing all sorts of intolerable retaliations. 
 As they came to the church-door, Quiney 
 turned round, and reminded his companion 
 the steeds would be wanted at such a time, 
 to which the other answered : — " The noble 
 animals should be in attendance at his 
 worship's orrler." 
 
 The ceremony proceeded, every one mar- 
 velling more and more at the strange be- 
 havior of the young bridegroom. Judith 
 had fancied she had endured enough af- 
 fronts ; but, when the priest demanded 
 " who gave the maid away ?" and Jonas 
 Tietape, puppy-dogs and all, gravely step- 
 ped forward to claim that office, she felt 
 ready to sink into the earth with vexation ; 
 and at the termination of the ceremony she 
 relished not a whit the more the rough, 
 rude manner in which her husband, before 
 all the people, gave her a salute which 
 made the clmrch ring again, and hailed her 
 as Dame Quiney, after such boisterous 
 fashion as might be seen only at the wed- 
 ding of a tinker. She seemed overpowered 
 with this villanous usage. No one con- 
 gratulated her ; for in truth, all were so 
 wonderstruck they knew not what to do ; 
 and she proceeded back to the church-door 
 in so discontented a state of mind, she had 
 resolved, when she mounted on one of the 
 " noble steeds" she had heard would be pro- 
 
 vided to take her to her husband's home, to 
 ride away somewhere, she cared not whith- 
 er, so that she escaped the base usage to 
 which she had been subjected. 
 
 But, whatever had been her discontent 
 hitherto, it increased to a pitch beyond all 
 toleration when she beheld at the church 
 door, a raw-boned, wind-galled, goose-rump- 
 ed, wall-eyed animal, that seemed in age a 
 very Methusalem among horses, which evi- 
 dently by the pillion fastened upon him, was 
 intended for her riding ; and, by his side, 
 was a half starved donkey — looking as mis- 
 erable as though he had not a belly-full 
 since the day he was foaled — which she 
 supposed must be for her husband. At the 
 very sight of these "' noble steeds"' she held 
 back, and, fearing she could have no better 
 conveyance, she flatly refused to budge a 
 foot to mount such wretched horseflesh. 
 
 In vain the bridegroom, with most per- 
 suasive gentleness, assured her that she 
 could not reach his dwelling in any odier 
 way, and dilated on the matchless qualities 
 of the horse, relating a pedigree boasting 
 of the first blood of the kingdom. She 
 vowed she would not be a laughing-stock 
 to her friends, and stoutly determined no 
 power on earth shoidd make her mount so 
 sorry a beast. At this, Quiney himself 
 mounted the horse, all the whilst giving him 
 as many flattering expressions as though he 
 were an Arabian of the purest descent, and 
 then made a sign to his gossip, the woman's 
 tailor. In a moment Judith found herself 
 enclosed in two powerful arms, raised from 
 the ground, and, in the next, despite her 
 struggles and cries, placed on the pil- 
 lion by the side of her husband. Having 
 dune this with singular dexterity, Jonas 
 mounted the donkey, and, amid the laughs 
 and shouts of the spectators, the three started 
 off". 
 
 Finding in physical force, she was no 
 march for him into whose hands she had fal- 
 len, she let loose her tongue, and did so be- 
 maul him with it, such a torrent of invec- 
 tive was surely never heard before ; but he 
 minded it not a jot, every now and then stop- 
 ping in the tune he was whistling, to ask 
 her, with a marvellous show ui affection, if 
 she felt herself perfectly comfortable ; or 
 turning unconcernedly around to his trusty 
 companion, to make some pleasant remark, 
 which v/as sure to elicit a smart rejoinder, 
 in the roughest tone voice ever had. Her 
 surprise at this indifierency became much 
 lessened, when she discovered that her 
 husband's ears were so stuffed with cotton, 
 doubtless for the occasion, that, had she 
 rated him in ever so high a key, ho could 
 
140 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 have lieard no more than one who was a 
 thoiisaiid miles off. Finding .-scolding of no 
 avail, .she grow to be .sulky, and would an- 
 swer no questions ; but, as her husband 
 seemed careless whether slie replied or not 
 to what he said, .she got but small s.ttisl'ac- 
 tion from her silence. All this time she 
 was e.xceeding curious as to where she was 
 going ; but it did not appear slie was like to 
 have any information very .speedily. 
 
 In a few hours they arrived at a desolate- 
 looking cottage on the heath, far from any 
 public road. She entered, and the unprom- 
 ising outside was not a foretoken of the 
 want of comfort within. Indeed it did so 
 lack all proper accommodation, that, forget- 
 ting her late humor of sulkiness, and the 
 small likelihood there was of her talking to 
 any profit, she once more burst out into the 
 most overwhelming reproaches and abuse, 
 till she remembered how idle was all mat- 
 ter of speech ; then, breaking forth in a rage 
 to be so foiled and unliandso.nely used, she 
 began to scatter and destroy everything that 
 was within her reach. Much did she mar- 
 vel to find her husband, instead of checking 
 her as she expected, not only encouraging 
 her by Ins voice, but assisting her in the 
 work of destruction, and with such extra- 
 ordinary fury, that, in a brief while, there 
 was not a thing of any sort left whole in the 
 chamber. Then she took to be sulky again, 
 and sat herself down on a bench fixed 
 against the wall, lieating her foot against 
 the ground, and biting the string of beads 
 she wore round her neck with a pull which 
 looked as if it was about to be torn assun- 
 der. 
 
 Presently the woman's tailor made his 
 appearance, and he and the bridegroom be- 
 gan jesting with each other, seemingly to 
 be as indifferent of her presence as though 
 she was a stone. From this Jonas Tietape 
 got to his tricks — he tumbled, he juggled, 
 he did so many wonders and in so ludicrous 
 a way, that Judith found herself more than 
 once unable to refrain from joining in the 
 hearty mirth they caused. By this time, 
 vexed to the heart as she had been, she 
 could not help feeling unusually hungry, 
 which cannot be thought singular when it 
 is known she had scarce ate anything the 
 whole day, and liad had a long ride in the 
 keen air. It was now getting late, yet no 
 sign of a meal had appeared. She could 
 not bring herself to say anything, were it 
 ever so, yet she would have been right glad 
 to have had an opportunity of breaking her 
 fast. 
 
 Notwithstanding her hunger, hour after 
 hour passed by, and yet she saw no means 
 
 of satisfying it. Her companions continued 
 lo divert themselves as though they were 
 so used to long fasts they cared not tcjr eat- 
 ing. She expected no abundance, nor any 
 show of delicacies where she was; but, as 
 I he time passed without bringing forth the 
 slightest sign of diet of any sort, she began 
 to fear she was in a fair way of sufiering all 
 the horrors of starvation. 'I'o her great 
 relief, an old woman, with a visage like a 
 dried applejohn, came and announced sup- 
 per; and, all at once, her husband seemed 
 to grow marvellous attentive, and offered 
 his arm, with a wonderful affectionate 
 speech, to lead her to the chamber where 
 the supper was laid. She did not think 
 proper to accept his civilities, but she rose 
 and walked out of the chamber with him, as 
 otherwise she would have been left alone 
 and in the dark. She passed into another 
 chamber — where tliere were a few stools 
 and a table — as a ragged boy was serving 
 up the supper. 
 
 The place was mean and bare, but the 
 meal gave her even less satisfaction, for 
 there looked not to be enough for one, and 
 it was such as none but a beggar might 
 have been content with. Juditii, however, 
 was by this time in so ravenous a mood that 
 she was willing to let her pride wait upon 
 her hunger. The meat looked stale and the 
 bread hard and dry, but she felt she could 
 have devoured even such poor eating with 
 a fine relish. Such relish, however, she 
 was not fated to enjoy ; for, on a sudden, as 
 the bridegroom was paying her some e.x- 
 ceeding gallant compliments, his eye seem- 
 ed to fiash at something he took note of at 
 the table, and he broke out into the most 
 ungovernable fury of passion eye ever be- 
 held. He expressed the terriblest indigna- 
 tion and rage, and actually seemed to team 
 at the mouth as he denounced the omission 
 he perceived. There were no custards ! 
 
 Though custards seemed as out of place 
 amongst such miserable odds and ends as 
 the table afforded, as a court dame in a 
 lazar-houso, their absence was regarded as 
 an offence not to be pardoned. In vain the 
 bride urgently affirmed she cared not for 
 custards ; in vain she acknowledged she 
 was content with what see saw betore her, 
 and was willing to make her supper of it — 
 her husband, increasing in his fury, threw 
 the viands out of the open casement, kicked 
 over the table, and, taking up a three-legged 
 slool, run after the ragged urchin, swearing 
 lustily he would make an example of him, 
 for showing such neglect towards his new- 
 made wile. 
 
 The woman's tailor had disappeared, so 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 141 
 
 that, on the departure of h?r husband, Ju- 
 dith found herself ulone. Great as was her 
 spirit, she feh somewhat alarmed at the 
 outrageous violence she had just witnessed. 
 Her appetite was gone ; she cared not now for 
 partaking of the goodliest banquet the world 
 could produce ; and when the old woaian 
 entered, scarcely able to speak for very fear, 
 the few exclamations she uttered pointed to 
 matter so horrible, she begged she might be 
 led to her chamber. This was readily done, 
 and the old crone did not leave her till she 
 had tilled the mind of th_- young bride with 
 the most fearful accounts of the terrible fu- 
 rious temper of her husband whenever he 
 met with any sort of opposition. In other 
 respects, ho was described as a man so mar- 
 vellously well disj)osed, any woman might 
 be happy with him to the end of her days ; 
 but, whenever it chanced he was crossed, 
 or contradicted, or opposed in any manner 
 whatsoever, no whirlwind was so fierce as 
 his wrath. 
 
 Judith locked herself in her cliamber, not 
 without a secret dread the door might pres- 
 ently be burst open, and herself be made a 
 suiferer i'rom such frantic violence as she 
 had witnessed. Her meditations, which 
 were none of the pleasantest, were frequent- 
 ly disturbed by strange, unnatural noises, 
 which made her tremble from head to foot. 
 She did not dare to stir — she could not at- 
 tempt to go to sleep ; but, from hour to 
 hour, continued to expect to be involved in 
 a scene of uproar which appeared to be go- 
 ing on below. 
 
 Little did she fancy that her husband all 
 this while was never in so good a humor in ' 
 his life, and that, saving a few minutes 
 passed in making for her sole entertainment 
 the unnatural screeches that so frightened! 
 her, he was feasting right merrily from a 
 bountiful store of excellent meats, with his ' 
 fast friend and counsellors, Jonas Tietape ! 
 and Tommy Hart, and kept pledging with j 
 them bumper after bumper of most choice , 
 Gascon, to " The speedy and thorough tam- 
 ing of the Shrew." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 These are the works of our God, whereby 
 he would admonish the tyrants of this earth, 
 that in the end he will be revenged of their 
 cruelty, what strength soever they make in the 
 contrary. 
 
 John Knox. 
 
 It was on a morning of matchless beauty 
 
 — the sky being all around of a clear, in- 
 tense blue, the soft, warm, voluptuous air, 
 refreshed by its closeness to the sea, which 
 looked of a delicious coolness and transpa- 
 rency — that a small ship, of that sort called 
 a pink, was seen entering the Bay of Naples. 
 It was evident she had no warlike intention, 
 from the absence in her of any thing which 
 showed a disposition for hostilities ; never- 
 theless, a few guns, well placed, gave sure 
 sign that she was not altogether unprepared to 
 make a defence, should she be attacked. At 
 this time, however, she neither expected nor 
 sought to use such weapons ; her sails were 
 spread to catch the breeze that was gaily 
 wafting her to her destined port; and on 
 her deck might be seen several curious 
 spectators enjoying the lovely prospect that 
 opened before them. 
 
 Prominent amongst them there stood the 
 figure of one in his full manhood, well fa- 
 vored in countenance, noble in figure, hand- 
 somely but not too bravely apparelled, and 
 bearing about him many other marks that 
 point out a man of more than ordinary note 
 in the eye of the world. He was addressing 
 a youth that was leaning over the side of 
 the vessel, and by his manner it might be 
 supposed tliey were father and son, had not 
 the deep affectionateness which beamed in 
 the intellectual countonanceof the elder one 
 been mingled with a respect that spoke 
 more of homage due to superior rank. The 
 younger of the two, though the natural 
 graces of his face and person, set off as they 
 were with such admirable bravery as he 
 displayed, might have seemed to furnish 
 ample proof of relationship, the indifferency, 
 beyond the interests he condd not help feel- 
 ing for the objects to which his attention 
 was directed, with which he listened to the 
 speech of his most eloquent companion as 
 he pointed out the beauties of the magnifi- 
 cent scene that every moment seemed to 
 become more enticing, was sufficient assur- 
 ance he was no son of his. 
 
 Such, in truth, was the case — the former 
 being no other than our marvellous sweet 
 Shakspeare, and the other Master William 
 Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke's heir, to 
 whom, at the desire of one whose slightest 
 wish had long been the most absolute of 
 laws, he was now travelling to the principal 
 countries of Europe, as his governor, and 
 diligently did he endeavor to fulfil satisfac- 
 torily tlie task he had undertaken. He 
 strove, by all means in his power, to make 
 the mind entrusted to him acquire whatever 
 of knowledge, or the love of it, he himself 
 possessed ; and his discourse was so preg- 
 nant with high and noble truths, that often 
 
142 
 
 THE SECRET I'ASSION. 
 
 the nidc mariners tliat chanced to he within 
 earshot ol him, stO))pe(i what labour they 
 were about, and forgot their business, how- 
 ever pressing it might be, as they hstened to 
 his wondrous speech. 
 
 Nor was it done less lovingly than dili- 
 gently. Indeed, he had cheated himself 
 into no common pleasure in the conceit, that 
 the sumless heaps of love he might not feel 
 for tlie mother, he could allow himself to 
 feel for the son as her representative, image, 
 and second self. All the voyage, he had 
 secretly been feeding his heart with the i 
 most passionate transports for his young 
 namesake and pupil ; and as he was forced i 
 to conceal as much as lay in his power the 
 idolatry with which the youth was regarded 
 by him, and yet could not restrain the busy 
 world within, he, at every convenient oppor- 
 tunity, privily committed his thoughts and 
 feelings to paper, in the form of the most 
 exquisite verse poet ever writ. This prac- 
 tice he continued for a long time after. 
 Often, when he had been struggling to en- 
 dure outwardly unmoved the coldness in the 
 unconscious inheritor of the features of the 
 noble lady, against the powerful influence 
 of whose excellences he had so long and 
 vainly struggled, has some passionate son- 
 net expressed and eased the fulness of his 
 o'ercharged heart. 
 
 But this excess of afTection rested not en- 
 tirely, though, in sooth, it did in a marvel- 
 lous great measure, on the grounds here stat- 
 ed, for he would fancy at times that, had his 
 loved riamnet lived, he would have been 
 just such another goodly youth to look on as 
 Master Herbert, and thereupon he would 
 mingle the gallantry of his devotion to the 
 representative of the best and loveliest lady 
 of her age, with the touching earnestness of 
 that fathomless love with which he had been 
 wont to look on the sweetest, worthiest son 
 fond father ever had. 
 
 Whilst he was talking, one who looked to 
 he the captain, a sturdy Englishman, who 
 knew well the country he was sailing to, 
 joined the croup, and, in answer to Master 
 Shakspeare's praise of the smiling Eden 
 from which he had been drawing such in- 
 finite contentation, he launched out into 
 very sharp abuse of it, vowing that it har- 
 bored so many who lived by spoiling and 
 murdering all such as came in their way, 
 that the place was clean unfit for a Chris- 
 tian to live in. In proof of what he ad- 
 vanced, he spoke of a noted brigand called 
 Zingano — who had lately infested those 
 parts — a captain of wandering ]3ohemians, 
 who had made himself a terror to the whole 
 neighborhood, by plundering travellers and 
 
 attacking and carrying off to their secret 
 caves any one in their reach who could pay 
 a tempting price for his ransom, making 
 short work of such as they could not make 
 a market of. This intelligence did, in some 
 measnre, damp the pleasure Muster Shak- 
 speare felt in observing so fair a scene ; but 
 much time was not allowed him for the en- 
 tertainment of his disappointment, for, by 
 this time, the pink had entered so far into 
 the bay, that the anchor was let go, and pre- 
 parations were made for an immediate land- 
 ing. 
 
 Master Shakspeare's party consisted of 
 himself and young Herbert, and the former's 
 faithful serving-man, Simon Stockfish ; with 
 them came an aged mariner, of a wild, un- 
 natural aspect, whose exceeding taciturnity 
 was so much to the humor of Simon, that 
 he engaged him to attend his master on 
 shore, and help take charge of the luggage. 
 They reached the landing-place without any 
 hindrance or ditficulty, and soon were in the 
 streets of Naples, to the vast content of 
 Master Herbert, who seemed to admire 
 hugely every thing out of the ordinary that 
 met his observation. His governor failed 
 not to direct his attention to what was most 
 worthy of note, but he looked too pleased 
 with the aspect of all that met his gaze to 
 heed much what was said. 
 
 In the house in which they presently took 
 up their lodging they were so fortunate as 
 to meet with a person ready, for a fitting re- 
 ward, to do them all good services in show- 
 ing them whatever in the city was consider- 
 ed worthy of observation. But all the talk 
 of Naples then was of Vesuvius, for it was 
 generally believed, from certain signs, that 
 an eruption in that fiery mountain would 
 soon display itself. Great alarm seemed to 
 exist amongst the Neapolitans on this subject ; 
 and they who had property lying in the di- 
 rection it was expected the burning lava 
 would take, were busily devising all sorts of 
 idle schemes for the saving of it. 
 
 Master Shakspeare determined to ascend 
 the mountain, that his youthful charge might 
 see one of the most marvellous of the deep 
 mysteries of nature, yet no sooner was this 
 known than many friendly attempts were 
 made to dissuade him from it. The most 
 horrible accounts were given of the danger 
 there mu^^t be in making the ascent at such 
 a period ; added to which there were awful 
 stories told him of the atrocities of the terrible 
 Zingano and his band, whose haunts were in 
 the very part of the mountain along which 
 they must proceed. These, however, took 
 little effect on him. He caused preparations 
 to be immediately made for attempting llie 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 143 
 
 ascent ; and, in case he might be molested 
 by the brigands, all his party went well 
 armed, and, lor farther security, lie took 
 with him, in addition to the usual guides, a 
 strong escort of the town-guard. 
 
 Simon Stockfisli appointed his new ac- 
 quaintance to help him in carrying whatever 
 might be required during the expedition ; 
 for, though old, he did not look as if he 
 lacked strength, and there was something in 
 the sternness of his glance that satisfied 
 Simon, in case of danger he would stand on 
 his defence right sturdily. He therefore 
 was properly armed, and took his place in 
 the party. 
 
 They left Naples, and proceeded in the 
 direction of the burning mountain. Master 
 Herbert's governor very much lightening 
 the way for him by pleasant and profitable 
 discourse touching the nature and history of 
 volcanos ; thence proceeding to notice the 
 vv-ondrous mischiefs they had done, more es- 
 pecially the destruction of the cities of Pom- 
 peii and Herculanoum by showers of red 
 hot cinders — this brought him to speak of 
 Pliny and his miraculous escape from the 
 terrible fate that overtook the inhabitants 
 of thoje cities, and then he followed on with 
 later eruptions, eliciting by a{)t questions 
 from the guides, full particulars of what had 
 happened in their experience ; and thence 
 arose sundry narratives of the phenomena 
 Vesuvius exhibited, descriptions of the de- 
 struction caused by the progress of the 
 burning fluid, and certain marvellous es- 
 capes of the country people from the scorch- 
 ing and consuming element. 
 
 There was no great difficulty in passing 
 from this subject to the brigands, and there 
 followed an abundance of stories of their 
 daring and savagcness, in which different 
 captains of them were made the heroes ; 
 but, in especial, there was great mention of 
 Zingano, who, according to all accounts, in- 
 finitely exceeded in audacity, courage, and 
 fierceness, the mo.-t celebrated of his villa- 
 nous brethren. Souie spoke of him as a 
 devil incarnate, not satisfied with plunder- 
 ing all who fell in his way, he was merciless 
 as an enraged tiger to such as he took of- 
 fence at ; others magnifiad his prowess to 
 what was far beyond the ordinary, and 
 touched upon instances he had afforded of 
 succor to the distressed. Then came such 
 accounts of his life as would have sufliccd 
 all the heroes of the table round. No ro- 
 mance was ever so marvellous, no ballad 
 so full of strange adventure. Nevertheless, 
 tlio guides, one and all, seemed deeply im- 
 pressed with the truth of the most incredible 
 
 of such accounts, and if need were, would 
 have borne testimony of their faithfulness. 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke's heir appeared to 
 take but little heed of these narratives, as 
 tiiough he looked on them as old wives' 
 fables, unworthy of the attention of a youth 
 of noble blood. 
 
 His worthy governor had marked this in- 
 differency to matters of more moment, and 
 not without some slight disquietude. He 
 would put himself right earnestly to exalt 
 his scholar's mind to nobler perceptions. 
 With the deep interest in him he could not 
 help feeling, no wonder his councils souie- 
 times, spite of his efforts to conceal how 
 much his heart was in his task, looked to be 
 of a warmer character than the situations 
 of the parties seemed to warrant ; but the 
 coldness with which such manifestations 
 were invariably regarded, never failed 
 quickly to bring him back to a proper state 
 of self-control. It was a hard task for him to 
 look on the living image of the noble-hearted 
 woman to whom so large a portion of his 
 best thoughts had been dedicated, with the 
 unconcern of one who hath but a depend- 
 ant's interest ; but it was harder still v.'hen 
 the tender impulses which were struggling 
 in his breast made themselves visible, to find 
 them met by the proud wondering of a 
 haughty spirit that considers kindness so 
 shown as savoring of nothing so much as of 
 a presumption that he is bound to check by 
 every way in his power. 
 
 This time the behavior of his youthful 
 charge had struck him more powerfully 
 than on any preceding occasion, but lie dis- 
 sembled as well as he might, and pursued 
 his way up the mountain, conversing in his 
 ordinary cheerful manner with the guides. 
 The path now began to be a troublesome 
 one, the soil being composed, for the most 
 part, of cinders and lava, which made an 
 exceeding loose footing, so that each one of 
 the party was forced to look carefully to his 
 own progress. 
 
 Young Herbert, with an active guide, 
 lightly and rapidly led the way ; hi was Ibl- 
 lowed closely by Master Shakspeare, who 
 anxiously kept up with him. At a little 
 distance followed Simon Stockfish, silently 
 entertaining numberless doubts as to the 
 ad\antage of all this arduous climbing, and 
 considering whether some fine stroke of 
 policy could not be hit upon whereby such 
 dangers as seemed most imminent might be 
 diverted from his good master. Simon had, 
 close at his hand, the old seaman from the 
 Pink, carrying a basket, and though he 
 seemed to have a friendly feeling towards 
 
144 
 
 THE SECRET TASSION. 
 
 him, lio dill not think it necessary to com- 
 municate his good wishes; and as tor the 
 other, tliere could he little question he was 
 in alike hiin.or, for he scarcely so much as 
 opened his mouth all the way. After them 
 came other guides, and the escort followed 
 at a convenient distance. It appeared as 
 though nothing was so plain as the unne- 
 cessariness of the latter, for there existed 
 not in tiie neighhorhood tlie slightest sign 
 of living creature of any sort ; tlie wild and 
 desolate scene would not have accorded ill 
 with groups of savage banditti, but there 
 was no evidence of any such thereabouts. 
 
 They had climbed so far that their near- 
 ness to the volcano might easily be judged 
 by the sulphureous fumes that pervaded the 
 air, and by certain rumblings and shakings 
 in the belly of the mountain. At last the 
 atmosphere appeared to bo gradually getting 
 darker, and the rumblings did so increase as 
 to shake the ground beneath their feet. 
 Whereupon the guides wore a monstrous 
 serious aspect, and did atTirm with singular 
 earnestness, these signs portended a speedy 
 eruption, and that all were in singular jeo- 
 pardy, from which there was no likelihood 
 of escaping, unless they met with very mar- 
 vellous good fortune. 
 
 The gloomy color of this intelligence 
 i\Iaster Shakspeare liked not at all. But not 
 on his own account was it so little pleasing 
 to him, for he was not of a spirit to heed his 
 own convenience or safety in a case of 
 coalmen danger, but he could not help cer- 
 tain uneasy thoughts of thj inhnite respon- 
 sibility he had taken on himself in leading 
 his young charge into a situation so fraught 
 with peril. The life of one in whom the 
 nature he so devotedly wor.;hij)ped seemed 
 part and parcel, was very far dearer than 
 his own, and he trembled to think of the 
 consequences, sliould aught of evil befal 
 him. But Master Herbert would not hear of 
 any retreating. He treated the prognosti- 
 cations of the guides as statements worthy 
 of no credit, and being exceeding curious 
 to see the crater, he bade all push on with- 
 out an instant's loss ; and, attended by his 
 guide, briskly led the way. His worthy 
 governor followed with all the speed possible, 
 and his faithful serving-man, with his des- 
 perate looking associate, did their best to 
 keep near at hand. The rust came stragg- 
 ling on at their leisure. 
 
 With all the activity displayed by the 
 foremost, their progress was slow, and not 
 imattended with danger. Frequenrly did 
 their legs sink so deep into the hot cinders, 
 their only fooling, that it looked as if they 
 
 were to be swallowed up in that treacherous 
 soil. A guide was engaged in pointing out 
 to the travellers the course of the last stream 
 of burning lava which had poured down the 
 sides of the volcano, when, on a sudden, 
 there came a terrible explosion, that seemed 
 to deafen all who heard it, which was fol- 
 lowed by the shooting up from the crater of 
 an immense pillar of burning stone and 
 ashes, that fell on the other side of the moun- 
 tain, in a mass that would soon have anni- 
 hilated a city. Presently this black pillar 
 turned into one of fire, spouting up to an in- 
 measurable lieight, in the midst of which 
 were seen huge masses of rock thrown up 
 as though shot out of a great cannon, which 
 fell thundering down the sides of the vol- 
 cano, splitting into fragments as they fell. 
 
 Scarcely had this terrible eruption com- 
 menced, when the leaders of the party had 
 reached a sort of shelf or platform overlook- 
 ing the crater, whence the fearfullest sight 
 broke on them eye ever saw. The moun- 
 tain, like an enormous monster, continued 
 to belch out immense volumes of tire and 
 flame, that reached a height Rt wiiich the 
 eye ached to follow it, and it broke in a 
 resistless flood that went boiling, hissing, 
 and scorching down the side of the mountain, 
 and into the valley beneath, threatening the 
 destruction of all the orchards, gardens, and 
 villages that lay in the direction it was 
 taki ng. 
 
 Master Shakspeare could not forbear 
 shuddering as he remembered that a change 
 in the wind might bring upon the heads of 
 his party the whole power of this consum- 
 ing inundation. He could not sufficiently 
 marvel at the sublimity of the spectacle be- 
 fore him ; but, attractive as it was, ho 
 would have given all he was worth in the 
 world to have got his charge at that moment 
 some fifty miles ofl^. 
 
 A new danger threatened him much moro 
 imminent than the one he had such dread 
 of, from which there appeared to be no es- 
 cape. Whilst all eyes were directed to the 
 huge mouth of the burning mountain vom- 
 iting such prodigious volumes of fire, one 
 of the guides, in accents of terror, cried 
 out, " Zingano! Zingano !" and all turning 
 at that instant, discovered a tall, stout ban- 
 dit, vvith a dark and savage aspect, well 
 armed with sword and dagger, pistolet and 
 arquebus, within a few yards of them, on 
 the same ledge of the mountain, whilst, 
 from various eminences tiiat overlooked 
 them, appeared several of a like threatening 
 appearance, whose pieces were pointed at 
 them with matches ready, as much as tc 
 
TPIE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 145 
 
 sav if they stirred they were no better than 
 so many dead men. Resistance was hope- 
 less ; th?y had advanced so expoditiousiy as 
 to leave their lagging escort behind tliein, 
 at a distance too far olF to know the strait 
 they were in, or to be able to render them 
 any assistance. 
 
 Zingano suffered not his victims to have 
 much time for reflection, or to mistake his 
 intentions. With a monstrous loud and in- 
 solent voice, he bade the party deliver their 
 purses and all they had about them of va- 
 lue, threatening speedy dea h delayed they 
 a moment in doing his bidding. Had as- 
 sistance not been so near, they woukl have 
 been stripped at once and carried off cap- 
 tive, but the object was to get what booty 
 they could easiest obtain and quickest de- 
 part with. 
 
 Seeing, whichever way they looked, a 
 horrible cut-throat visage peering at them 
 from the further end of a tube, that in a 
 moment or so could put a ball through their 
 heads, without a chance of escape, they took 
 to getting ready what was wanted of them 
 as speedily as was possible. Even Siuion 
 Stockfish was so taken by surprise, he pre- 
 pared to deliver all he possessed, without 
 aiming at a single stroke of policy, either 
 for his worthy master or for himself. 
 
 All at once there came a cry from one of 
 their own party — or rather a shriek of ex- 
 ultation such as a savage Indian might be 
 supposed to make at the sight of an enemy 
 in his power, and, turning to whence it 
 came, how greatly did they marvel at see- 
 ing the aged seaman whom they had taken 
 from the Pink to help them in the ascent, 
 leap before them with all the quickness of a 
 deer, and armed only with a long knife, con- 
 front the captain of the bandits. The re- 
 cognition was evidently natural — a cry of 
 terror, involuntarily as it were, burst from 
 the lips of Zingano, better known to the 
 reader as Black Sampson, as he heard the 
 cry of " Blood ! blood !" hissed into his 
 ears. He saw at a glance that the eyes 
 which were piercing through him were 
 those of the old shepherd, whose gallant son 
 he had so ruthlessly slain. 
 
 With a mighty effiirt he suddenly sought 
 to nerve himself for a deadly encounter with 
 his remorseless pursuer, and swaying witli 
 his vigorous arm by the end of the barrel, 
 the weapon he held in his hand, he sought 
 to crush him at a blow. Ere it descended, 
 however, the shepherd had leapt upon him, 
 and his knuckles were at his throat : then 
 commenced a most fearful struggle — not 
 only from the deadly rage which animated 
 the breasts of each with equal degree, but 
 10 
 
 from the perilous place in which the conflict 
 was carried on. 
 
 They stood only within a few feet of the 
 spouting gulf of fire, the intense heat of 
 which became hardly possible to breathe in, 
 ;ind for their footing they had a loose soil 
 of cinders and lava that crumbled at the 
 slightest tread. Nevertheless, each looked 
 only to his enemy, thought only of his ene- 
 my, and in such looking and tliinking had 
 but one object — his quick and utter destruc- 
 tion. No weapons were used, there was no 
 time to employ them ; it appeared as though 
 the first thing sought was by mere strength 
 to overpower the other, and then dispatch 
 him. 
 
 The old shepherd had got a good grip, 
 and he held on like grim death. The ban- 
 dit put forth every muscle to free himself, 
 but with little avail, and his companions 
 would readily have put a bullet through his 
 antagonist, did not tlie constant twisting and 
 turning of the combatants make a sure aim 
 impossible. Some would have come to their 
 captain's assistance, but the leJge where 
 they stood was so narrow, from a part of it 
 having just given way, that another could 
 not get there without incurring a very hor- 
 rible risk, and they also thought that the 
 old man was not strong enough to be a fit 
 match for their famous leader. 
 
 Apparently without knowing it, they 
 were gradually nearing the brink of the 
 crater, the ashes sunk beneath their pres- 
 sure, and fragments of the ledge continued 
 to break off, and fall into tiie fiery mass 
 now boiling and raging so av\'fuliy near 
 them. Still neither relaxed in his endeavors 
 — neither thought of the horrors of his posi- 
 tion. Each had contrived to gt^t one arm 
 fixed as in a vice round the other's waist, 
 and the gipsy was intent on drawing the 
 other away from the grasp it had, to seize 
 a weapon ; but to keep such advantage ;is 
 he had, he whs fain to hold on and continue 
 his fierce struggling and wrestling. At 
 last, with the quickness of lightning, he 
 snatched the dagger from his girdle ; b.it in 
 the very act of uplifting it, he was carried 
 off his feet by a tremendous exertion of the 
 old man, who, with a fierce siiriek of horri- 
 ble laughter, leapt with him in his arms in- 
 to the boiling flood. 
 
 The horror-struck spectators saw them 
 disappear, and the next instant they rose a 
 whitened shapeless mass in the midst of an 
 enormous spout of boiling lava, that rose 
 like a fiery torrent into the sky — then they 
 fell back, and in a thought became indistin- 
 guishably commingled with the flaming in- 
 gredients in that terrific caldron. 
 
146 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 By this time the escort liad approaclicil 
 so near, tiiat the companions of Zingano, 
 terrified by the spectacle they had witness- 
 ed, disappeared as speedily as they conld, 
 but not without one or two shots being fired 
 at them, which, however, it is believed did 
 no great damage. Tiio travellers had seen 
 enough of tiie burning mountain, and no 
 one seemed disinclined to resist the wishes 
 of the leader of tiie party to get back to Na- 
 ples, before a change in the wind made 
 their fate scarcely less terrible than that 
 of the murderer and the avenger of his 
 
 CrL\PTER XXIII. 
 
 His countenance was a civil war itself, 
 And ail his host had standing in their looks 
 The paleness of the death that was to come. 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 It was about the midwatch, in a serene 
 night, a gallant pinnace might have b-en 
 seen cleaving her way through the waves 
 of that highroad to great adventures, com- 
 monly called the Spanish Main. To a sail- 
 or's eye, she was as fair a craft to look on 
 as might be seen anywhere on the wide 
 ocean, bravely appointed with warlike 
 stores, and manned with a valiant company 
 of daring adventurers, most of whom were 
 as careless of life as though, in their esti- 
 mation, it was not worth a pin's fee. A 
 famous sight was it to see the good ship, 
 " The Little Wolf," careering over the 
 foaming billows that ofttimes raised their 
 huge crests as though to topple her down 
 headlong — in sooth, it was an admirable 
 goodly sight : yet there were some persons 
 to be met with who misliked it hugely ; 
 they could not hear the gallant pinnace so 
 much as named without being terribly 
 moved, and to get sight of her, no matter 
 how strongly furnished they might be for 
 war, they instantly fell into a deadly fear. 
 These were no other than the Spaniards 
 inhabiting those coasts, or had occasion to 
 voyage in those seas ; and the reason of 
 their monstrous fear was, that this same 
 ship was known far and near amongst them 
 as the terriblest scourge to all of their coun- 
 try the liveliest imagination could conceive. 
 The crew were looked upon as a sort of 
 roaring devils, and their captain it was 
 thought could be no other than the arcli- 
 fiend himself. Since she had first appeared 
 on that coast, it was wonderful tiie damage 
 she had brought upon them ; the strongest 
 places and the powerfullest sliips were of 
 
 no avail against the unnatural fierce valor 
 of those on board of her : they were storm- 
 ed and sacked in an incredible short space 
 of time, and those who attempted ojiposition 
 greviously hurt, or slain outright. 
 
 This ca])tain was known on the coast as 
 " the devil-Englishman," England having 
 been his birthplace, as it was reported, but 
 it was more generally believed he was a 
 native of a much warmer place rumor de- 
 scribed after divers horrible fashions ; some 
 giving out that he was infinitely beyond the 
 ordinary stature of man, with a wild inhu- 
 man countenance, the nostrils whereof had 
 been seen to breathe fire, as several credit- 
 able witnesses could testify, and that he 
 was of a most savage appetite, loving to 
 pamper his delicate stomach on nothing so 
 much as a new-born babe, carefully barba- 
 cued over a gentle fire, or tit-bits from a 
 young virgin, daintily done in their own 
 gravy. 
 
 That he had cloven feet there seemed not 
 to be any dispute — nay, there was a certain 
 priest who, in the midst of a most moving 
 sermon touching the identity of the arch- 
 enemy with this terror of the Spaniards, 
 did avouch most solenmly that, when a 
 prisoner on board the dreaded ship, he once 
 came upon the devil-Englishman suddenlj', 
 and found him paring his hoofs, and, as 
 undeniable proof of what he stated, he im- 
 mediately produced to his fear-struck audi- 
 tors a portion of the infernal paring he had 
 then and there secreted. 
 
 Much more of these awful accounts 
 found ready credence in those parts ; but, 
 although in some points they were exceed- 
 ing contradictory, as regards the courage 
 of the individual to whom they related, 
 there seemed but one voice. Nothing could 
 withstand his fierceness : he swept all be- 
 fore him, no matter how great the force, or 
 how strong the defences, the whilst no hos- 
 tile weapon or destructive missile had pow- 
 er to do him the least injury. Many a se- 
 rious Spaniard had beheld a bullet drop to 
 the ground, having been flattened upon his 
 person ; and more than one goodly rapier 
 was shewn, the edge whereof quite turned 
 from having been forcibly thrust against 
 him. 
 
 Of his first appearance in those seas 
 there were various legends ; but the best 
 informed seemed to take on themselves to 
 say that he began to war against them as a 
 person of little or no authority, yet that his 
 terrible furious courage soon raised him 
 above his associates. From a small com- 
 mand he quickly rose to a greater, and had 
 been wont latterly to come upon thera with 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 147 
 
 from one to five or six large ships, well 
 equipped with all manitions of war, and 
 with valiant and skilful crews, that took 
 all vessels coming in their way, attacked 
 the towns and villages upon the coast, and 
 plundered them of v/hatever of value they 
 possessed that could be carried away, spoil- 
 ing them, and doing them such intolerable 
 mischiefs, the like had not been heard of in 
 the memory of man. 
 
 The men who joined in this warfare were 
 known in that part of the world by the name 
 of buccaneers, from the manner of curing 
 their meat ; and the chief of these, or at 
 least the most famous amongst their leaders, 
 was now this terrible tierce captain. It was 
 said that they were no better than pirates, 
 making war without any authority, save 
 their own desperate inclinations ; but, let 
 them be what they would, it is certain they 
 were a monstrous evil to the Spaniards in 
 those seas, against whom, in especial, they 
 were exceedingly implacable. 
 
 They were people of many countries ; 
 but principally English, Dutcli, Portuguese 
 and Moors, of tiie most adventurous and 
 fearless sort the world contiined, who took 
 to the high seas as a road to fortune ; and, 
 though they were ever in a con.>tant ])eril 
 of their lives, they, for the most part, man- 
 aged to amass great riches, with which they 
 that escaped after many years' fighting with 
 their enemies, returned to their several 
 countries, and were ever after looked upon 
 as persons of worship. 
 
 These buccaneers would appear in the 
 Spanish Main with sometimes one, some- 
 times more ships ; and, making a landing at 
 some place on the coast, where they knew 
 beforehand they were like to get, with a few 
 hard knocks, good sti>re of plunder, they 
 would steal upon the inhabitants when they 
 least expected thein, and, slaying all who 
 made opposition, take all the gold and silver, 
 and other precious stuff they could lay hand 
 on, and, when they had obtained all they 
 could, would get on board and sail away. — 
 Perchance they would meet ships of the Spa- 
 niards of equal or greater force ; but these 
 they would attack, and, in an incredible short 
 space, get the better of. 
 
 Such was the marvellous courage on 
 which they entered upon their most desper- 
 ate enterprises, it seemed as though there 
 was no resisting them. On land or at sea, 
 attacking the strongest towns or the biggest 
 ships, they so rarely failed of destroying and 
 spoiling their adversary, that many of the 
 terrified Spaniards looked upon them as 
 leagued with the powers of darkness, and 
 did utter or give credence to the strange 
 
 tales concerning them and their captain, 
 such as hath awhile since been mentioned. 
 
 It was on an expedition of this sort that 
 the good ship, " the Little Wolf," was now 
 pursuing her course. She had sailed in 
 company with two smaller vessels from the 
 general place of assembling of these adven- 
 turers in the Western Indies, but had been 
 separated from them in a tremendous storm, 
 which drove her at the mercy of the winds, 
 day and night, till the crew were nigh spent 
 with watching and labor. Moreover, the 
 water and provision were found to run short, 
 which greatly increased the discontent. Of 
 buccaneers, the common sort were, by rea- 
 son of their riotous, disorderly habits, not ea- 
 sily kept in any sort of discipline, and any 
 mischance or reverse of fortune they took 
 so ill, that it was only by great heedfulness 
 on the part of their appointed officers, they 
 could be held in proper siibjpction. 
 
 In the case of the Little Wolf tliey were 
 horribly dissatisfied every one of them : they 
 had been so tossed about, they had lost their 
 reckoning ; none knew for certain where 
 they were, yet many presumed to find fault 
 with the course they were steering, and 
 murmurs, and even threats, were heard 
 amongst the most turbulent. Their captain 
 they knew to be a thorough seaman, and as 
 brave a leatler as brave men ever fought un- 
 der ; nevertheless, they were not wanting, 
 some amongst them who looked upon his 
 rule as intolerable, ;ind were for any change 
 by which they fancied they could in any way 
 better themselves. Their captain was strict, 
 keeping every man to his duty, and punish- 
 ing sharply the slightest disobediency. This 
 fretted their proud stomachs monstrously, 
 especially those who were not of his nation. 
 They could not endure such sharp handhng, 
 and seemed only to wait for an opportunity 
 to put an end to it. 
 
 It was under such circumstances that the 
 ship was proceeding on her way, as hath 
 been described at the commencement of this 
 chapter. The watch had been set, and in 
 general all seemed f lir and orderly, save ever 
 and anon a burst of riotous merriment would 
 break forth from the forecastle, where it was 
 evident enough, of all conscience, a numer- 
 ous party of the crew were entertaining 
 themselves, after their own rough fashion. 
 On the main deck, as far as possible from 
 the hearing of the revellers, two boys were 
 sitting together away from close scrutiny on 
 one of the guns. They spoke in a low voice, 
 and, as it seemed, in a manner especially sa- 
 voring of confidence. 
 
 " Nay, I like not this seafiiringlife, Mar- 
 tin," said one, who, out of all doubt, was no 
 
148 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 other than our especial ncqniuntancn, lazy 
 Laiince, tlie riiimway a|)|)rfiitic'e of Tabiilia 
 Thatchpole, and his coiii|)anioa was his 
 sworn fellow and loving friend, Martin Poins, 
 his opposite neighbor. Neither kjoked the 
 better for their rash embracing of that wild, 
 adventurous life they had adopted — the one 
 from inij atience of the hard rule of his se- 
 vere mistress, the other that he n)ight siiare 
 the fortunes of his sworn lover. Hearing 
 there was a ship of war lying in the Thames, 
 which it was rumored was about to sail for 
 the Spanish Main, where her captain had 
 already greatly signalized himself by his 
 valor and seamanship, they got on board, 
 volunteered to serve the captain, and, being- 
 approved of by him, they had been ever since 
 sharply employed learning to tiltil the duties 
 of a sailor. 
 
 " I like not this seafaring life. Martin. It 
 jumpeth not with my humor at all," said 
 Launce, with marvellous seriousness " I 
 wish very heartily I were well back again 
 in Golden Lane. The cuffs and ratings I 
 got of that old cat atFordod fair entertain- 
 ment, in comparison with the intolerable 
 climbings aloft for the bending of sails or 
 some other villanous hard work, and the 
 constant fear of my life I am in through the 
 terrible furious storms we have had since 
 we left the Thames. Though I had in Bar- 
 bican such monstrous abundance of hard- 
 ships and ill-usage as ever poor 'prentice 
 endured, I had on an occasion no lack of 
 good sport, but in the horrible case in which 
 I am now tossed like a cat in a blanket, on 
 the Spanish Main, there are no tailors at 
 hand to play tricks upon, or constables of 
 the watch, or old women, or stray pigs, to 
 have any proper diversion with, or dogs or 
 cocks to set a fighting. There are no late 
 passengers to pelt privily from the window 
 as they pass unsuspecting along the street, 
 nor a chance of a stolen game of bowls as 1 
 go of an errand ; and, as for a delectable 
 draught of tickle-brain to comfort one's-self 
 withal, 1 have as clean lost sight of such a 
 thing, as though such good liquor had vanish- 
 ed out of the world." 
 
 "A hard case, o' my life!" exclaimed 
 Martin Poins, very gravely. " Were I you, 
 I would no longer put up with such grie- 
 vous losses, but straightway be quit of the 
 good ship and her company, and walk my- 
 self off." 
 
 " Ah, there's the horrible mischief of it," 
 said the other, in an exceeding lamentable 
 tone. " I am like a pig in a pound ; — I 
 must e'en stay where 1 am, whether I will 
 or no." 
 
 " Doubtless !" answered his associate, 
 drily. 
 
 " If it should be my good hap to get bnck 
 to Golden Lane," added Launce, with a pro- 
 digious show of sincerity, " i promise you 
 you shall not catch me on board a ship of 
 any sort, come what will on't." 
 
 " Dost remember the famous words yon 
 gave utterance to when you sought me to 
 join with you in this adventure ?"' inquired 
 Martin. " How hugely you comforted your- 
 self with the great store of gold you were 
 to gain by your assisting in taking of some 
 SpHuish galleon, and how gallantly you 
 would conduct yourself in every desperate 
 enterprise, till you had raised yourself to be 
 a great captain, and how you would marry 
 some king's daughter at the least, when k 
 suited you, and in good time succeed to his 
 wealth and kingdom ? Dost remember " 
 
 " Body o' me, I am in no humor of remem- 
 bering of anything," cried his friend, impati- 
 ently. " But, as for Spanish galleons, I wish 
 not lor their acquaintance, for I am told they 
 are armed with guns, that do terrible exe- 
 cution when they are let off; and that the 
 Spaniards we are so intent on spoiling 
 have a villanous way with them of putting 
 to death ail of our nation that fall into their 
 hands. Methinks they and their goods are 
 best let alone. For mine own part, I regard 
 them with no malice, and care to do them 
 no injury. But, hush, what choice singing 
 is this?" 
 
 The two young men listened attentively, 
 and they distinctly heard, in a fine, manly 
 voice, tolerably familiar to them already, the 
 verses which are here set down : 
 
 THE BUCCANEER'S SONG. 
 Come, seek with me the bhishing girls 
 
 That India's spicy islands hold ; 
 Where ev'ry stream doth brim witli pearls. 
 
 And ev'ry rock doth burst with gold : 
 And where soma overladen tree, 
 
 Holds low its store of j^urple berry — 
 Their charms shall j^rove our argosie, 
 
 And there we'll feast and live right merry 
 
 You paler beauties of the south 
 
 May serve to grace a gallant's feast, 
 Who's tasted not the luscious mouth 
 
 We find within the burning East. 
 Love there a draught more sweet secures, 
 
 Than gascon, muscadine, or sherry : 
 Then make the bounteous vintage yours, 
 
 Tlicre take your fill, and be right merry ! 
 
 " Doth not that, move you ?" asked Mar- 
 tin Poins, as soon as the singer had come 
 to a halt. 
 
 " 'Tis an exquisite song, o' my life," re- 
 plied Launce, " and I have heard many sucli 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 149 
 
 from the same singer ; yet I like him not, 
 Martin." 
 
 " i\or do I,"' said the other, with more se- 
 riousness than lie h;id yet aff 'cted. " I 
 know not what he may have been before he 
 soui;ht iiis fortune in tliis ship ; but tliere 
 seem, th to be that in him which smacks of 
 a better condition. Nevertheless, I like him 
 none the better fur it, for I much doubt his 
 honesty. I have seen him laying himself 
 out very craftily to catch the voices of the 
 worst-disposed of the crew, particularly af- 
 fecting the foreigners. I cannot help fan- 
 cying he harbors some ill design ; for I like 
 not the manner 1 ever find him in corners 
 holding converse with all who are known to 
 be dissatisfied with the voyage." 
 
 " I have heard it said, and very roundly 
 too, the captain is much to blame," observed 
 Launce. 
 
 "And so have I, many times," answered 
 Martin. "But, as far as I can learn, from 
 the best informed in such matters, nothing 
 bitter could have been done in such stormy 
 weather as we have had, anJ I hugely sus- 
 pect these grumblings arc produced only by 
 envy and j -alousy, and the like evil passions 
 in they wiio are di.-^contented.'" 
 
 "Hush, surely this is him coming this 
 way !" exclaimed the other ; " and he being- 
 to-night captain o' the watch, may chance 
 not be well pbased to find us loitering here. 
 Let us hide till he has passed " 
 
 There happened to be thrown over the 
 gun a large piece of sail-cloth, to which 
 some repairs had been made during the diiy, 
 and not having been hnislied, it had there 
 been left until it could be thoroughly mended. 
 Under this, Launce and his friend, as quickly 
 as they could, disappeared. 
 
 They had scarcely done so when two men 
 were seen approaching .slowly towards the 
 place,engaged in deep and earni'st discourse. 
 One was an Englishman, a tall fellnw of his 
 his hands, with somewhat of a slouching gait 
 and with an exceeding dissolute look. Donbt- 
 le.ss, this was the person to whom alliisiou 
 had just been made. The one with whom 
 he was in company was evidently a Moor, 
 by his complexion and apparel, ills yellow 
 eye-balls seemed to gain additional ghastli- 
 ness in the moonlight, and then^ was trea- 
 chery in every line of iiis swarthy features. 
 He was, like his companion, a proper fellow 
 of his inches, and of an exceeding powerful 
 frame. To look at the countenances of these 
 two, and notice the earnest maimer of their 
 discoursing, the understanding observer 
 might ivadily have suspected something 
 unusually damnable and treacherous ; and 
 Buch suspicions would soon have received 
 
 strength through a little attention to their 
 discourse. 
 
 " 1 tell thee, Abdallah, the plot cannot fail," 
 observed the Englishman, in a low voice, 
 as he approached the hiding-p'ace of the 
 runaway apprentice and his friend ; and 
 these were the first words they heard, but 
 they caught much of what followed, the 
 conspirators continuing to pace up and down 
 close to them on the moon disappearing be- 
 hind a cloud — " I have got over all but my 
 countrymen, and I can easily secure them 
 also, when they discover there is at least 
 three to one against them. But there is one 
 thing, without which our chance of success 
 will be little, even with all the advantages 
 we possess." 
 
 " Let thy slave know thy pleasure in this 
 matter," answered the Moor, •' and doubt not 
 it .shall be as thy heart desireth." 
 
 "'I'he captain must be made away with 
 before any thing else is attempted," said the 
 other. " I know thy great courage, Abdal- 
 lah, and have that confidence in thy discre- 
 tion, I can entrust this important business 
 Oiily to tfiy sure hand." 
 
 '■ I have already settled the proper execu- 
 tion of it, O Compton," replied Abdallah. " I 
 have bo planned, that I can readily enter his 
 cabin when he sleeps — my trusty blade will 
 do the rest." 
 
 '■' Good ; but when can this be accomplish- 
 ed ?" inquired Compton. " The plot is 
 ripe; I would not have a moment lost. — 
 Let us burst forth before any smell it out. 
 I would have it done this night — ay, this 
 minute, — if within the warrant of possibi- 
 lity." 
 
 '• Such is thy slave's design," replied Ab- 
 dallah. " Our great captain shall meet his 
 death, in his first sleep, this night." 
 
 " 'J'hat is well thought of, Abdallah. I 
 like the plan on 't marvellously," said his 
 companion. " The other officers we can 
 dispose of more at our leisure ; but prythee, 
 noble friend, take good heed he esf^ape not. 
 Remember, thou art to be my lieutenant, 
 and that a life of sweetest enjoyment, with 
 exlriustless hoards of Spnnish gold, await 
 us when we have got possession of this 
 ship." 
 
 " By the beard of the prophet, I swear to 
 thee, he shall die !" answered the Moot. 
 
 Launce listened with very different feel- 
 ings to those of Martin, though both youths 
 were horribly astonished at the treachery 
 thus laid open to them. The one felt as 
 though he dared scarcely breathe, and trem- 
 bled from liead to foot; but the ether, though 
 greatly alarmed with the immiu'iicc of the 
 danger, was anxious to make some effort 
 
150 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to prevent it. To issue from his conceal- 
 ment, he knew wonld insure certain death, 
 if discovered. The arcli-conspirators woidd 
 not Iiesitate to slay one who had pot posses- 
 sion of their \illanons secrets ; and to remain 
 where he was would he to prevent all possi- 
 bility of an alarm being given in time to 
 prevent the approacliing massacre. 
 
 Not an instant was to be lost. Whisper- 
 ing to Lannce to remain quiet till his return, 
 Martin soltly took oil" his shoes ; then, when 
 he knew, by the retreating footsteps, that 
 the backs of' the conspirators were towards 
 him, he raised the sail-cloth, and crept away 
 i'rom it very cautiously across the path they 
 would make in returning. When he thought 
 they had got their usual distance, he lay 
 quier, and endeavored to still the violent 
 beating of his heart. This was the critical 
 moment. Jt was too dark to distinguish ob- 
 jects at a little distance ; but, should the 
 moon appear wliilst the conspirators were 
 approaching, he could not fail of being de- 
 tected. 
 
 He waited in an agony of suspense. — 
 Suddenly tiiey both stopped, and he felt as- 
 sured all was over with him. To his great 
 relief, they did not cease talking, and he 
 heard, with a terrible distinctness, some of 
 the details of the murders that were about 
 to be acted. At last they continued their 
 paces, evidently too intent on their treason 
 to notice iiis closeness to tliem. As soon as 
 their backs were fairly turned, he again 
 commenced creeping on all-fours, and so 
 continued, stopping when they approached, 
 and cautiously proceeding when they re- 
 treated, till he had got himself out of dan- 
 ger. 
 
 In the meantime, Lannce lay quaking for 
 very fear. Ho would have given all he was 
 worth in the world, and all he was like to 
 be, from that time forward — his hopes of the 
 galleon, of being a great captain, and of 
 marrying a king's daughter into the bargain 
 — only to have been safe on his accustomed 
 pallet, in the well-remembered chamber in 
 Tabitha Thatchpole's homely dwelling. 
 
 How bitterly he lamented his folly in 
 quitting such a delectable spot as he now 
 looked on it, and so sweet a mistress as he 
 now considered the very shrewish Tabitha, 
 to be in daily risk of drowning, escaping 
 which he stood in hourly fear of having his 
 throat cut ! He could have cried with vex- 
 ation, had ho not been well aware that tiie 
 slightest noise might betray him ; and then 
 — he tremb i'd from head to foot, and dared 
 not think 01 the peril he was in. 
 
 He mai veiled greatly that Martin Poins 
 had left him. and entertained intolerable 
 
 fears that it might lead to tlie discovery of 
 his concealment — and there he lay crouched 
 up, like a frozen snake, expecting the very 
 horriblest deaths in every creak of the cord- 
 age or whisile of the wind, that sounded 
 louder than ordinary. 
 
 The two conspirators appeared to have 
 much to say, ere they could settle their 
 plans to their liking — they agreed that the 
 time for action had arrived, and that the mu- 
 tiny should break out forthwith. 
 
 The massacre of the captain and his offi- 
 cers was to be followed by an attack on 
 those of the English amongst the crew who 
 were not disposed to join tliem, and then the 
 ship's course was to be altered, and a cer- 
 tain town on the American coast, which 
 was believed to be richly furnished and but 
 weakly guarded, was to be surprised, the 
 place sacked, and they who could not ran- 
 som themselves to be put to death ; after 
 which, they were to cruise on that coast 
 till every man was as rich as he wished to 
 be. Then they were to sell the ship and 
 her prizes to the Portuguese, and every one 
 return to his own country, or wherever else 
 he liked, to enjoy his gains. At last, they 
 parted — the INIoor going to the captain's ca- 
 bin for the purpose of murdering him with 
 his own hand, and Compton proceeding to the 
 rest of the conspirators to prepare them for 
 immediately commencing the attack on the 
 other officers and men they had determined 
 on getting rid of. 
 
 Launce iieard their retreating footsteps, 
 but he was in so deadly a fear he could not 
 dare to lift up the sail to see if the coast 
 was clear. 
 
 Compton proceeded on his errand. Just 
 then the moon escaped from the clouds 
 which had veiled her glories, and poured a 
 flood of soft light upon the ship and along 
 the waves over which she was so gallantly 
 floating. He glanced a sharp and eager eye 
 around him, and noted the extreme negli- 
 gence of those who kept watch. This au- 
 gured well for his plot, and he smiled exult- 
 ingly, as he saw how unprepared tliose from 
 wiiom he feared any resistance were, lor 
 the fierce encounter which was to wrest 
 the ship out of their hands, to give it into 
 his. 
 
 Tills man had been born in a respectable 
 station, and was not without parts, hut had 
 led so dissolute a life that all his friends 
 had disowned )iim,and, after committing all 
 manner of villanies, he had been lain to go 
 to sea, to escape the hue and cry sot for him. 
 In the present expedition, he had boon al- 
 lowed a small command, bin this served only 
 the greater to excite his huge ambition. — 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 151 
 
 He must needs be first in the enterprise he 
 and his coinpanions were upon, and, to ob- 
 tain this station, he cared not what monstrous 
 crimes he committed. 
 
 He passed on to the forecastle, where se- 
 veral of the conspirators were waiting in 
 expectation of the summons that was to set 
 them at th3 work of slaughter. They ap- 
 peared to be carousing, as if they had no 
 such thoughts in their heads. The English- 
 men had gon3 to their hammocks. This was 
 what they had counted on, and what was 
 wanted for the full success of their infamous 
 designs. They now only waited the appear- 
 ance of their new captain to break out into 
 open mutiny. Compton was seen approach- 
 ing — whereupon all started from the places 
 where they had heen sitting or lying, as the 
 case might be, and hailed him as their cap- 
 tain. 
 
 They were a wald crew — the scum of all 
 nations — each in the manner of dressing 
 that best pleased his fancy, and all variously 
 armed, — lierce, unruly ruffians, that had 
 lived by cutting purses, had abandoned that 
 vocation for the more perilous one of cutting 
 throats, and had t;iken service with their 
 captain from the fame of his bravery and 
 success in all his enterprises. 
 
 " Now, my masters, to our rendezvous on 
 the quarter-deck !" exclaimed Compton, ex- 
 ultingly — " and then a sharp struggle, and 
 the ship is our own." 
 
 " Hurrah for Compton !" answered the 
 mutineers right lustily. " He alone shall 
 be our captain ! — Daath to all who oppose 
 him ! — Away witli the tyrant. Daring ! — 
 Ho, for Spanish gold, and a free life !" — 
 And, with divers other sentences of a like 
 character, in as many different languages, 
 the mutineers rushed in a body towards the 
 quarter-deck, to cut down all who should 
 withstand them, as they sought to take pos- 
 session of the ship ; whilst another body of 
 them, under the command of the Moor, was 
 to murder the oflicers and seize on the ma- 
 gazines. 
 
 On they came, sure of gaining an easy 
 victory over their unsuspecting messmates ; 
 nor did they discover their error till they had 
 made good their footing on the deck, when 
 they were brought to a speedy halt, crowd- 
 ed altogether as they were, by perceiving 
 the Englishmen they believed to be secured 
 under hatches, with the officers tliey had 
 supposed to be murdered, drawn up, well 
 armed, with an evident intention of disputing 
 their further progress. 
 
 In front of them was a figure, beneath the 
 fire of whose eagle eye the stoutest of them 
 quailed. He had not had time to put on his 
 
 doublet, and most of his people were in a 
 like predicament, but all had got arquebuses, 
 or pistolets, or swords, or pikes, or other ser- 
 viceable weapons ; and, though greatly infe- 
 rior to the mutineers in numbers, they w-ere 
 like to make the contest more doubtful than 
 seemed agreeable to any of them. 
 
 The captain stood in front of his faithful 
 followers, his brawny arm bared to his el- 
 bow, with his trusty sword in his hand, and 
 the other clutching a pistolet that was in 
 his belt. His countenance bore, in every 
 line of it, the desperate valor which had 
 carried him in triumph through so many 
 fierce encounters. At his side was Martin 
 Poins, by whose timely warning he had been 
 enabled to make such arrangements for his 
 safety as we have noticed ; and, at a conve- 
 nient distance, Launce might be seen, look- 
 ing to be in no pleasant plight, very desirous 
 of getting out of harm's way, yet not being 
 able to satisfy himself as to where he shoula 
 be as safe as he desired. 
 
 "Why, how now?" exclaimed the cap- 
 tain, tauntingly, as he noticed the surprise 
 the mutineers exhibited. '• By Gog and 
 Magog, but these are fine doings truly, ye 
 inutineering dogs ! Back, every one of ye, or 
 ye shall have no better hammock this night 
 than a shark's paunch is like to afford. — 
 To your duty, knaves !" 
 
 " Down with him !" cried Compton, who 
 hoped, with liis superior force, to bear down 
 all opposition. " Behold, iny masters, we 
 are three to one, as it is, and the Moor will 
 anon come to our assistance." 
 
 " Methinks you are reckoning woefully 
 without your host, ye thrice treacherous vil- 
 lain !" replied bis captain. "Behold him 
 from whom you expect succor !" Compton 
 turned his eyes in the direction the other 
 pointed, and, to his extreme horror, discov- 
 ered tlie body of his fellow-conspirator, Ab- 
 dallah, hanging at the fore-yard-arm. The 
 moon shone full on his features, which were 
 convulsed with agony, so that he presented 
 an awful spectacle. 
 
 Villain as he was, Compton was brave — 
 and, seeing the desperateness of the case, 
 he determined on not being subdned without 
 a struggle. Turning to his followers, 
 amongst whom some w^ere already waver- 
 ing, he cried out amain — " Revenge, my 
 masters ! revenge the noble Moor ! If you 
 wish to "scape his fate, follow me, and the 
 ship is our own. Down with the tyrant ! 
 Ho, for Spanish gold and a free life !"' 
 
 He was answered by a loud cheer, and 
 the mutineers rushed, in a body, on the rest 
 of the crew, who came forward manfully 
 
152 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 with their favorite cry of "A Daring! a' 
 Daring!" and a tierce and terrible tiglit 
 ensued. Tiie c;iptain was attacked at once 
 by Coinpton and two of his foreign associ- 
 ates, powertul knaves, who singly seemed 
 more tlian a match for him ; but one he 
 pis'.oled on the spot, and the other was 
 knocked on the head hy Martin Poins with 
 a heavy a.ve, with which he hiid armed liitn- 
 self. Lelt only with the arch-plotter to deal 
 with, lie set liimsclf lo bring the matter to 
 a sjieedy ending. 
 
 Compton was both strong and valiant, 
 and he fought with t!ie fierceness of a des- 
 perate man, who has set his all upon a cast ; 
 but he had but small chance against so 
 determined a combatant. Whatever might 
 be the degree of credibility attached to the 
 Spaniards' estimation of him, certain is it 
 the terrible Englishman was invulnerable to 
 his present assailant, and in a few short 
 minutes his sword was passed, with fatal 
 effect, through Compton's body. As they 
 had already lo.-t many of tiieir number by 
 the tire which the EiigHsh part of the crew 
 assailed them, both Irom aloft and other 
 advantageous places, directly they com- 
 menced their att ick, the fall of their leader 
 further dispirited the mutineers that they 
 began to give way. 
 
 It was at this critical moment that a 
 voice was heard shouting out from the mast 
 head, " A sail ! a sail !" which appeared to 
 have quite a magical effect on the crew. 
 They desisted from all show of fighting on 
 the instant. Due inquiries were presently 
 made ; and, on its being stated that she was 
 a Spaniard, and like enough to be the very 
 treasure-ship they had been so exceedingly 
 desirous of meeting, one shout of universal 
 obedience to their leader broke forth from 
 them to a man, the mutineers joining in it 
 more lustily than any ; they acknowledged 
 entire submission to his [ileasure, endeavor- 
 ing to excuse themselves for their late crime, 
 on the plea that they had been worked upon 
 by designing villains, who sought to make 
 of them the stepping-stones to their own 
 ambition, and promised, with many signs 
 of repentance, that it they were forgiven 
 their fault they would so conduct themselves 
 against the enemy as should prove they 
 were not unworthy of being commanded by 
 so great a captain. 
 
 Captain Harry Daring saw the politic- 
 ncss of agreeing to their request at such a 
 time ; so, after a brief admonition, and a 
 few sharp speeches showing the enormity 
 of their offences, he bade the wounded to 
 Jjo lookofl to, and the dead to be thrown 
 overboard, but solemnly vowed the Moor 
 
 should hang were ho was, as a token of 
 the di.-igrace of the crew, till they had made 
 prize of the Spanish ship : then he sent 
 them to their several duties. 'J'his mingling 
 of severity and conciliation had its due ef- 
 fect. Every one strove to do his utmost for 
 the pleasuring of his captain ; and few 
 persons, at this moment, called to observe 
 the unanimity and extraordinary diligence 
 exhibited in every part of the ship, could 
 have supposed that a few minutes before it 
 had been the scene of the most desperate 
 mutiny. 
 
 Under the able directions of the captain, 
 assisted by his officers, the good ship, the 
 Little Wolf, was rapidly ajjproaching the 
 Spaniard. At first, those in the latter ap- 
 peared to give themselves no concern, per- 
 chance noticing how greatly superior was 
 their size, or not taking the other to be an 
 enemy ; but when they got closer view of 
 her, and beheld her to be no other than the 
 terrible ship that had already done their 
 nation such huge damage, they set up all 
 their sails, and strove earnestly to escape as 
 speedily as they could. 
 
 The gallant leader of the buccaneers was 
 not of a temper to allow so golden a chance 
 to slip out of his hands, now, after so much 
 watching and travail, he had, as it were, a 
 hold of it ; for out of all doubt, it was the 
 galleon, to intercept which had been the 
 principal object of his expedition. Ho knew 
 her capture would enrich himself and all 
 his followers for life — she was reputed to 
 carry such immense wealth ; therefore he 
 made every preparation, not only to overtake 
 her in her flight, but to attack her, with all 
 his means of offence, as soon as ever he 
 could get within sfiot of her. 
 
 The Spaniard was too heavily laden to 
 be a good sailer, and therefore it was no 
 marvel the smaller and lighter vessel gained 
 upon her rapidly. The decks were cleared 
 for action ; every man was armed with 
 whatever weapons best suited the occasion ; 
 ammunition was served out, the guns were 
 loaded, and the gunners standing by, with 
 matches lighted, to discharge the murderous 
 missiles they contained, and all were on the 
 tiptoe of expectation. 
 
 At this time it was Captain Harry Dar- 
 ing called to him Master Poins, and, after 
 much commendation of him beiTire all his 
 officers for the good service he had rendered 
 them all, presented him with a purse of gold 
 to provide for him in case he should fall in 
 the approaching engagement, and named 
 him to be a junior officer under him, ex- 
 pressing a hope that amongst those whom 
 he had so well served, he would find a 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 153 
 
 friend to realize his good wishes, in case he 
 should be deprived of tiie power of doin^' so 
 himself. Wliereupon all his chief officers 
 readily promised tiiat, should any mischance 
 occur to their captain, whicli he hoped might 
 never be, they would see that Martin Poius 
 was Wfll cared for. 
 
 Thus was Martin already, through his 
 courage and prudence, [laced on the high- 
 road to fortune, whilst Launce looked only 
 to be in a worse case than ever. In the first 
 bruit of an engagement with the galleon, 
 wishing himself cutfod and rated by the un- 
 gentle Tabitha within an inch of his life 
 rather than were he was, lie, unnoticed by 
 any one, stole away, and hid himself in an 
 empty tub in the ship's hold. 
 
 Tue report of the Little Wolfs great guns 
 spoke in a pretty loud voice that the two 
 siiips were getting to be within reacli of 
 each other's shot. This was answered by 
 the great guns of the Galleon, who, seeing 
 they could not get awjy, determined on 
 making what resistance they could, and with 
 their immense superiority in every way it 
 seemed probable to her commander they 
 might su ceed in beating ofi" the buccaneers, 
 or sinking the dreaded vessel with their 
 heavy orJiiance. Tliese discharges soon 
 began lo be very brisk and lierce on both 
 sides, but the Galleon lioating so much high- 
 er in the water than the pianace, her snot 
 usually pitched clean over her, whilst on 
 the contrary, almost every time the buc- 
 caneers lired, the shot wounded her enemy 
 either in the spars or rigyiiig or hull, be- 
 sides doing inhnite miscliief upon her crowd- 
 ed decks. 
 
 The little pinnace all this time came gal- 
 lantly up to her huge enemy, and, after 
 pouring in a destructive broadside, lost no 
 time in grappling with her for the purpose 
 of taking her by boarding. This, however, 
 Was an e.xcceding dithcult matter to accom- 
 plish, the sides of the larger sljip rising up 
 before the other liiie a wall, the decks being 
 guarded by nettings, behind which stood a 
 close array of hostile Spaniards, pouring- 
 down all sorts of heavy missiles, and shoot- 
 ing of their pieces at their assailants as 
 fast as they could load them. 
 
 The sight ot the Moor hanging at the 
 fore-yard-arm struck an extraordinary terror 
 in them, and doubtless, with the terrible 
 reputation of the Devil-Englishman, made 
 their dcfrfnce more weak than it might have 
 been; for when they found tiiat so deadly 
 a fire was kept U|)on them fiom the tops of 
 the Little Wolf, that it brought them down 
 by scores, and that their enemies climbed up 
 to their decks witli the agility and fierceness 
 
 of wild cats, whils others dropped upon them 
 from the over-hanging rigging of their own 
 ship, they began to be monstrously dispirited, 
 and gave way. 
 
 The confusion of Babel was nothing to 
 the uproar which existed in both ship-, the 
 one crowded with grandees of Sjiauiards 
 returning with all their treasure from the 
 new world to the old, inciting by thjir ex- 
 ample and oratory the soldiers that were on 
 board to guard the galleon, to beat back the 
 furious enemy, whilst the other, no less in- 
 tent on makino^ their way, came on shouting 
 of all sorts of wild tumultuous cries and 
 execrations, in divers languages, enough by 
 themselves to daunt the stoutest hearts. 
 Then interspersedly were heard the screams 
 of the women on board the Spanish ship, 
 the groans of the wounded, and thj constant 
 discharge of arquebuses and pistolets mak- 
 ing the most infernal concert that can be 
 conceived. 
 
 At last Harry Daring, supported by a 
 considerable nLimber of his crew, made good 
 his footing on the deck of the galleon. He 
 had in his hand a monstrous battle-axe, 
 which with tremendous force he swung 
 around him, crushing to the earth every 
 Sjjaniard on whom it fell. Many a despe- 
 rate intent was made to bring him down, 
 but the iew who were so fortunate as to 
 survive them fled from before his terrible 
 strokes, crying out to their fellows to save 
 themsflves from the Devil Englishman. A 
 gallant band of Dons, who were evidently 
 made of the best stuti" their country afforded, 
 still kept up a stiff defence, supported by 
 the more courageous of the soldiers. 
 
 " Down with the villain Spaniards !" 
 cried the captain of the buccaneers, with all 
 the energy of his earlier days, as he rushed 
 forward to attack his enemies. 
 
 "A Daring! A Daring!" shouted his 
 men, now every instant increasing in num- 
 bers, as they threw themselves upon the 
 Spaniards. The battle was fierce, but 
 short. The bravest of the Dons were cut 
 to pieces, and the rest fled or surrendered ; 
 and in a few minutes the huge ship With all 
 her treasures became the property of Harry 
 Daring and his crew. 
 
 A curious incident occurred during the 
 hottest part of the engagement — tlie body of 
 tiie Moor suddenly disapfieared, and no one 
 knew where or how ; but divers had slirewd 
 suspicions, a person reputed to be of a like 
 color with him had come and claimed his 
 own ; nevertheless, I incline to the opinion 
 that he was shot away by some of the great 
 onln.iiice and fell into the sea. 
 
 Tiie wealth found in the galleon exceed- 
 
154 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ed the conquerors' expectations. Inpots of 
 gold and bars of silver, with heaps of coin 
 and plate be^'ond all couiitiiij^, and bags of 
 pearls and otiicr precious stones, together 
 witii an incalculable abundance of the most 
 .costly merchandize, apjieared before them 
 till the eye marvelled there should be such 
 wondrous store of riches in the world. This 
 was all taken from the galleon and placed 
 in the pinnace, after which the former was 
 allowed to proceed on her voyage. A divi- 
 sion of tlie booty soon afterwards took place, 
 to the monstrous satisfaction of every one 
 of the crew of the Little Wolf. As Launce 
 had disappeared, it was supposed he had 
 fallen in the contest; when, whilst his fast 
 friend Martin, who had behaved himself 
 very stoutly throughout the fight, was la- 
 menting his supposed loss, he crept from 
 his concealment so privily no one knew he 
 had been there, and now all danger was 
 over, took care to make it believed he had 
 distinguished himself amongst the Spaniards 
 in a terrible heroical manner. 
 
 Of the gallant Harry Daring let it suffice 
 here to say, that he continued to be the 
 greatest scourge to the Spaniards they had 
 ever known, spoiling them of their sub- 
 stance, and overthrowing all their arma- 
 ments, whether on land or on sea. Indeed, 
 after the taking of the treasure-ship, his re- 
 putation as " The Devil-Englishman" was 
 more tierce than before. Amongst his own 
 men, he grew to be in such extraordinary 
 estimation, he had soon several ships and 
 some thousands of followers of all nations 
 desirous of being led by him, and- there 
 never after was any thing in the shape,of a 
 mutiny attempted by any one of them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A sweeter swan than ever sung in Po — 
 A shriller nightingale than ever blest 
 The prouder groves of self-admiring Rome. 
 'I'Hi; Return from Parnassus. 
 
 She who tamed the world tamed herself at 
 last, and, falling under her own weight, fell a 
 prey to time. James Howell. 
 
 Who that hath either heart or brain can 
 walk unmoved among the vestiges of fallen 
 greatness that attract attention on every 
 side of that city of cities, that birthplace of 
 noble soldiership, that cradle of honorable 
 freedom, that home of classic learning, that 
 seat of omnipotent majesty, that altar of 
 true religion ; the feared, the honored, the 
 condemned, the classical, the venerable 
 
 Rome ? Who can see her crumbling baths, 
 ner mined temples, her tottering aqueducts, 
 her prostrate monuments, her shattered am- 
 phitheatres, and her desolate, silent, and 
 choked-up forums, without calling to mind 
 the greatness that liath passed away ? 
 What a marvellous story is here writ ! ay, 
 and what pregnant characters compose the 
 writing 1 — they are your true hieroglyphics, 
 whereof one hathMie meaning of a volume. 
 
 Here you shall have a whole host of re- 
 collections of the infant colony strucrolincr 
 with its neighbors for a mere existence. 
 There you shall gather as goodly a crop of 
 memories from the Imperial City that gave 
 conquerors and laws to all the world. In 
 one place the mind is crowded with augurs, 
 vestal virgins, sacrifices, incense, and 
 hymns, and all the impressive worship 
 which of old was offered up to that more 
 powerful than creditable assemblage yclept 
 the gods and goddesses ; in another it finds 
 room for no less numerous a company of 
 lictors, centurions, praeters, conscript fathers, 
 orators, philosophers, and poets, and all, 
 whether of the patrician or plebeian class, 
 that belonged to the intelligence of the 
 Seven Hided City in its palmy days. 
 
 Here comes a gigantic memento of its 
 gladiatorial barbarousness, there an endm*- 
 ing sign of its Apician refinement. One 
 instant brings before us the peaceful luxury 
 of an Augustus, another the brutal d^'sim- 
 tism of a Nero. We behold in every thing 
 presented to us a series of the noblest spec- 
 tacles the world ever saw. The joyful city 
 witnessing an ovation ; the infant republic 
 forcibly carrying ofi" from a neighbor st ite 
 such women as suited them for wives ; the 
 slaughter of Csesar in the capitol ; Coriola- 
 nus prevented by his domestic affections 
 from leading the Volscians against his un- 
 grateful city ; Cincinnatus called from the 
 plough to lead the armies of his country 
 against the enemy; and Belisari us, blind 
 and old, begging iiis bread amongst those 
 whose safety his talents and his courage 
 had secured. 
 
 These are but a few of the rallying places 
 that, upon some remembrancer starting up 
 — as could not be avoided, wander where 
 you might — gave occasion for a busy 
 throng of associations to tike exclusive pos- 
 session of the mind. But these are such 
 as most prominently and frequently came 
 before the imagination of Master Shaks- 
 peare in his rambles with his beloved charge 
 in this antiqiu:; city. In particular, he dwelt 
 with exceeding interest on the story of the 
 exiled Coriolanus, lingered over the tragic 
 late of the noble Cajsar, referred to tlic 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 165 
 
 magnificent follies of the enamored Marc 
 Antony witii the seductive Cleopatra, and 
 recalled the moving history of the haugbcy 
 Tarquin and the abused Lucrece, as though 
 lie were never weary of having tll^m 
 brought under his consideration. 
 
 And on these subjects would he dilate to 
 his young companion with an eloquence so 
 winning, that the usually indifferent youth 
 gave him all his attention, and appeared to 
 feel almost as much interest for what he 
 heard as he was sure to exhibit did a pret- 
 tier face than ordinary come within sight 
 of him, or there looked to be a horse-race, 
 a religious procession, a mountebank, or 
 any public sport or show that promised 
 something new or marvellous. 
 
 Though my Lord of Pembroke's heir did 
 not lack ability, he was strangely delicient 
 in steadines- ; and, notwitiistanding the in- 
 tinite painstaking of his worthy governor 
 that, in the strange cities they visited, he 
 should see all that was commendable, and 
 know all concerning them that was worth 
 the hearing, h3 would frequently give him 
 the slip ; and there was bi;t too good reason 
 for believing he would at that time be de- 
 voting his attention to objects the least like- 
 ly to afford him any wholesome knowledge. 
 
 As his person and countenance were sin- 
 gularly well favored, and he dre-sed as 
 became his birth, wherever he went, there 
 was sure to h?. divers persons anxious to 
 have him in their company, wiiose society 
 could confer upon him l.ttle credit. There 
 had been already more than sufficient evi- 
 dence that the handsome English youth had 
 a-tracted the attention of many beautiful 
 signoras, who had the reputation of being 
 as kind as fair ; and at Naples the watch- 
 ful governor had observed sufficient of the 
 willingness of his charge to meet their ad- 
 vances, to make him hurry away with him 
 to Rome. 
 
 Though the earnest affection with which 
 Master Shakspeare regarded him, from cer- 
 tain deep and powerful causes, might have 
 led him to look on his faults with extreme 
 leniency, the promise he had given to the 
 noble lady, whose vowed servant he was, 
 made him exceeding urgent in the proper 
 discharge of his duty ; and, fearing he 
 might, if not properly cared for, fall into 
 the hands of some base adventurers, whose 
 fair visage and goodly person were always 
 ready to be put out to pawn at most usu- 
 rious interest, whereof the penalty was the 
 monstrous infamy of the lender, he was 
 wondroucly anxious to save him from such 
 snares. 
 
 But in this there was a difficulty of a 
 
 kind not easy to be got over. He cared 
 not showing too open an iiiterference with 
 the youth's inclinations, as he knew it was 
 like to bq resented in such a manner — from 
 his grerit pride and high-spiritedness — as 
 would throw an insurmountable obstacle in 
 the V/ay of all further leading of him ; or, 
 governed by the excellent policy which says 
 that " prevention is better than cure," he 
 watched carefully and anxiously to keep 
 out of his way the sort of dangers he had 
 most fear of. 
 
 Rome he tliought less dangerous than Na- 
 ples, where the hearts of its fair inhabitants 
 seemed akin with the combustible stuff on 
 which that gay city is built ; for the monu- 
 ments of antiquity, and the associations 
 connected with them, gave such abundant 
 food for the mind, that there was scarce op- 
 portunity for it to turn for nourishment to 
 those mischievous sources whose complex- 
 ion he so hugely misliked. In this he judg- 
 ed by the influence of the place on himself. 
 
 He had been furnished with letters that 
 insured him all manner of courtesies from 
 the noblest families, and even obtained per- 
 sonal notice from the sovereign pontiff ; but 
 these flattering favors had far less attrac- 
 tion for him tlian a companionship with the 
 mighty spirits whose tombs or favorite 
 haunts he loved to explore. The charms 
 of music and painting were placed before 
 him in such perfectness as he had never 
 known at any other time: but, deeply as 
 his "soul was moved at hearing the won- 
 drous harmonies the Catholic Church so 
 well knows how to use, and, as he stood 
 entranced before the marvellous W(jrks of 
 art which join their mighty forces in the 
 same gorgeous service, to him there was 
 a music far more touching in the pastoral 
 sounds that enriched some of the many 
 lovely landscapes the neighborhood affords, 
 and his eye was fed continually wherever 
 he went, with pictures painted with a truth, 
 a force, and a beauty no mortal painter 
 ever yet could boast of. The song of the 
 herdsman or the muleteer, a chorus of vine- 
 dressers, or the jingle of a rude gittara, to 
 which a score or two of merry feet were 
 tripping it in artless measure, had more 
 charms for him than the sweetest airs of 
 Palestrina ; and a young girl offering her 
 heartfelt devotions befbre a rude statue of 
 the Virgin in one of the public streets, a 
 sunset scene from the terrace of any of the 
 suburban villas, or a moonlight on the Ti- 
 ber, gave him scenes which neither Ra- 
 phael, nor Titian, norall the schools of Italy 
 together, could ever come up to. 
 
 It was in that gigantic ruin, known as 
 
166 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 the Coliseum, that Master Sliakspoare, with 
 his young ciiarge, wore standiufjf, lost, as il 
 were, in utter astonisliineut, with tlie faitli- 
 ful Simon in attendance, who, if one might 
 judge from his looks, Wi.s in as liugo a won- 
 der as either. The sunhght streamrd upon 
 the desolate amphitiicatre. investing its pic- 
 turesque details witii a beauty almost magi- 
 cal to look on. 'I'iie eye of the poet re- 
 garded those broken arches wiih a double 
 consciousness, the actual and the ideal : 
 first it embraced the wondrous picture of 
 desolation they presented — the stains of 
 time, the rank verdure, and the influence of 
 many centuries of neglect, laying on tints 
 and perfecting Ibrms that, combined, gave 
 the image of antiquity in her most majestic 
 garment ; gradually this faded away, and 
 the glorious fragments made one more glo- 
 rious whole ; and the wondrous wreck dis- 
 played a more marvel'ous perfectness. 
 
 Tier above tier became thronged with 
 earnest, anxious countenances, in countless 
 variety and with well-detined grade ; the 
 humble plebeian, the haughty patrician, and 
 every class and dignity, from the most ab- 
 ject of the citizens up to the highest officer 
 of the state — consul or emperor, as the case 
 might be ; whilst below, to whom the uni- i 
 versal gaze was directed, there raged a 
 fierce combat, perchance some of the very 
 savagest denizens of the forest against each 
 other — the fell rhinoceros, the cruel tiger, 
 the raging lion, the terrible hippopotamus, 
 and the majestic elephant ; or mayhap, with 
 one or other of these horrible monsters, a 
 man should be matched, and so he dares 
 the unequal combat, armed only with a 
 short sword, whilst among the multitudi- 
 nous host above there exists an awful si- 
 lence, as deep as that of one in a trance. Or, 
 it may be, public gladiators are set to try 
 their strength and skill, among tnemselvcs, 
 after divers fashions of fighting, and blood 
 flows like water, and there is no lack of 
 gaping wounds, crushed bones, and bruised 
 limbs ; and the shout of the spectators rises 
 like a ourst of mountain thunder, as he who 
 hath the skill or good fortune to survive 
 this monstrous butchery, steps forward ihe 
 acknowledged victor of the day. 
 
 On this fantasy the mind of the poet lin- 
 gered till all sense of existing things seem- 
 ed absorbed, and all attention was concen- 
 trated upon this fearful leaf in the mighty 
 volume ot the past. How deoj-ly his noble 
 heart was touclicd by the outrage on human- 
 ity it so forcibly exhibited, abler pens than 
 mine mu.st seek to show. But to one 
 taught in that most ancient of free schools, 
 nature, tlie humiliating reflections which 
 
 could not but arise from it must have cloth- 
 ed his spirit with a bitterness the natural 
 sft-et'tness of his disposition could scarce 
 render endurable. 
 
 .I'^'or after the exulting mind has been tra- 
 cing the imposing signs and tokens of Ro- 
 man greatness, from what small beginnings 
 a brave and enlightened people became 
 fzreat and free, triumphed over the barba- 
 rian, and, for his loss of freedom he knew 
 not how to keep, conferred the blessings of 
 civilization he would soon learn how to ap- 
 preciate, how terrible is the shock that fol- 
 lows a closer inspection, when it is discov- 
 ered that the cement wliich held tfgetlier 
 these immortal monuments is comj-osed of 
 the blood and tears of tortured and degraded 
 manhood ! Roman freedom, Roman great- 
 ness, Roman glory, raise them on their 
 towering pedestals, and then, behold ! the 
 whole fabric is built up of the basest sla- 
 very, the vilest meanness, and the saddest 
 degradation, that ever weighed down the 
 aspiring soul of man since the gates of 
 Eden were first closed against it. 
 
 On this theme the intelligent mind of 
 Shakspeare was wondrous busy ; and. after 
 he had found sufficient entertainment in the 
 impressions it received, he bLthouglit him of 
 his duty to his young companion, and ad- 
 dressed him in a marvellous moving speech, 
 full of fine scholarship, and finer wisdom, 
 touching the difference of false greatness 
 and true ; and, like another Cicero, he spoke 
 high and Ic'arnedly, distinguishing tlie gen- 
 uine claims the Romans have on the res- 
 pect of posterity for the many signs that 
 have been preserved of a surpassing intel- 
 lect, from the fictitious demands that have 
 been so prouiinently brought forward to 
 obtain an immortal admiration, lor causes 
 purely physical. 
 
 Young Herbert listened as though he had 
 forgot he was my Lord of Pembroke's heir, 
 and, which was of no less consequence, as 
 if he had not seen at Naples an exquisite 
 fair face, that had haunted his young fancy 
 with the glow of a perpetual sunrise. He 
 v\ as not entirely inditierent to the force of 
 classic examples, and the scene and the 
 sentiments that so naturally and Ibrcibly 
 arose out of it touched him somewhat. 
 
 He began to ask questions which, in the 
 result, was like unto one beginning to dig 
 in a soil abounding with treasures, every 
 ellort was so singularly productive of ster- 
 ling truths : and, pleased with his acquisi- 
 tions, he grew more inquisitive and more 
 eager to obtain a greater sum of that profit 
 which was repaying his exertions a hun- 
 dred-fold. Ey his inquiries his governor 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 157 
 
 was led to draw a compirison between 
 heathen and Christian Rome ; between the 
 Cajsars of the one, and the Popes of the 
 other ; between the invincible arms of the 
 Roman warrior, and the abst/liite ascenden- 
 cy of the Romisli priest ; and, in the paral- 
 lel, divers new and striking illustrations 
 were produced. A family likeness seemed 
 to run in the heathen Caesar Caligula and 
 the Holy Catholic Caesar Borgia : a great 
 similitude was showed betwixt the supersti- 
 tions of the classic soothsayer, and those of 
 the Christian dispenser of Indulgences ; 
 and the same love of dominion, which ar- 
 rayed the Roman phalanx against every ap- 
 pearance of independence in othar coun- 
 tries, was proved to be observable in the 
 policy which, from time to lime, influenced 
 the occupant of the papal chair in its rela- 
 tions with foreign states. 
 
 But here the parallel ended, and the most 
 positive contrast commenced. The former 
 trussed to obtain their ascendency over the 
 rest of the world by physical means, and 
 conquered by force of arms ; whilst the lat- 
 ter relied on a moral force only, as a means 
 of subjection, and maintained a despotic 
 sway over every part of the civilized globe 
 by force of opinion. 
 
 Then the speaker went on to show that 
 this opinion, in modern Rome, bore the name 
 of religion, and it was produced in a man- 
 ner best suited to answer its desired end. 
 All things whatsoever that could most at- 
 tract and subdue the senses, either as a 
 source of gratification or one of fear, were 
 jiressed into the service of the successors of 
 the ancient sovereigns of Rome. With 
 this object, art was appealed to as an auxil- 
 iary of the most powerful character ; and the 
 painter, the sculptor, the architect, and the 
 musician, were taught to put forth all their 
 excellences to assist in subduing the Cath- 
 olic world. How ably they fulftlled the pur- 
 port for which they were devoted, it did not 
 require a journey to Rouie to ascertain, 
 though undoubtedly there it might be learn- 
 ed in more perfectness than elsewhere ; and 
 if the Julius Caesars of the pontifical chair 
 had been satisfied with an authority based 
 on such means, they need not have been 
 very harshly condemned ; but they sought 
 to establish a despotism with more ex- 
 ceptionable weapons — the terrible thunders 
 of the V'atican, the dreaded whispers of the 
 Inquisition, torture, injustice, tyranny, and 
 sui)erstition, were employed upon human 
 conscience, as with an intention of binding 
 it forever in the humiliating bonds of credu- 
 lity and ignorance ; and then it became a 
 
 question whether the state of heathenism or 
 Catholicism were the most desirable. 
 
 But, as Master vShakspeare eloquently 
 proved, the parallel became again destroyed. 
 The world grew more enlightened, and con- 
 seqiiently less tolerant of mental bondajre, 
 and each succeeding century found modi-rn 
 Rome lessening its pretensions to a power 
 equal to that which existed in the ancient city; 
 and now it possesses neither mental nor phys- 
 ical energy sufficient ta keep a creditable 
 place among the states of the civilzed 
 world. An emasculated race, who are 
 slaves to the m.ost lamentable ignorance, 
 pride and self-conceit, bear the dreaded 
 name of the Conquerors of Carthage, and 
 if any one individual, to whom it now be- 
 longs, obtaineth any sort of celebrity in for- 
 eign countries, you shall find him no greater 
 character than a bigoted monk, who hath 
 not a thougiit beyond his breviary; a skil- 
 ful limner, whose whole soul is in his paint- 
 pots ; or a fair composer of madrigals, 
 whose highest philosophy is drawn from an 
 exact application of his mi sol re. 
 
 They have lost all that was Roman but 
 the name — valor, glory, and all the nobler 
 qualities of honorable manhood are depart- 
 ed ; and in their place there is nought but the 
 subtlety of the fox and the venom of the ser- 
 pent — a fierce hatred of liberal thoughts and 
 institutions — and the most degrading ob- 
 servance of solemn fooleries, unmeaning 
 self-abasements, and contemptible decep- 
 tions. 
 
 But the utterer of these strictures was of 
 too great a soul to omit the mention of what 
 was in any way of a worthier nature than 
 what hath just been set down, and he did 
 ample justice tu the piety, charity, humility, 
 and wisdom that characterized many of 
 these unwarlike descendents of the heroes 
 of Roman history ; nor did he pass over the 
 merits of those illustrious men who had 
 made Rome the metropolis of art. It can- 
 not be supposed that he vvho was the first 
 and noblest of artists should fail in appre- 
 ciating those ideas of the grand and the 
 beautiful which the Roman painters had 
 expressed in such immortal characters, as 
 in their frequent visits to the most famous 
 galleries and churches of Rome, Master 
 Herbert and his governor had witnessed; 
 far from it — the latter showed how much 
 more Catholic was the religion of Raffaelle 
 than that of Leo ; and how much nearer 
 heaven were the labors of Michael Angelo 
 and Sebastian del Piombo, than were tiiose 
 of the College of Cardinals, or the Society 
 of Jesus. 
 
158 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 If the palette, then, miijlit bo allowed to 
 stand in place of the sword, the painters, at 
 least, were wortiiy of their origin; and if 
 the influence they maintained was peaceful, 
 it was more valuable, pleasing, ennobling, 
 and enduring, than that obtained by their 
 ancestors with so vast a cost of injustice 
 and bloodshed. They admirably upheld the 
 honor of Rome — they had triumphs worthy 
 of rivalry with any which were gloried in 
 throughout the rejoicing streets of the an- 
 cient city — and tliey, be it remembered to 
 their everlasting credit, had no Coliseum. 
 
 This was not uttered without some 
 searching questions from the speaker's com- 
 panion, who seemed to listen with more than 
 ordinary attentiveness and satisfaction ; but 
 the humor was only a little less transient 
 than usual, and as soon as his curiosity was 
 sufficiently gratified, he moved off to where 
 Simon Stockfish was reclining at his ease, 
 diligently employed in providing for imag- 
 inary evils that 7mght visit him, by subtle 
 strokes of policy such as would do credit to 
 the exceeding gravity of his turn of mind, 
 and was soon deeply engaged, with the 
 faithful old servitor, in carrying on some 
 business of his own, as little creditable as 
 profitable. 
 
 Whilst the youth was thus employed, his 
 tutor returned to the luxury of his own 
 tlioughts, which, in the first moment of lei- 
 sure, took the following complexion. 
 
 THE ADDRESS 
 
 OF A FAITHFUL SERVANT IN A FAR-OFF LAND 
 TO A MOST GRACIOUS MISTRESS. 
 
 The ever-rolling seas in vain divide 
 Two separate natures, such as do exist 
 
 In that pure shiine where thy fond wishes hide, 
 And this poor lieart, who hath such 'vantage 
 
 miss'd ; 
 For I thus differ from the egotist, 
 
 Who his dear self in ev'ry thing doth see — 
 
 Whatever I behold is full of tliee. 
 
 Therefore, nor time, nor space, availeth much, 
 Thine image is so constant in mine eyes ; 
 
 For here thou liv'st in ev'ry thing I touch : 
 I meet thy gaze in these ftalian sliies, 
 I hear thee in these glorious harmonies. 
 
 That fill with marvellous praise each holy place, 
 
 And find thy smile on each Madonna's face. 
 
 If from the presence of the Past I turn, 
 And live mid relics of an antique time. 
 
 Where temple, bust, or monumental urn, 
 Bring back the classic ages in all its prime, 
 III glory infinite, in grace sublime ; 
 
 Go where I will, consider what I may. 
 
 Signs of thy nobleness start forth straight-.vay. 
 
 Perchance, some crumbling column rears on 
 high 
 The remnant of a glorious architrave ; 
 Or matchless Torso 'witching every eye. 
 With shape such as God's noblest creatures 
 
 have. 
 Doth my especial wonder seem to crave — 
 Where 'tis most admirable there doth dwell 
 That quality in which thou dost excel. 
 
 But e'en the statue most divinely bright. 
 
 The proudest structure of our proudest days. 
 
 The fiirest picture ofTered to man's siijht ; 
 In brief, whatever marvels art could raise. 
 Can never take one atom from thy praise. 
 
 There is no chance 'gainst such o'erwhelming 
 odds — 
 
 They are man's masterpieces — thou art God's I 
 
 Yet in such perfectness as they possess. 
 For thee they bear triumphant evidence, 
 
 Which in my pleadings, dwelt on more or less. 
 So well establishf'S thine excellence, 
 A verdict for thee must be drawn from 
 thence : 
 
 Making a precedent of such import. 
 
 Who deems it ill should be put out of court. 
 
 How then can I from thee be separate. 
 Did nought express a closer likelihood ; 
 
 But when mine eyes take in thy goodly state. 
 Clothed with the tempting worth of flesh 
 
 and blood, 
 Of thee I am so thoroughly imbued. 
 
 So filled with thy sweet self, in heart and soul. 
 
 We stand confessed a just harmonious whole. 
 
 But were this but a shadowy fantasy. 
 Bred of ih' imagination's rank conceits, 
 
 I should allow it here less readily. 
 
 The understanding no such mockery meets, 
 I see thee not in visionary cheats ; 
 
 Thy honest, tangible, and occular grace, 
 
 Presenis itself before me face to face. 
 
 Seeing thy living image, 1 enjoy 
 
 The profit of thy pleasant neighborhood. 
 
 And ev'ry step of time I do employ 
 In storing up the admirable good 
 Thou dost dispense in such a gracious mood : 
 
 I see thee, hear thee, touch thee, and from 
 thence 
 
 Sight, hearing, touch, assume a threefold sense. 
 
 But who shall set aside fate's stem decree ? 
 
 Zeu-xis his painted grapes poor birds did not 
 More hugely disappoint than thou poor me 
 
 In the fac-simile which thou hast got ; 
 
 Thou irndest me a most unhappy lot ; 
 Like him who sought a goddess, pressed a cloud, 
 I find the robe of Love become his shroud. 
 
 Cold slighting looks, and high and haughty 
 tones, 
 IndilT'rence rude, and careless disrespect, 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 159 
 
 Sharp questions, and some few uncivil ones, 
 And wild extravagances passed uncheck'd — 
 Tenants at will, thai Time will soon eject ; 
 These are but sorry solace for the lack 
 Of that which Memory only can bring back. 
 
 Yet hath that solace some sweet gift withal. 
 Some [ileasaiu power, some profitable end ; 
 
 The contentation it affords is small, 
 
 Still doth it oft a wondrous comfort lend! 
 It speaks of that incomparable friend, 
 
 Whose image charges, wheresoe'er it lies, 
 
 Th' unkindest thoughts with kindliest properties. 
 
 Therefore can never obstacle divide, 
 
 Nor contrary thing oppose, nor time delay. 
 
 The sweet communion that niust now abide 
 All tests, all chance, without change or decay. 
 That betwi.xt thee and Isliall from this day 
 
 Live wheresoever I take up my rest, 
 
 Making the cursedest thing appear most blest. 
 
 One of those gorgeous assemblages of 
 the countless religious orders that throng 
 the Seven Hilled City liad passed througli 
 its chief thoroughfare, witli banners and 
 cruciiixes, and images, and proudly decora- 
 ted prelates, and monks in humbler garb, 
 but not less lofty spirit, and incense-bearers 
 making the air rich with frankincense, and 
 choristers filling it with stately harmony, 
 which occasioned tlie assembling of vast 
 numbers of idle Rotnans and curious stran- 
 gers, who drop[)ed on their knees a.s the pro- 
 cession passed, many of whom affected a 
 marvellous degree of devotion and rever- 
 ence, and others no small extent of surprise 
 and wonder. 
 
 The chanting of the priests was begin- 
 ning to be inaudible in the distance, when, 
 in a certain open space, over which those 
 lioly men had passed, there was formed a 
 circle of the good people who had but a mo- 
 ment since been so greatly edified by the im- 
 pressive spectacle tliat had been presented 
 to them, who were as busily engaged in re- 
 garding tlie graceful attitudes and marvel- 
 lous tricks of a party of Bohemian dancers 
 and jugglers, as though the sight had clean 
 put out of their mind the sacred one which 
 had immediately preceded it. Of the exliib- 
 itors there were two men of monstrous sin- 
 ister-looking aspect, who flung brazen balls 
 into the air, and sliarp-pointed daggers, one 
 after another, and did catch thein with a 
 dextrousness that was a wonder to behold. 
 
 Their audience looked on as much amazed 
 as delighted. Presently one took to swal- 
 lowing a sword, and the other to eating fire, 
 as though he were a salamander, and the 
 faces of all present seemed bewildered with 
 the beholding of sights so strange. Anon 
 
 one seized a rude chair, strong and heavy, 
 and seated on it a young boy of their com- 
 pany, exceedingly well favored, though he 
 had a roguish look withal, then placed it on 
 his head, balanced on one leg. wliere he 
 kept it as he walked about, picking up a 
 certain number of eggs from the ground, the 
 boy the whilst looking about him uncon- 
 cernedly cracking of nuts, as though he had 
 the securest seat in the world. After this 
 he took his comrade by a linen fastening 
 round his loins, and fixed it between his 
 teeth, and so carried him round the circle. 
 These tricks were also regarded with the 
 hugest astonishment. 
 
 But the most pleasing sight of all, was a 
 woman of the same company, of a beauty 
 the most ravishing eye ever dwelt upon, and 
 attired very temptingly after the Moorish 
 fashion, who, to the accompaniment of a 
 small drum decorated with silver bells, 
 which she struck and shook, and cast about 
 her in every graceful motion, danced the 
 Roinalis or gipsy dance in so moving a fash- 
 ion, that the gazer seemed to look on in a 
 manner entranced. Truly the swimming 
 eyes and pouting mouth, and the eloquent 
 motions of the Bohemian, were enough to 
 warm the current of a man's blood had it 
 flowed less sluggishly than it doth in Italian 
 veins. 
 
 There was in her appearance such a 
 mingling of the ripe Hebe with the joyous 
 Bacchante, that a Roman, even of the clas- 
 sic age, would have felt her influence. Her 
 dance was a sort of hymn in motion — an in- 
 vocation in pantomime to the winged ur- 
 chin, who, with his marvellous keen ar- 
 rows, is wont to cause such sharp wounds 
 in every one that hath part and parcel with 
 humanity — in the which every twirl, and 
 every bend of that voluptuous body, every 
 wave of those delicate arms, every spring 
 of those elastic feet, each glance of those 
 subduing eyes, and each smile from that 
 provoking mouth, were examples of poetical 
 meaning, such as even the rarest masters of 
 the poef's craft seldom reach. There seem- 
 ed an intense ecstacy of animal enjoyment 
 breathing all around and about her, evident 
 not only in the flashing of her soft dark eyes, 
 but in the saucy wantonness of her raven 
 hair, and in the expressive buoyancy of her 
 most seductive limbs. 
 
 Perchance the reader would fain have 
 some acquaintance with this very delecta- 
 ble, sweet creature, but he must needs here 
 be reminded that she is not so complete a 
 stranger to him as it would appear ; he hav- 
 ing already enjoyed the exquisite pleasure 
 oflier company, when our grave young stu- 
 
160 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 dent of medicinp, John Hull, ;vml his polite 
 serving-man, Siiiion Slocklish, wore, hugely 
 against th.-ir wills, made inmates of a i;ip- 
 sy encampment, when on their way to Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Jn sober honesty, this wondrous dancer in 
 the public street-! of Rome was no other than 
 the very you tilt ul companion of Black Samj)- 
 son, as he was tiien called, the kingol such 
 of the wandering outlaws as were to be 
 found in England ; and the strong, sturdy- 
 looking urchin, who so bravely looked froiu 
 his perilous seat, was the same admirable 
 fair child for whose existence she felt herself 
 so deeply indebted to the skill of our young 
 physician. 
 
 The life of this matchless dancer had been 
 at every step the sport of fortune — she had 
 gone through numberless adventures of the 
 most extraordinary character. It was be- 
 lieved, when very young, she had been 
 found in a Moorish barque, that had been 
 captured on t!ie coast of I3arbary, by the 
 crew of a Spanish ship, the captain of which 
 had sold her to an ancient grandee, who had 
 her taught all feminine accomplishments, 
 and brought her up in the closest, strictest 
 retirement, in a strong castle in Andalusia. 
 All went on fairly enough with the Don, till 
 about tliirteen or fourteen years of age, the 
 ripening beauty of his interesting purcliase 
 induced him to double his attentions, and 
 treble his vigilance. The old gallant strove 
 earnestly to win his way to her heart ; and 
 just as he was beginning to congratulate 
 liimself on the favorable result of his exer- 
 tions, the astounding intelligence was con- 
 veyed to him that the inco.nparable Dona 
 Xariqna was nowhere to be found. 
 
 Whether he hanged the Duenna who had 
 charge nf her is not known, but certain is it, 
 that, whilst he was employing his vast re- 
 sources to recover what he considered a 
 treasure far more valuable, she v/as being 
 conveyed from the nearest port, in the good 
 ship, '• Endeavor," of Bristol, by a famous 
 tall, well-favored young fellow, that looked 
 a prince at the least, and this lie was most 
 assuredly, for he was a prince at the least 
 sort of estimation. 
 
 He belonged to the royal tribe existing 
 amongst that wandering people, so general- 
 ly spread over Europe, under the several 
 names of Eoheiiiians, Rommanee, Egyptians, 
 gypsies, and Zincali ; and, though born and 
 brought up in England, he had joined some 
 daring smugglers on the coast, v.ho traded 
 with Spain. Whilst pursuing his adven- 
 tures in the country, he had got sight of the 
 Don's de.'^tined mistress, and, struck wilii 
 her exceeding loveliness, had, in a manner 
 
 no less daring than ingenious, carried her 
 olF from the garden of the castle It must 
 be acknowledged, that the youthful, nay, al- 
 most childish Xariqua, got wonderfully soon 
 reconciled to the change, from a particular- 
 ly crabbed, ill-favored old lover, to one as 
 remarkably young and comely ; and on their 
 landing in England, she made no obj clion 
 to be married to him, according to the cere- 
 monies of his tribe, to which about the same 
 time he was elected to be king, in conse- 
 quence of the decease of his predecessor in 
 the royal dignity, in a somewhat unregal 
 way at Tyburn. 
 
 She soon made herself mistress of the arts 
 and mysteries practised by the females of 
 the strange people with whom her life was 
 now to be passed ; and, though her partner, 
 from the violence of his passions, did not 
 make her the best of husbands, she made 
 him a model of a perfect gi'od wife down to 
 the very day of his so terrible death, sharing 
 in all the hazirds of his dangerous way of 
 living with a fearlessness and devotion wor- 
 thy of a better oliject. After she was leP; 
 a widow, still young, still of ravishing love- 
 liness, she was prevailed on to turn her at- 
 tractions and the accomplishments she had 
 been taught, to some account. Therefore, 
 she made part of an exhibition which certain 
 of the Bohemians got up about this time, and 
 acted from lown to town, whilst their equally 
 active confederates contrived to ease the 
 wondering spectators of whatever valuables 
 they had about them that were accessible to 
 their light fingers. 
 
 As her charms were set off to the great- 
 est advantage by her picturesque dress, and 
 her dancing v>-as exceedingly animated and 
 graceful, after the Bohemian fashion, where- 
 ever she appeared she gained no lack of ad- 
 mirers, on whom she never failed to levy 
 contributions, often gaining from them some- 
 thing additional by practising for their edifi- 
 cation the science ot palmistry. 
 
 La Xariqua became celebrated, through- 
 out more than one of the Italian states ; and 
 her witcheries turned the heads of all the 
 gallants, and also of men of graver sort, 
 wlio might be expected to have been insen- 
 sible of such follies. Rumors on this point 
 had got abroad, to the prejudice of divers 
 holy lathers of tlie church, which had, more- 
 over, come to the ears of their superiors, 
 who, though they looked to be horribly 
 shocked at such scandals, were secretly as 
 much enamored of the beautiful Bohemian 
 as their humbler brethren. Her a])pearance 
 in the Holy City caused quite a stir, both 
 amongst clergy and laity ; and although, 
 I generally, she was spoken of as a creature 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 161 
 
 worthy to be worshipped of all men living, 
 it chinced that she was made the sabjectof 
 co:nia3nt in another and toLuliy diiierent 
 quarter, which boded her no good. 
 
 Ainoag liie most enraptured of those 
 whom slie had gathered roimd her in Rome 
 at this time was a youth, who looked on 
 with all his soul in his eyes, to appearance 
 fairly bewitciiod by a scene so exquisitely 
 seductive. The emotion he exhibited did 
 not escape the brilliant eyes of the dancer — 
 neither did his noble visage and admirably 
 formed figure ; for, from beneath her long, 
 dark lashes she ever and ano.i shot at him 
 such glances as set his heart in a tlame in a 
 presently. 
 
 It so chanced, during the performance of 
 the Romalis, that she was e.vertmg herself 
 to the very utmost to outrival all sbe had 
 previously done, and the admiration of the 
 surrounding crowd approached to a frenzy ; 
 the enticing scene was put a stop to by the 
 sudden apparition of two mysterious tigures 
 in sombre robes that entirely enveloped tiieir 
 persons, who pushed through the circle, in 
 which, with looks of mingled awe and terror, 
 all fell back. They made tiieir way to the 
 fascinating Bohemian, whom each seized 
 by an arm, and placing the fore-linger mys- 
 teriously on the lip, began to drag her away. 
 At seeing this, all her enraptured adnirers 
 slunk away in every direction, without dar- 
 ing so much as to look behind them, aud 
 none seemed inclined to stay, save a few 
 ili-looking knave.i, who, out of all doubt, 
 were her companions, and the youth whose 
 intoxicating dream had been .so rudely dis- 
 turbed. He seemed at first to marvel hugely 
 at the appearance of the two mysterious 
 figures taking i'. to be a part of the per- 
 formance ; bat when the cries and struggles 
 of the dancer convinced him her seizure was 
 an act of violence, his rapier flew out of his 
 scabbard on the instant. 
 
 Tlie crowd had by this time entirely dis- 
 appeared. The youth rusiied after the 
 struggling Xariqua, sharply calling on those 
 who were hurrying her along to loose their 
 hold of her if they desired to live. They 
 ])aid no manner of heed to him, but con- 
 tinued to hurry away their terrified prisoner. 
 He was upon them sword in hand, when 
 froai a neigliboring portal, there came upon 
 hiui unawares two or three armed men, by 
 whom he would infallibly have been slain 
 or taken captive, hid it not happened, that 
 almost as quickly after rushed hastily, from 
 an opposite direction, a gallant, who ranged 
 himself on his side. The contest lasted not 
 long, for the Bohemians, vvitii weapons of 
 various sorts, so bestirred themselves, that 
 U 
 
 the beginners of the fray were speedily 
 either suvtched on the ground widi grievous 
 wounds, or running for their lives with 
 what speed of foot they had. La Xariqua 
 was rescued out of their hands, and soon, 
 by the contrivance of her associates, beyond 
 all fear of recapture. 
 
 It was but a short hour after this occur- 
 rence that the youth, and the friend who 
 had cometohisassistance, were with a single 
 attendant, pursuing their way out of Rome 
 as fast as fleet horses could carry tliem. 
 The younger of the two was no otiier thin 
 the E irl of Pembrokes heir, who had given 
 his comp.iiiion the slip whilst examining 
 some of the many marvels of the City of the 
 Caisars ; and the other was, of course, his 
 wtirtliy governor, wiio, as he came upon the 
 spot, and beheld the danger with which his 
 charge was menaced, could do no less than 
 hasten to his assistance. But when he 
 came to learn, as he shortly did, that Mas- 
 ter Herbert had provoked an attack trora 
 the Pope's guards, by endeavoring to rejcue 
 a sorceress, then in charge of the messen- 
 gers of the Holy O.fice, he knew there was 
 no longer any satVty for either of them 
 within the Papal States. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 And with that word she smiled, and ne'erthe- 
 
 theless 
 Her love-toys still she used, and pleasures bold, 
 
 Fauifax. 
 
 The treacherous Millicent, by the exer- 
 cise of that craft with which she was so 
 eminently gifted, was now in a fair way of 
 seeing all things settled as ^he would have 
 them. She perui ided her young friend and 
 coniidant that the desirable ;t thing on earth 
 would be a marriage with her faiher ; and, 
 by dint of working on her vanity and pride, 
 of which she had no slight share, got iier to 
 see, in a union with one thrice her age, only 
 famous braveries, money at command, and 
 t!ie covetable situiticm of mistress of a fine 
 mansion. Her consent was obtained, and 
 a day fixed for tins May and December 
 union; when it was also settled sho.dd take 
 place the marriage of Millicent and Leon- 
 ard. 
 
 At first, when his mistress urged him to 
 complete his contract with her, for which 
 she failed not to give him good and sufncieiit 
 reasons, he seemed s.imewii.it taken by sur- 
 prise, as not only had he long given up all 
 idea of such a thing, but he had seen what 
 
162 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 had assured him of his fellow-student's at- 
 tachment, whose true friend ho held idmself 
 at this time, and would have been right glad 
 to have furthered his happiness in any 
 honest way. This friendly inclination of 
 her destined husband towards her lover it 
 was her policy now to destroy, as she saw 
 it would be a serious obstacle in the way of 
 the success of her line scheming; where- 
 upon sl;e set about to poison his mind with 
 dark hints and discreditable insinup.lions of 
 and concerning his friend's integrity, and, 
 to give suthcient color to these, slie read 
 letters from John Hall to herself, which 
 proved incontestibly that he vv^as not such 
 as he took him to be. 
 
 Concerning of these letters it is sufficient 
 here to state, that, though Leonard was al- 
 lowed to recognize the handwriting, he had 
 no means of comparing the passages read 
 with what was written, and entertaining no 
 suspicion of deceit, it is not surprising that 
 she should easily have passed off on him 
 what was entirely her own invention, for 
 the handwriting of John Hall. 
 
 Leonard had nothing for it but to fall into 
 the humor of one whom he had allowed to 
 govern him as she listed. Yet it was long 
 before he could reconcile himself to what 
 he looked on as the violent e.xtinguishingof 
 his fellow-student's ha ppiness. In due time, 
 by the constant artilices of the crafty Milli- 
 cent, the estrangement was complete. Leo- 
 nard's habitual indolence and indecision 
 were taken advantage of, and John Hill 
 every day became less and less cared ior. 
 Indeed, as it usually happens with those 
 who wrong their fellows, Leonard felt dis- 
 posed ere long to look on John Hall as one 
 possessed of the absolutest unworthiness 
 ever hsard of. 
 
 But how fared the young physician all 
 this while ? How took lie the intellicrence 
 his mistress artfully conveyed to him of her 
 being forced against her wish to complete 
 the betrothal of so long standing ? Of a 
 truth it came on him like a thunder-clap. 
 He had allowed himself so completely, in 
 consequence of licr conduct to him, to lose 
 sight of any such engagement, that he could 
 not now bo brought to tolerate it in any man- 
 ner. It was a most moving sight to see the 
 tears which chased down her cheeks, and the 
 passionate fondness of her bearing and lan- 
 guage, when this accomplished dissembler 
 informed her lover of her father's tyranny 
 in insisting upon her immediate marriage 
 with one she liked not. 
 
 No man who has ever devotedly loved 
 could reconcile himself to another's possess- 
 ing his mistress ; and the heart of John Hall 
 
 was too completely given up to tlie seduc- 
 tive Millicent to be easily drawn into an 
 abandonment of his claim upon her. Her 
 representations were marvellous powerful, 
 and his nature was exceedinr yielding. 
 Nevertheless, though he did not in any way 
 dispute the marriage, in heart and soul he 
 loathed and detested it. 
 
 From the first hour he heard of the ar- 
 rangement he became a different being. A 
 slow, consuming fever preyed upon him — ■ 
 his fle.sh fell away — he could endure no em- 
 ployment — he could enjoy no gratification. 
 He confined himself to his own chamber, 
 where, hour after hour, he sat at the table 
 with an open book before him ; but the page 
 was never turned, and, though the eyes 
 dwelt on it, they took in nothing of its 
 meaning. His thoughts were directed else- 
 where, but kept themselves to a most con- 
 tracted circle ; for, oppressed by a sense of 
 his own misery, they seemed to have no 
 energy to get beyond it. 
 
 Tlius, day after day passed by, he getting 
 weaker and weaker, his cheek more trans- 
 parent, his look more haggard, and a settled 
 despair seemed stamf.eJ upon his visage, 
 with a sharpness that expressed death in 
 every line. No one came near him but 
 Millicent, who used some arguments to con- 
 sole him, but they were not understood ; 
 and, if they had been, they would not have 
 afforded the sufferer any consolation ; and, 
 the caresses she continued to heap ujion him 
 he received as one in a delirium takes a drug 
 that is to give him present composure. 
 
 The night before the wedding-day arrived, 
 and whether her bad heart was touched by 
 the youth's uncomplaining but most eloquent 
 misery, or she had a bad purpose in view, in 
 which her heart was not concerned, is not 
 known ; but, most assuredly, she sat up the 
 whole of that night with him : all which 
 time, by every word and deed most convinc- 
 ing, she let liim know that he was beloved 
 by her as no other ever could be. He seem- 
 ed moved by her affectionateness, and clung 
 to it with all the wild fervor of one who 
 knows he hath before him his only stay. 
 The excitement which this produced bel 
 came at last two powerful for his enfeebled 
 frame, and, towards morning, he sunk into 
 a stufior. 
 
 It was full noon, on that eventful day, 
 before the \ndia|)py youth recovered to a 
 perfect consciousness. He felt more than 
 ordinarily weak and feeble, but he mechani- 
 cally rose and made his morning toilet as 
 usual. He noticed that his customary 
 breakfast was prepared for him, but he 
 touched it not. He went to the casement. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 163 
 
 and marvelled greatly to see, by the shidow 
 of the sun on the opposite lioiise how late it 
 was in the d.iy. 
 
 His thoughts were strange and discon- 
 nected. Now he was witli his mother in 
 the home of his childhood, hearkening to 
 her sweet counsel ; anon, he was engaged 
 with such profitable company as Celsus and 
 Hippocrates, in tiie familiar seat under tlie 
 old walnut tree ; in a moment he vv:i.s in the 
 tent of the gipsv girl, restoring her child to 
 life, and directly after he was no less de- 
 lightfully listening to Master Shakspeare's 
 admirable converse in his well-remembered 
 lodging in the Clink Liberty. 
 
 in short, his thoughts went from one 
 thing to another with no settled purpose, 
 travelling hither and thither, yet carefully 
 avoiding home. He dared not think of her. 
 He strove all in his power to avoid recall- 
 ing to his mind anj'thing which would bring 
 the business of this intolerable day before 
 him. Nevertheless, do what ho would, he 
 frequently found himself approaching the 
 dreaded subject. He walked about his 
 chamber, countinp-his strides as he proceed- 
 ed : and when he tired of that, he leaned out 
 of the casement and watched the sparrow 
 flitting about the oaves, and the smoke of 
 the chimneys curling up till it disappeared 
 in the blue sky. 
 
 The day seemed to be of a monstrous 
 length. He ardenily longed for it to end, 
 but every minute had to him the durati-n of 
 the most tedious hours. He was struck 
 with the extraordinary quietness of the liouse. 
 In directing his attention to this, the know- 
 ledge of why it was so rushed upon him 
 with a force that overthrew all his precau- 
 tions. Millicent was gone to church ! — by 
 this time she was another's ! and doubtless 
 they were all making merry every one with 
 another ; and wliile he was in the extremity 
 of his misery, hovering over the brink of 
 very madness, the more fortunate Leonard 
 was 
 
 As his mind caught a glimpse of the ex- 
 quisite sweet happiness of his rival, there 
 seenied to him to come a sudden wliirhvind, 
 which crushed the walls of the chamber in 
 ripon him on every side, and making a feeble 
 clutch at the chair on which he had been 
 leaning, he fell in a deadly swoon on the 
 floor. 
 
 How long he remained in this state he 
 never knew, for several weeks elapsed be- 
 fore he recovered the facultiss of a reason- 
 ing being, and then he was lying on his 
 pallet as feeble as a child, with an entire 
 oblivion of all that had been done to him 
 during that interval, and all the wild rav- 
 
 ings and monstrous extravagances he had 
 then exhibited. But he had not been dis- 
 covered till, on the return of the wedding- 
 pirty from their day's pleasuring, MiUicent 
 stole up to his chamber hurriedly. 
 
 If ever contrition touched her cold, selfish 
 heart, one would have fancied it would have 
 been now ; but her sole ob.ect was her own 
 security, and for this only she looked to his 
 wants, and nursed him throughout his dis- 
 order. She feared that, despite her fine 
 scheming, her treachery might be made vi- 
 sible, and albeit her influence over her new 
 made husband was none of the weakest, it 
 was possible a knowledge of her infamous 
 behavior he might receive in a fashion htile 
 to her liking. She obtained assistance in 
 which she could trust, and the malady of 
 John Hall began at last to assume a more 
 favorable character. 
 
 In especial, the young stepmother of his 
 treacherous, hilse mistress, was untiring in 
 her at'entions, and showed a moretlum ordi- 
 nary kindness in every thing she did. He 
 felt gratefully disposed towards her, for 
 her exceeding friendliness at such a time, 
 and, noting his thankfulness, set her to make 
 herself still more agreeable. She had, by 
 this time, learned the true value of the po- 
 sition into which she had b-^en cajoled— she 
 saw the sacrifice that had been made of her 
 — and was at no loss to discover for whose 
 sole advantage she had been thu-; infamously 
 bartered. Her mind was of a most limited 
 capacity, but it was large enough for ven- 
 geance, and it became the business of her 
 life to study some sure way of obtaining it. 
 
 She sympathised with him, and denounc- 
 ed the unprincipled conduct of her quon- 
 dam friend, wliose whole proceedings she 
 gradually placed before him in their proper 
 hght. He shrank from believing her state- 
 ments, but she returned again and again to 
 the charge, supporting her accusations by 
 proofs there was no questioning. 
 
 Loath as the lover always is to believe ill 
 of the woman he loves, he cannot resist, for 
 any long time, insurmountable evidence, 
 unless he be wilfully blind. Our young 
 physician was wondrously moved at the in- 
 formation he had received, and felt much 
 inclined to upbraid the crafty Millicent for 
 the infamousness of her proceedings ; but, 
 on her next making her appearance, the 
 consummate hypocrisy of her bearing, and 
 the influence of old impressions, drove him 
 from his purpose, and he let her take her 
 departure as though she were still the 
 matchless, spotless, admirable fond creature 
 he had so long been used to consider her. 
 But when she was gone, and her confidante 
 
1G4 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 returned to him with fre<h instances of her ' her jjlace, and came round to him, when she 
 falseiiood, he ajraiii rct^oivi'd to cliaroc her jnesently put heT arm round his neck, as of 
 
 with it, and break oil' all intimacy for tlie 
 future. 
 
 He was now sufficiently recovered to 
 leave his chamber; and, as he h;id of late 
 been schooling himsell' to meet the wonran 
 of whom he had been so enamored, in 
 company, with a sufficient indiflerency, he 
 resolved to liave his meals on a certain day 
 with the family, as had been his wont be- 
 fore his illness. He presented himself at 
 
 old. "Take not tins accursed marriaij;e of 
 mine so much to heart, my sweet lile !'* 
 whispered the in his ear very lovingly. 
 "Heed thy behavior, and thou shall prolit 
 by It to liiy exceeding- couteutatiiai. lor 
 now such can be done saiely which — " 
 
 John Hall ioc ked in her lace with a sort 
 of bewildered stare, every vein and artery 
 throbbing as though they would burst. He 
 could scarce behuve his ears, which had 
 
 his customary place, and, though ieeliiig i conveyed to him a meanirg which seemed 
 
 horribly re?tless and uneasy, lie received 
 the general congratulations upnn his recov- 
 ery without much embarrassment. He took 
 his seat. Towards her he dared not look ; 
 but he felt she was sitting over-against him. 
 Her husband, to his great i-elief, was ab- 
 sent, and not expected to return till late. 
 
 The meal passed off' without anything 
 worthy of notice, save that old I'osset strove 
 
 to have turned him to a muss of hie ; but 
 tlie gaze tliat met his own there could be no 
 doubnng; his eyes iiad fallen before its too 
 obvious (. xpression once before ; albeit, now 
 the villany of it came to him so glaringly, 
 thai his whole soul revolted at its baseuets, 
 and he forcibly pushed her from liim. 
 
 VVliilst lie buried his face in liis hands, 
 he saw nothing of the horrible, fiendisli 
 
 to show himself in the character of a jester ; i scowl with wiiich the sj)urned tempter gazed 
 but his was the facetiousness of a grinning ' "po" ^'m. The conuly face was distorted 
 skeleton. Nevertheless, his daughter eii^ 1 oi^'t of all likeness vviih humanity ; it was 
 couraged liis Iiumor. and seemed, to the spectral. Medusa-like, and devilish, beyond 
 unhappy student, to have an extraordinary nil expression. In a short time it returned 
 flow of spirits. He could not fail of draw- . 'o its ordinary expression — nay, was more 
 ing some comparisons between her now ! s^miliiig than it had ever been, and Millicent 
 ever ready mirth and her constant affecta- 1 spoke in die liglit manner she had a mo- 
 
 tion of wretchedness a few short months 
 before. 
 
 The dinner had all been removed, and the 
 master of the house had brewed a pot of 
 sack, which was poured out in glasses for 
 the company. Millicent had hardly got 
 hers in her hand, when, in a manner half 
 of carelessness and half of spite, she ad- 
 dressed everyone in turn, and wished them 
 something which liad much the appearance 
 of being what was least desired. John 
 Hall was left by her to the last, when she 
 commenced a speech to him in the same 
 strain, in ambiguous phrase, but sufficiently 
 apparent to all present. She alluded to his 
 ill-placed passion, and wished him, as the 
 best thing that could be had for him,/o?g-e^ 
 fulness. This was too much for the miser- 
 able lover; his pride revolted at thus being 
 openly pointed out as the sufferer he was, 
 but the blow was one ho could not ward off 
 or withstand, lie felt the corners of the 
 room whirling round, and, for some seconds, 
 he lost all consciousness of what or where 
 he was. 
 
 It chanced that, just at this time, word 
 was brought that one badly wounded in a 
 scuffle was waiting to have his hurts dressed, 
 which instantly caused the room to be emp- 
 tied of all but Millicent and J(<hn Hall. 
 The former, for some motive or other, left 
 
 ment since, as if nothing had occurred to 
 change her humor. When he found him- 
 self strong enough, the young student stag- 
 gereJ out of the room, and was soon in the 
 privacy of his own chamber. Here he had 
 full leisure to think over the unquestionable 
 evidence lie had just obtained of the worth- 
 less nature of the woman he had su dis- 
 tractedly loved. Had the testimony come 
 from any other source, he might jiave en- 
 tertained a doubt, but, proceeding as it did 
 from her own polluted lips, it carried with 
 it a teiTible conviction. A sensitive nature 
 and a pure mind, that have remained for a 
 long period in the most blessed conviction 
 that the fair creature for whom all their 
 best energies were devoted, was the one 
 rare example of perfect excellence the world 
 possessed, discovering, of a sudden, that 
 she is among the very vilest of her sex, can 
 scarce iail of receiving a shock likely to 
 unsettle his whole being. He who truly 
 loves, loves only in the impression of iiis 
 mistress's superiority in all vvorihiness — this 
 conviction is to his passion air, and food, 
 and raiment ; this it is that leadeth him to 
 adoration, this it is that speaketh for him in 
 song . but it hath nu)re tlian once fortuned, 
 that this fair seeming hath been only the 
 I'ruitof a much-studied hypocrisy, and that 
 under the outer semblance of such great 
 
THE SECHET PASSION. 
 
 165 
 
 goodness there existed unpirallelod bise- 
 noss ; and such was it, beyoii:! ail manner 
 ot' doubt, in the cas3 of this unnatural I'aise 
 Jezabei. 
 
 Oar young student was sorciy troubled 
 in mind; but he saw tliere was tor liiin but 
 one measure, which was a proper schoohng 
 of himself to regard the te upt^'r in the ligiii 
 she oagat only t) be looked upon by him ; 
 and, strengtiiening his heart with divert 
 wholesome resolu lions, he succeeded at last 
 in qnietnig his disuirbjd nature soaiewhat. 
 He called tominJ his mother's tender w.irn- 
 ings, and ih::se and othjr gooJiy recoUec- 
 tioas of ihi admirable principles she had 
 tiiven such inrinite pains to implaut into 
 hiai, did strengthen and encourage him 
 wunderiaily. 
 
 It was a Ltt'.e after midnight on the same 
 evening that Millicent 1 -ft lur sleeping hus- 
 band, and, wrapping herself in a loose gown, 
 stealthily and silently crept down t^turs 
 Having provided herself with a lighted 
 lamp froai tue kitchen, she proceeded to the 
 little back ch imber describi'd in a jireceding 
 chapter, as one waere MasLer D:jcter Posset 
 was wont lo enjoy his privacy uninoleJt;d 
 by any save his daughter, tiie door of which 
 she unlocked with a key she took iVoai her 
 girdle ; taen enternig sne locked herself in. 
 Placing the lamp on fae table, she went 
 iniaiedi dAy to tne old cabinet, which she 
 opened w.t.i anoth-T kjy. The doors thrown 
 back d.scovered nests of drawers, save at 
 the top whijh looked to be blank ; but Mil- 
 liceii;, toucliing a secret spring, tiie panel 
 slid on one side, and taeie appeared several 
 curiously-sliapjd little bottles, some witn 
 powder?, and some with li jui is- 
 
 Slie opened one of t.ie drawers, and took 
 from thence a pair of ivory scales with 
 divers s.nall weight ■; ; from anoLher she took 
 a graduated glass measure; from a third a 
 pestle and mortar of the same material. 
 These she carefully placed on the table 
 without noise ; then took several of the 
 bottles, and weighed and measured their 
 contents in certain quantities, and mixed 
 thein in the mortar. 
 
 VViiilst this was being don^, it wa- curi- 
 ous to notice the dull, unearthly expression 
 which pervaded her visage. Her sallow 
 cheek was more bloodless than ever ; her 
 eyes seemed covered with a dead glaze ; 
 and her lips were of a b ueish tinge, and 
 finnly coaipre.ssed. Once or twice she 
 looked as though she smiled, but it was a 
 smile of such a sort as might have become 
 a corpse, raised to life by some awlul deed 
 of sorcery. Anon, at a sud.len noise being 
 heard, she suspended her operations, shaded 
 
 tiie lamp by interposing her handkerchief 
 between it and li.e door, held her breath, 
 and glared, listening with a terrible atten- 
 tivencss, With an a.spect that seemed to 
 iiave t.ie fearful power of blasting the sight 
 of any too curious looker-on. All was still 
 again, and she resumed her work with tiie 
 coid, inhuman visage with which she had 
 comaienced it. 
 
 Tiie mixture was at last completed, and 
 secured in a vial, and the vessels which 
 had been used were each separately washed 
 and dried, and put with the rest of tue tilings 
 m tneir proper places. Tlie panel was then 
 returned to its place, and the cabinet locked; 
 and the lamp was held close before the table, 
 and then to tae floor, to see that nothing 
 had fallen which could show any one had 
 been in that chamber. Having suthciendy 
 sati^^tied herself in this respect, she took the 
 vial and the lamp, and, carefully locking tiie 
 door of the room after her, blew out the 
 lignt, replaced it in the kitchen, and then 
 cautiously returned to her own cliamber. 
 
 Joan Hall awoke much weAer in body 
 thin lie had been the day before at the same 
 tane. As he dressed lumsell, he again re- 
 flected on the incident of the previous day, 
 and he came lo a determination of renew- 
 ing tiiose saidies that had been so complete- 
 ly interrupted by the violence of his passion. 
 In accordance w.th this v.ry admirable re- 
 solution, he looked to his favorite books with 
 wtiich lie seemed to return with a new 
 relisii. But he was not in a condition for 
 .iny serious study — the task soon became 
 irk.-oiue to him, and deSjiite of his inchnation 
 to coiiLiiiue at it, he more than once found 
 himself indulging in his old habit of dreamy 
 reveries, instead of directing his attention 
 to the page befoie him. 
 
 To his inflnite wonderment and no small 
 confusion, the person of ail others he w.shed 
 least to see entered the room. He would 
 gladly have told her he desired not her com- 
 pany ; but there was such a winning clieer- 
 falness in her manner, and such an impres- 
 sive kindness in her language, that any 
 repulse on his part would aj;pear a rudeness 
 there seemed no warrant tor his shewing. 
 She had brought with her a basin of 
 strengthening broth, which she had made, 
 as she said, expressly for the perfect healing 
 of his sickness — for she had determined to 
 take his cure into her own hand — and she 
 continued to converse with so graceful a 
 modesty, and so admirable a good humor, 
 that he could not help coming to some doubts 
 he had understood her righty in her beha- 
 vior to him the previous dty. 
 
 The end was, that he allowed himself to 
 
166 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 be persimdod by her of the restorative qiril- 
 itios of tlie bruili, and was content to make 
 trial of its etiljcts. 8lie iiisi.sted she would 
 SCO iiini take it, as was the duty ol' a good 
 nurse, and so he fell into her humor, and 
 straightway began to do as she would have 
 him. 
 
 The broth seemed of especial excellence, 
 and cunningly compounded, as she said, of 
 certain rare herbs. He commended its 
 savor, and was content she should concoct 
 the same mess for hun every day till he re- 
 covered. Several d.iys passed, and she 
 came regularly at the same hour, and be- 
 haved in the like commendable fashion, 
 always overllovving, as it were, with good- 
 humor, gentkness, and the tenderest sym- 
 pathy, nevertheless, for all her friendly 
 care, he feit hunself getting much worse, 
 and in a manner for which, with all his 
 skill in medicine, he could not account. 
 His pulse was sinking, his mouth was 
 parched with an ill taste, his head ached 
 strangely, hs had racking internal pains, 
 and his limbs could scarce support his body. 
 His new nurse, hearing these symptoms, 
 made light of them, and still maintained her 
 restorative broth should work his speedy 
 cure. This while he saw no one else but 
 MiUicent, for she had taken especial pains 
 to keep every one out of the way. 
 
 His pains were getting to be so gre it, 
 and his feebleness so to increase, that he 
 began to think his case needed the most 
 skilful physician he could tind ; and on this 
 point he spoke seriously to his attendant, 
 but she treated his tears as proceeding only 
 from lovvness of spirits, winch would leave 
 him in a day or two, and pressed on him her 
 restorative broth as an unquestionable re- 
 medy. 
 
 It had been her practice every day to stay 
 in tlie room whilst her patient swallovi^ed 
 the brolii, and ^ile would never be satisried 
 till he had drank it all. It so happened on 
 one occasion she was suddenly called away 
 very urgently when he had about half hii- 
 ished it, and, not feeling disposed to take 
 any more, Julin Hall put the basin on the 
 ground before a tavori'e little sj)aniel that 
 usually accompinied Milliceutin her visits. 
 The dog, notliing loatli, licked it up every 
 drop ; but, scarcely had lie done so, when 
 he began to appear exceeding restless and 
 uneasy. Prtsenlly he whined very |!iteous- 
 ly, and ran round the chamber with his 
 tongue out of his mouth, looking terribly dis- 
 turbed. Anon lie stopped, and straightway 
 twisted himself about, and writhed and roll- 
 ed, howling wi.dly,and foaming at the mouth 
 as though m a monstrous agony. 
 
 John Hall gazed on the poor animil in 
 a strange amazement and al.irm. At first 
 he was fain to believe he might be taken 
 with a sudden fit ; but when he beheld the 
 evident torture he endured, and saw too 
 jilainly he was dying a terrible death, he 
 was bewildered and astounded with his own 
 thoughts. The symptoms were undoubtcKlly 
 those which arise from the taking of poison ; 
 this poison could only have been in the broth 
 he had just swallowed ; and, if the broth 
 had been mixed with any poisonous stutt' it 
 was such as he had been taking for several 
 days. 
 
 A horrible conviction came upon him, and 
 he gasped for breath as he entertained it. 
 lie had been daily taking the broth, and had 
 been daily getting into a state like one who 
 may be said to be dying by inches. 
 
 At this moment tlie dog uttered a pierc- 
 ing howl, and gave up the ghost, and John 
 Hall sank, sick unto death, into the nighest 
 chair. 
 
 He was, however, roused from the stupor 
 that was coming over him by the return of 
 Millicent, and, making a desperate effort as 
 he clung to the back of the chair for sup- 
 port, he hurriedly related the awful sight he 
 iiad just witnessed, and, in a few and inco- 
 herent words, accused herof attcmp*;ing his 
 life by daily administering some noxious 
 ingredient. As, with looks of honor and 
 alarm, he gazed upon her visage, he was 
 struck by the ghastly paleness which in- 
 stantly overspread it, and the shrinking eye, 
 quivering lij), and trembling form, were 
 alcne sulficient evidence of her atrocious 
 guilt. 
 
 Where was the matchless hypocrisy, the 
 subtle cr.ift, the wondrous readiness of de- 
 ception that had so often served her in times 
 of peril ? Where were her tricks, and gloz- 
 ings, and cheats she had in such irtinile 
 abundance at her commandment ? Had 
 the ample magazine of her artifices been so 
 exliausted, there was no lie left, uo deceit 
 practicable, no treachery at command, by 
 which she could move the fcul suspicion 
 which every moment grev/ more black 
 against her ? 
 
 A few seconds of horrible silence fol- 
 lowed, which the /oung student at last 
 broke, as with ?. superhuman energy. 
 Catching his breath with a sharp guttural 
 spasm, in a voico scarcely audible for its 
 hoarseness, hfi bade her '"Begone !" The 
 wretch obe\ eJ, cowed as it were by the sud- 
 diMiness of die discovery of her damnable 
 villanousness, and retired as quickly as she 
 could — {lerchance to devise means of prac- 
 lising upoii her victim more elFectually. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 167 
 
 But, scarce had the door closed upon her, 
 when John Hall started up with frantic ea- 
 gerness, hurried down stairs, and rushed 
 out of the house, with the fullest determi- 
 nation never to enter those accursed doors 
 again. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Then the Soldier 
 # » * * » 
 
 Seekhig the bubble reputation, 
 Even iu the cannon's nioutli. 
 
 Shakskeare. 
 
 The state of Venice had been famed for 
 the vigor wherewith it had iti times passed 
 carried on war against the Ottoman ; and, 
 although years had gone by since any dis- 
 tinguishing victory had brought honor to the 
 arms of this renowned republic, there were 
 not wanting, either amongst her hardy gon- 
 doliers, her skilful artificers, or prodigal 
 young nobles, spirits as reiidy to rally round 
 the gUjrious banner of St. Mark, as when 
 defended by the most heroic of her doges, 
 it was planted on the walls of tiie capital of 
 the western world. 
 
 The winged lion, though far less promi- 
 nent in the war of Christian chivalry 
 against the turbaned intidel, than in the 
 time-honored days of the worthies of her 
 golden book, had not yet learned to live in 
 inglorious peace with the ancient enemy of 
 its protectors, and both by land and sea, had, 
 witli scarce any intermissions, looked over 
 battles and skirmishings, as varying m their 
 natures as in their fortunes. Sometimes both 
 Venetians and Turks carried on their en- 
 during contest in places as remote from the 
 natural home of the one as of the other, and 
 upon an occasion armaments would be fit- 
 ted out by either power to invade the do- 
 minions of the other ; but, wherever they 
 might chance to meet, this was certain, that 
 very pretty fighting would soon follow, 
 which was thought so attractive a matter to 
 divers of the restless bold hearts of the mure 
 peaceful kingdoms of Europe, that they 
 liked nothing so much as to serve a cam- 
 paign or so under the Venetian commanders. 
 
 It chanced that the whole senate of Ve- 
 nice became thrown into a sudden commo- 
 tion by the intelligence that a powerful 
 body of Turks had contrived to land, and 
 take by surprise a small place in the Vene- 
 tian territory, which it was said they liad 
 entrenched, as though with a view to re- 
 tain. Measures, however, were promptly 
 taken to dispossess them of their conquest, 
 
 and the warlike citizens of the republic, in- 
 flamed by the rumors of their unfortunate 
 countrymen taken prisoners only to be sold 
 as s aves, thronged to the ships that were 
 to transport them to the sjjot they intended 
 to signalize by the punishment of their au- 
 dacious enemy, and the deliverance of tlieir 
 pining friends. I would I might, with a 
 proper convenience of this, my story, here 
 tell the goodly show of weapons, the famous 
 display of armor, and the no less admirable 
 array of all other proper muniti'ms of war, 
 that gave such a brave appearance to the 
 lagunes ; but I must for certain good and 
 proper reasons at once transport the reader 
 to the cami) of the Venetians, a brief space 
 only before they assaulted the position the 
 Turks iiad taken, and seemed ready enough 
 to defend. 
 
 The two armies lay in sight of each other, 
 the Ottomans on a hill over-against the lit- 
 tle town, above which their standards still 
 proudly waved. Afiroff was the sea, with 
 the Turkish fleet hotly engaged with the 
 ships of Venice, which, having put ashore 
 the force intended to operate against their 
 enemies on the land, had sailed to destroy 
 their vessels, and so prevent their escaping 
 by sea. 
 
 The town seemed to be defended with no 
 lack of military skill, but the principal reli- 
 ance of the infldels looked to be a battery 
 of six petards, which already began to pour 
 forth its murderous fire as the front col- 
 umns of the Venetians approached with 
 trumpets blowing and banners flying to be- 
 gin the combat, '('he whole army of the 
 republic was in motion ; and it was at this 
 period, just as their general, surrounded by 
 ills ablest captains, had given his last or- 
 ders for the disposition of his forces, an an- 
 cient approached, and with a vast show of 
 respect and reverence, delivered certain pa- 
 pers into his hands. The general was a 
 veteran, tall, stately, and severe of aspect, 
 who, it was easy to see, had fought under 
 the banner of St. Mark, for some two score 
 years at least. He was splendidly appa- 
 relled in the picturesque Venetian habit, 
 which lost nothing of its state by being seen 
 on his commanding figure. In brief, he 
 was just that manner of man whereof the 
 skilful limning of Titian hath given such 
 admirable examples. 
 
 Taking the papers into his hands, he 
 broke the seals, and read them attentively, 
 and with visable appearance of interest. 
 This done, he addressed himself to the bear- 
 er, and sriid, in an audible sonorous voices 
 — " Let thein enter." Straightway the of- 
 ficer made his obedience, and departed 
 
168 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 thence ; prosontly, however, returning', ;ic- 
 coinfwnied by two [)crson:=, whom lie nn- 
 roiinced as " tlic Sij^nor Shrtkspea, and the 
 Signer Gngliehno Erberto, Cavalieri Ingle- 
 si." The difierent capt in-< ionked on tlie 
 strangers with a pleased cm-iousness, for 
 there was that in botli that did as well be- 
 come as bespeak the soldier. The captain- 
 general g;\zed from one to the other as thoy 
 sainted liini, and, if satisfi -d with the liery 
 valor tliat shone in the glances of the 
 younger of the two, his eyes rested with no 
 less approval on tiie steady resoluteness that 
 was as plamly to be seen in the graver as- 
 pect of tiic senior. Him he addressed. 
 
 " I have read with very singular satisfac- 
 tion. Signor," said he with exceeding gra- 
 ciousness of manner, " these letters from 
 certain honorable Councillors of State, in 
 Venice, my assured friends, stHting your de- 
 sire to serve with your young companicm, 
 under my command, and urgently recom- 
 mending you both, as persons of considera- 
 tion and worship, to my countenance and 
 favor. Signor, I am right glad to please 
 the state — and am well content to have any 
 of your honor.ible nation to be my good 
 comrades in this campaign. By the favor 
 of God and St. Mark, I will anon give you 
 such opportunity of displaying your noble 
 valor again.^t the infidel as I doubt not will 
 be greatly to your contentation. 
 
 "DaPiinte!" he exclaimed, to a young 
 soldier of the group around him, " take these 
 worthy cavaliers to be of your company, 
 and with all dispatch join the division now 
 marching against the enemy's centre ; and, 
 gentlemen," lie added, to the others, " we 
 will all, an it please you to our several 
 posts." 
 
 Thereupon there was a stir among that 
 warlike assembly — each hurried away to 
 his company, or to perform such duty 
 as had been previously assigned him — 
 sounds of command were heard in all ci- 
 rections — trumpets were blown and drums 
 beat: the general mounted a charger richly 
 caparisoned, and with several of his cap- 
 tains aboi.t him, galloped otf; and my Lord 
 of Pembroke's heir and his estimable gover- 
 nor found themselves, in a few minutes' 
 space, marching in the midst of a well-ap- 
 pointed body of Venetian soldiers, directly 
 in front of the enemy's position. 
 
 At this time, the loud report of the great 
 gun.s, and a scattered tiring of matchlocks, 
 tnld that some of the advanced parlies were 
 already engaged witli the Turks : but it was 
 not till tlio armies approached each other 
 -more nearly that the contest became gene- 
 ral, and then it beyan to wax fiercer and 
 
 fiercer every instant — for both wore inflam- 
 ed with religious zeal, and a national ani- 
 mosity that had endured for many genera- 
 tions. 
 
 The bravery of silken scarfs, embroidered 
 vestments, rich banners, gorgeous turbans, 
 coscly arms and armor, that figured in that 
 battle-lield cxceedeth belief, and when the 
 smoke cleared away from any part, it was 
 like unto a curtain rising above some 
 matchless picture, glowing with all the 
 deepest colors of the painter's art. 
 
 The infidels had something besides fana- 
 ticism and hatred to urge them to make a 
 stiff fight of it, for they were well aware 
 that, unless they beat off their assailants, 
 their case was desperate indeed. What 
 success their fleet met with, they could have 
 no knowledge of, but they saw it was in 
 vain to look there for assistance at that 
 time. Therefore, they encouraged each 
 oiher with their warlike cries, and rushed 
 forward with shouts in praise of their pro- 
 phet, and exc^crations against '• the Chris- 
 tian dogs,'' with whom they were so eager 
 to engage in deadly battle. 
 
 Master Shakspeare, in availing himself 
 of that favorable oppcjrtunity to obtain for 
 his beloved scholar tlie prized accomplish- 
 ments of a soldier, had not done so without 
 some inward strife with himself. All the 
 earnest dee|) passion he had so long yet se- 
 cretly felt for the noble mother, he had gra- 
 dually transferred to her high-spirited son, 
 as her representative and perfect image ; to 
 the lawfulness of which he li;\d succeeded 
 in reconciling himself, though he was as 
 zealously intent as ever in concealing from 
 its object the influence by which his feel- 
 ings were ever directed towards him. 
 
 Moreover, he had more than one reason 
 for directing' his steps towards the Vene- 
 tian camp, not the least pressing of which 
 was the necessity there existed of removing 
 his chnrge, where pressing duties and con- 
 stant action would destroy a degrading en- 
 tanglement he had winched with solicitude, 
 and had in vain by other means endeavored 
 to destroy. 'I'he youthful lover wuild needs 
 be his own judge in the correctness of such 
 matters, and like a fiery horse would rush 
 into the horriblest mischief were any rude 
 means employed to move him out of the way 
 of it. 
 
 To his governor's huge content, he found 
 that he readily embraced the attractive pro- 
 ject of seeing somewhat of the art of war ; 
 but now that Mai^ter Shakspeare hid him 
 where he so desired, ho was by no means 
 free from disquietude ; for one moment, see- 
 ing the stoutness with which the battle was 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 169 
 
 contested, he feared he might co.ne to harm, 
 and so cause the greatest un'^appiness tliat 
 could befall his noble mother ; and anon, 
 notinij his wilful heedlessness of proper dis- 
 cipline, he despaired of his distinguishing 
 himself as would be most to her contenta- 
 tion. 
 
 Weapons of numberless sorts were now 
 glancing threateningly in all directions 
 around him — tlie wel'-tempered Damiscus 
 blade crossing the trusty Toledo, and the 
 bright Moorish lance ringing against the 
 Milan breastplate. The spirited war cry 
 of '• God and St. Mark," from the stout 
 soldiers of the republic, was replied to by 
 deafening shouts in which " Allah" and 
 " Mahomet" could not fail of being heard. 
 The Turks opposed the Venetians at every 
 inch, endeavoring with frantic furionsness 
 to break their ranks, but the latter forced 
 them back with great slaughter after a long 
 and severe contest, and advanced to a 
 bridge entering up(m the town, which was 
 defended by petards supported by a strong 
 force of desperate intiJels. If Master Shaks- 
 peare found enough employment in looking 
 to the safety of his young companion in 
 arms, awhile since, in the attack on the 
 bridge that soon followed, the service v/as 
 one that required tenfold watchfulness. 
 
 The winged i<ion waved proudly above 
 the heads of its defenders, as they came 
 steadily on to the assault in the very face 
 of the terrible iron engines, that vomited 
 their deadly iron shower amongst them. 
 Here the Venetians suffered severely, for 
 when the Turkish enginetTs had tired their 
 ibrmidable artillery, numerous matchlock 
 men froui the neighboring houses and walls 
 kept up a murderous fire, whilst they pre- 
 pared for another discharge. Cries, mingled 
 with groans, and defiances, were answered 
 v/ith insults and execrations. More than 
 once the brave soldiers of Venice were bea- 
 ten back on this point, but they eagerly re- 
 sponded to the voice of their commanders, 
 and pressed forward to revenge their slaugh- 
 tered comrades. 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke's heir was often in 
 the mo-t imminent peril — his companions 
 kept falling fast around him, and it could 
 scarce be expected he could long escape 
 tlie same end, tor he had got himself in the 
 foremost ranks, and, to the adaiiration of 
 both Iriends and foes, was ever with his 
 anxious governor close at his side, the first 
 to push forward after a repulse. The be- 
 havior of the English cav.iliers so inspirited 
 their allies, that on a sudden they all rush- 
 ed, in spite of the storm of mi-siles that sa- 
 luted them, up to the very mouths of the 
 
 cannon. The engineers fled from their 
 guns, and the bridge was in the possession 
 of the Venetians. 
 
 It was here, during the short but slaugh- 
 tering conflict that took place before the 
 Turks finally gave way, that a gigantu', in- 
 fidel threw himself suddenly before yoimg 
 Herbert, as he impetuously pressed onwurd 
 with the most daring of the assailanis, after 
 their retreating foes, and easily beating- 
 aside his slight rapier, the g'ittering blade 
 he wielded with no less strength than sUill 
 was descending on the youth's head, when 
 it fell from a nerveless grasp, as the sword 
 of the trusty governor was buried to the hilt 
 in his heart. Thrice had a similar service 
 been conferred, in that perilous fight, by 
 the same vigorous arm ; then tlie watchful 
 guardian, assumnig a calm he felt not, had 
 been forced to iiurry on in a feverish anx- 
 iousness, to avrrt the mischiefs that seemed 
 to threaten him in countless numbers; but 
 in this instance, the greatness of the escape 
 of his charge affected him so, that he lost 
 sight of his ordinary self-control, and with a 
 frantic transport enibraced him with all man- 
 ner of joyful and endearing ejaculations. 
 He was noi long, however, before ho became 
 aware of his fbrgetfulness, and as suddenly 
 left his passionate fond humor to put on the 
 more sober fishion of the worthy governor. 
 Fortunately, as he thougiit,tiie youtii marked 
 not the strangeness of Ins behavior, taking 
 it to be excssive pleasure in having effect- 
 ed his rescue, in so timely a manner, and 
 (lid no more than express his thankfulness 
 for such excellent service. 
 
 Just at tills time, the Captain-General of 
 the Venetian army co.aiug up, stopped at 
 sight of the two English cavaliers, and, be- 
 fore all the captains and soldiers around 
 hitn, did connnend them exceedingly for 
 their notable gallantry. Fired w.th this 
 praise, both presently hastened with the 
 main body into the town, which was storm- 
 ed at all points. Numbers of the Turks 
 were driven into the sea — many perished in 
 the houses in which tfey vainly attempted 
 to defend themselves — and t!ie few who re- 
 mained together in the streets, keeping up a 
 desperate and hopeless resistance, disdain- 
 ing quarter and shouting dehance to their 
 enemies, were cut down to a man. 
 
 Scarcely was this glorious victory com- 
 pleted, when the fleet of the republic, after 
 an equally successful conflict with the 
 Turkish ships, returned with several prizes, 
 the rest having been either sank, or scattered 
 to the winds, so that no two of them could 
 bs found ti^ether. Such an huuibang of 
 the Ottoman power the state of Venice had 
 
170 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 not achieved for many a year, and great 
 was the exultation among all classes, both 
 of the land and sea forces in consequence. 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke's heir and his wor- 
 thy governor were held in especial honor by 
 their principal men of war, for the exce.^d- 
 ing valor they had displayed when the tight 
 was at the hottest; and, at the return of the 
 expedition, the nobles vied with each other 
 which should sliovv them most favor and 
 distinction. 
 
 Nor were the ladies in any way behind 
 their lords in this, and showered their most 
 bewitching smiles, as though of all things 
 they cared for nothing so much as to have 
 such gallant spirits for their declared ser- 
 vants and devoted favored lovers. As there 
 were many amongst them of a very exqui- 
 site and ravishing beauty, Master Shaks- 
 peare did lonk with no slight degree of alarm 
 on the greatness of the temptation with 
 which his yoaiig charge was now surround- 
 ed ; and he had need of all his watchfulness 
 to take heed he thrust himself in no fatil 
 mischiefs. The secret assignations — the 
 nightly serenades — the stolen interviews — 
 he knew to be full of deadly peril; and he 
 never saw him enter his gondola biit he 
 feared the poniard of some envious rival, or 
 the poison of some jealous mistress, would 
 put a terrible close to the adventure, in 
 which, he was but too well aware, he was 
 then embarking. 
 
 It was on the very balmiest of moonlight 
 nights, when the silver radiance of that 
 planet, which is so well liked of lovers, was 
 lighting up the rich architecture of one of 
 the stateliest palaces in all Venice, that a 
 lady of that ripe and luscious loveliness 
 that doth, as it were, take the senses of the 
 gazer by storm, was seen in such glorious 
 robes and ornaments, as could the most 
 temptingly set off her admirable form and 
 countenance, leaning on a balcony over- 
 againsta marble terrace that led by a flight 
 of steps into the canal that washed the base- 
 ment wills of the building, looking with 
 eyes lustrous as lire, yet possessed of a ten- 
 derness withal, that did marvellously soften 
 their flaming glances, across the water, as 
 though for something she expected there to 
 behold. Ever and anon a melaruholy gon- 
 dola would be seen gliding along, and the 
 voices of the gondoliers might be heard 
 answering to each other in words of liquid 
 sweetness and tones of passionate music. 
 Perchance the slight breeze, th it so gently 
 stirred the waters, would waft to the ear 
 of the watcher a burst of harmony which 
 was readily recognized as a seren ule of 
 some fond lover for the peculiar delectation 
 
 of his, perchance, eqiially fond mistress ; 
 but these were all afar oft", and evidently 
 were not, in any way, attending upon the 
 pleasures of the lady of the balcony. 
 
 She seemed to span the blue waves that 
 spread out before her glance with an in- 
 creasing interest — the glowing cheek some- 
 times paling, and anon, flu.shiug to a warmer 
 hue than before, as she watched the course 
 of the distant gondolas. Presently she 
 noted one dextrously turned into t!ie chan- 
 nel that flowed beneath her, and then her 
 rosy mouth dimpled into an expression of 
 such delicious sweetness, that doth defy the 
 poet or the painter's craft to do justice to; 
 and, after waiting awhile with an eloquent 
 heaving breast, a softer glance, and a more 
 crimsoned cheek, as she recognized the well- 
 known boat being propelled towards the 
 palace, she retired a little distance, whence 
 she could conveniently see and yet not be 
 seen. 
 
 The gondola was urged onward till it 
 stopped at the foot of the stairs — thereupon 
 a strain of soft music commenced, which 
 presently received additionil harmony, of 
 no ordinary sort, from a rich, manly voice, 
 whose every note was as full of passion as 
 of music. The words, which lacked no art 
 in the singer to make them sufficiently ex- 
 pressive, were to the following purpose : 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 The day hath lost its gladness, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 The night is wrajjt in sadness, 
 
 Bella Donna f 
 
 The wave, the shore, the skies, 
 
 Now don their sober dyes, 
 
 Pining for thy sweet eyes, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 But, ah ! more deep emotion, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 Than earth, or air, or ocean, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 Must be his hapless case. 
 
 To whom all's dull and base. 
 
 That lacks tliy matchless grace, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 Then bring thy fondest glances, 
 
 Bella Donna ! 
 
 To chase such solemn fancies, 
 
 BeUa Donna ! 
 
 And hear, till blusliing morn, 
 
 All nature put to scorn, 
 
 And love's soft worship sworn, 
 
 BeUa Donna ! 
 
 As the song of the unseen singer came 
 to its close, the lady, with looks that did 
 most completely bespeak her approval of its 
 
-THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 171 
 
 sentiments, came to the balcony and waved 
 her han-.Jkerohief. A moment, and there 
 leapt on shore a young and handsome cav- 
 alier — a moment more lie had ascended tlie 
 stairs, crossed tlie terrace, reached the bal- 
 cony, and was locked in the arms of the 
 kind Venetian. Scarce, however, had the 
 lovers begun to give utterance to their mu- 
 tual adoration, when a shadow fell upon 
 them, and th:^ figure of an old man, whose 
 wrinkled visage was distorted with hatred 
 and jealousy, was seen creeping stealthily 
 behind them, with a long, sharp dagger 
 clutched ia his nerveless grasp. 
 
 '•Fly, Signer Erberto! Maledetto ! here 
 is my husband !"' screamed the terrified 
 dame, as slie glided from his embrace and 
 disappeared. The youth was so inigeiy 
 surprised that he kuew not where to look 
 for the unwelcome intruder; and the threat- 
 ening weapon was already gleaming in his 
 eyes, when a figure, closely wrapped in a 
 black domino, and as closely masked, rushed 
 from his pi ice of concealment, and, in the 
 same instant, the meditated assassin was 
 hurled down the marble stairs, and lay stun- 
 ned and motionless at the bottom. 
 
 " Well met again, E.Kcellency," said an 
 unknown voice, cheerfully. 
 
 '•And a.'ain I thank *thee, Signor," re- 
 plied the g ihant, though with more reserve 
 than might iiave been e.xpected under tiie 
 circum-itinces. "But methinks it seemeth 
 marvellous strange thou shouldst ever bo at 
 hand when my life is in jeopardy. 1 would 
 fain know to whom I am so hugely indebt- 
 ed." 
 
 " Pardon me, Signer Erberto," said the 
 other, " my name is not of such importance 
 to deserve tlie attentiiin of a noble English 
 cavalier, like yoarseif. But let me warn 
 you. Excellency, that if you leave not this 
 city ere another sun sets, the vengeance of 
 offended husbands and jealous rivals, to 
 whom you have given such potent provoca- 
 tion, cannot fail of overtaking you." 
 
 " A notable warning, i' faith !" cried the 
 youth, laughingly. " But I fear me much 
 I am in no case for profiting by it, while 
 the dames of this beautiful city are at once 
 .so fair and so kind." 
 
 " Cospetto ! they are indeed a temptation," 
 said the stringer, but added, more gravely, 
 " The love which is so lightly won, me- 
 thinks, ought to be valued by any man, 
 who is not a fool or madman, as of little ac- 
 coimt in comparison with his own life." 
 
 " Am 1 fool or madman. Signer, if 1 
 choose to r'sk my life in such pursuits?" 
 angrily demanded the fiery youth. 
 
 " In honest truth, so it would seem," qui- 
 etly replied the other. 
 
 " And, perchance, I may be thought some- 
 thing worse ?" asked Master Herbert, with 
 every symptom of a rising passion. 
 
 " I doubt not you would be open to such 
 an opinion," gravely responded his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Nay, by this hnnd, this is siieer insult !" 
 exclaimed the impetuous young English- 
 man. " You have put an intolerable affront 
 on me. 1 will owe no obligations to one 
 who doth good services only to hold the 
 person on whom he conferreth them in con- 
 tempt. I charge you, draw and defend your- 
 self." 
 
 The stranger seemed unwilling at first to 
 comply with this challenge ; but soon find- 
 ing he could not avoid it, he opened his 
 domino, and drew his rapier. He had but 
 barely time to put himself on his defence, 
 when the rash and fiery youth came upon 
 him so vigorously, yet so incautiously 
 withal, that, after a few rapid passes, he 
 ran upon the point of his opponent's weap- 
 on, and it entered his side to some depth. 
 At the sight of his b!o(;d, the stranger ut- 
 tered a cry of horror and despair, impossible 
 to be expressed ; and his mask drojiping off 
 as he stooped to catch the wounded youth, 
 who was falling in a swoon to the ground, 
 there appeared the noble features of Master 
 Shakspeare. He hurriedly caught his young 
 charge in his arms, and carried him down 
 to the gondola, where he presently bound 
 up the wound, and soon had him safe at his 
 own lodgings, under the care of the skilful- 
 lest chirurgeons in Venice. 
 
 Master Herbert never knew by whom he 
 had been wounded, and believed that he had 
 been discovered after he had received his 
 hurt. 'J'he worthy governor now played the 
 part of the anxious nurse, not only attend- 
 ing strictly to the surgeon's directions, but 
 making the hours of the invalid — restless 
 at all times, but now still more impatient of 
 confinement — so pleasant with the legends 
 and ballads he had picked up from the gon- 
 doliers and others, that he seemed to forget 
 he was under any restraint. Foremost in 
 these narratives in his favor was the roman- 
 tic story of a Moor, who was a general of 
 the Venetian army, and, taking to wife an 
 exquisite Venetian lady, was driven to such 
 a madness of jealousy by the perjuries of 
 an artful villain, that he stifled his fair wife 
 as slie slept ; and when ho found liow dei^ply 
 he had been deceived, presently laid violent 
 hands on himself, and died, in the old Ro- 
 man fashion, with his own sword. 
 
172 
 
 THE SECRIOT PASSION. 
 
 In this way lie was h 'aled in an increJi- 
 blc sliort time; and, leivinji; Venice, they 
 travelled in the direction of Verona, visiting 
 all the places vvorlhy of note in their way. 
 It is true, young Herbert sceiried to listen to 
 what came from iiis worthy tutcr with more 
 attentiveness than formerly ; but the magic 
 of a pair of black eyes soon deprived the 
 forciblest lessons of wisdom of their attrac- 
 tion ; and he was wont to neglect them al- 
 together when he found more pleasint)- stud- 
 ies elsewhere. Master Shakspeare lived in 
 a state of exceeding anxiousness about his 
 young charge, who would be absent t^rom 
 liim for two or three days together, dreadini; 
 he was engaged in some questi(Hiable a :- 
 venture, endangering as much his credit as 
 his safety ; but he so loved him, as nuK'h 
 now for some nobler qualities he had seen 
 in him, as for the noble mother ho did so 
 forcibly remind him of, that he found greater 
 difficulties every day to put on the governor 
 towards him, as harshly as he made it ne- 
 cessary. 
 
 It is essential that here the author should 
 change the scene of the mmy-colored life 
 he has essayed to draw, to one as strangely 
 differing fmm what the understanding reader 
 hath had knowledge of, as doth a phcenix 
 from a birn-door fowl. So, with his per- 
 mission, I will at once transport liim to one 
 of the wildest landscapes that ever figured 
 in a painter's canvas or a poet's dream. 
 It was a sort of ravine or gorge in the 
 mountains, enclosed by huge masses of 
 gran;te, covered with lichens of various 
 colors; but rank and luxuriant vegetation 
 of shrubs and grasse.^ was perceptible where 
 the soil was deeper, with here and there a 
 tall tree, stretching its giant arms far above. 
 
 Picketed where the best fodder seemed 
 to grow were two or three young horses, 
 which, to all appearance, were worth a fair 
 sum, save oidy to such as were well expe- 
 rienced in the buying of horse-flesh, who 
 would detect in them such faults, cunningly 
 disguised though they were, that made them 
 comparatively worthless. Further off were 
 asses and mules grazing at full liberty, save 
 that a half-n.iked urchin, who seemed to 
 find excellent sport, as he lay at his length 
 on the ground. by gambling with himself for 
 a single doit, was watching that they strayed 
 not too far. In one place tents were pitched ; 
 in another, a tire burnt, and a huge bla(;k 
 pot was reeking over it ; but, save a few 
 boys lying about in idle, listiir-ss groups here 
 and there, whose devil-m-ty-care features 
 appeared to have lost half their audacity, 
 tliere was nothing of human life visible. 
 
 But, on getting behind the tents, this 
 
 could bo no longer the case, for, lo ! there 
 was an assemblage grouped together, of 
 man and woman, of age and youth, swarthy 
 as Moors; all looking as wild and lawless 
 a set as ever cheated or robbed, and not a 
 few having j'ist tliat sort of visage commonly 
 tliought to belong exclusively to such as deal 
 in witchcraft, and have dealings with the 
 arch enemy of mankind. 
 
 Truly this was as diabolical a set of 
 beings as could ever have been found to- 
 gether in one place. They squatted on 
 their hams, excepting some who leaned 
 against the rock, or lay at full length, rest- 
 ing on their elbows ; but the faces of all had 
 the same settled stern malignity, whether it 
 was that of the toothless crone, or the bud- 
 ding girl, the decrepid grandfather, or the 
 sportive child — all, save one, and she was 
 as different from all around her as is a costly 
 gem among bisest peiibles. She stood in 
 the centre of the circle, her hands tied be- 
 hind her; and, though the stream of silken 
 hair, that hung dishevelled over her graceful 
 slioulders, almost concealed her exqui-ite 
 countenance, there was enough of her visi- 
 ble to show it could be no other thus stran<>e- 
 ly placed tban the wondrous dancer of the 
 Romaica, the seductive Bohemian, the idol- 
 ized Xariqua, whom the reader lat-t beheld 
 winning all hearts in the streets of Rome. 
 
 But what a change was here ! She then 
 was free as a bird, and as though her heart 
 was only lighter than her fairy feet. Now 
 the downcast eye, the cheek of deathlike 
 palen^^ss, the compressed hp, and the quick 
 heaving of her breast, betokened a state 
 feirfully different. What meant this ? In 
 honest truth no other than this — she had 
 sinned against the laws of her tribe, and 
 was now on her trial. Her offence was 
 line that, in their savage code, wis visited 
 the most heavily of all for which they sought 
 o legislate. The very spirit of their dis- 
 tinct existence was an irreconcilable hatred 
 against all who were not of their blood, and 
 she had been detected in indulging a passion 
 for a stranger. A^ her judges and accusers 
 were influenced by one feeling, and as tiieir 
 law expressly stated the crime and the pun- 
 ishment, they were not long in coming to a 
 verdict, hi short, she had been tried and 
 condemned. The oldest man of the tribe, 
 a hoiry jiatriarch, with beetling eyebrows 
 and tanned and shrivelled skin, arose in all 
 the dignity of rags and dirt, and, leaning 
 heavily on a long -taff, in a cold and malig- 
 nant tone thus addressed tlie criminal. 
 
 " Wom.m, thou hast brought shams and 
 dishonor on the Rommanee ! thou hast be- 
 stowed thyself on one of the hated Bosnee. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 n: 
 
 Woman ! it was lawful for thee to have so 
 conliicted thyself with a lover of that ac- 
 CLirsjd race, that he uiiyht be deluded, 
 cheated, and tricked for thy especial sport 
 and satisfaction; anl when thou hadst had 
 surficient gain of him, there was plent}'' of 
 our people ready to cut his throat — too good 
 a de.ith for so base a hound ! — liad it been 
 thy comioand. Woman, thou hast, not 
 sought to show the craft of the Roinmanee 
 in thy de.ilings with this son of a hated race ; 
 it is iinown and proved t'l.it thou liast loved 
 hiai — uiay liis blood be drinii for dogs I — 
 only as thou shouldst love tlie man of thine 
 own pjople. 
 
 " It is provided ijy our law that the wo- 
 man who shall commit this villany shaU 
 assuredly die ; that the manner of her death 
 siiall be by the knife ; that it shall be done 
 in a convenient secret place ; and that the 
 puaisiiaient of her crime after tliis manner 
 sh ill, undjr ail cases and circumstances, be 
 by the hand of her next of kin." 
 
 ' •' Oh ! no, no !" shrielvod the criminal, 
 looking wildly at her judges, " you caimot 
 be so inhuman — an act so monstrous cm 
 never be intended. I am ready to die. 1 
 will not shrink — I will not utter a groan. 
 But to find my executioner in mine own 
 child — oh, it is too terrible ! Spare me ! — 
 have mercy ! You that are mothers, you 
 that are fathers, you that have seen how a 
 mother's heart clingeth to her own offspring 
 — I pray you change this horrible sentence, 
 and 1 will willingly endure a thousand deaths 
 of an-itlier sort, be tliey all the cruellest that 
 ever were devised !" 
 
 She implored in vain. They who chose 
 to take any heed of her appeal coldly said, 
 '•It is our law ;" others answered htr with 
 curses, and the rest moved carelessly away. 
 Then slie frantically called on one, and re- 
 minded him of such a service she had done 
 him ; another she bade remember lier prom- 
 ises of returning, on a tit occasion, some 
 portion of the benetits she had bestowed 
 upon her ; a third sh? begged, in return for 
 the securing his happiness with his mistress, 
 he would strive for her to get so intolerable 
 a sentence altered. They one and all mut- 
 tered, " It is our law," and departed their 
 several ways. 
 
 At tfiis time two horses, with rude bri- 
 . dies were brought ; and one of the savagest 
 of the tribe leaping on one, the criminal was 
 placed before him. The boy noticed in an- 
 other chapter now made his appearance, 
 dogged and sullen in visage, yet with a 
 resoluteness worthy of one of the devil's 
 imps. He leaped on the other horse, and 
 
 they both rode through tlie gorge, till they 
 c<ime to a clump of cork-trees quite out of 
 sight of the encampment. At the foot of 
 one a grave had been dug. 
 
 The poor dancer had not failed to use the 
 most moving entreaties which, in her agony, 
 she could think of; but she might have as 
 v,-ell addressed them to a stone as to her 
 companion. He interrupted them witrt the 
 horriblest imprecations ; and, alighting at 
 the end of his journey, roughly took her off 
 her seat, and bound her with cords to a tree. 
 He then addressed the boy, and, putting a 
 iong, sharp knife into his hand, bade him 
 act as became one of the true blood, and 
 ha should be their king, as his uither was. 
 Having said this, he mounted his horse, and 
 r.'tm-ned to his people, without attempting 
 to look back, or show any further concern 
 in the matter. 
 
 The criminal had uttered never a word 
 since she had been bound to the tree. But 
 her eyes were fixed on her son with an in- 
 tensity of horrible curiousness which lan- 
 guage can give but an exceeding faint idea 
 of Her face was of a bluish paleness, and 
 in the expression of it, at that time, was 
 something which seen.ed awfully unearthly. 
 There was no motion at her heart, there 
 was no color in her lips ; in her eyes only 
 there looked to be life, and it was such life 
 as the living had never before been known 
 to have possession. 
 
 The boy remained for a few seconds gaz- 
 ing on the weapon given him for the atro- 
 cious act he was expected to perform. 
 Whether his memory fell back upon the 
 numberless proofs of the deepest and sin- 
 cerest love woman ever felt for her first- 
 born he iiad experienced, or whether, as 
 was more common to the children of these 
 singular and abominable race, he was in- 
 sensible to any grateful feeling, and indif- 
 ferent to the most sacred ties, cannot be 
 ascertained ; but the sounds from the hoofs 
 of the retreating horse had died away be- 
 fore he ventured to look up. 
 
 At that instant he met the full force of 
 the spectral gaze that had been fixed upon 
 him, and it made him start as thougli ho 
 had felt the shock of an earthquake. He 
 seemed to strive to avoid it, but on him it 
 had the power of fascination. He conid 
 not glance aside ; he could not turn. He 
 felt his feet rooted to the ground, and his 
 eyes drawn as though by cords in the di- 
 rection of those whose light he was there 
 to quench for ever. His arms fell power- 
 less at his side; the weapon dropped from 
 his feeble grasp. He felt sick faint, burn- 
 
174 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 intr, scorchinnr, suffocating ; and presently, 
 witli a loud cry, tell down in a til into the 
 open (rrave b 'lore liiin. 
 
 This result had scarcely been cff^cteti, 
 when a youthful cavnl er, wlio had, for some 
 moments pr.or, been engaged in making a 
 cautious descent froin a neighborinii tree, 
 flew as though on wings to tlie intended 
 victim; and, rapidly cutting the cords which 
 bound lior, easily placed her, insensible 
 as she was, on the horse quietly grazing 
 near, which he then mounted and rode off 
 over the broken and tortuous paths that led 
 from this savage scene, at its fullest speed. 
 
 It was not till all chance of immediate 
 pursuit seemed removed, that the cavalier 
 ventured to slacken the pace for the purpose 
 of beholdmg tiie state of his helpless bur- 
 then. He unclasped his arms, and looked 
 on her face. The current of air to which 
 she had been exposed during her rapid 
 journey appeared to have revived her some- 
 what ; a more natural color had returned to 
 her skin ; she breathed gently but regularly ; 
 anon she opened her eyes ; and then, with 
 a very testacy of gladness, murmured "Er- 
 berto mio !" as she gave back her lover's 
 affectionate embrace. She then fell into 
 another swoon ; but a few drops from the 
 contents of a hunting-flisk recovered her 
 presently, and he pushed on as fast as he 
 could to where his own horses were wait- 
 ing, where he arrived just as the one on 
 which he rode showed undeniable symptoms 
 of being utterly exhausted of its strength. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 We came to Paris on the Seine, 
 
 'Tis wondrous fair, 'tis nothing clean, 
 
 'Tis Europe's greatest town : 
 How strong it is I need not tell it, 
 For all the world may easily smell it. 
 
 That \\-alk it up and down. 
 
 Richard Corbet. 
 
 In the time r-ought to be illustrated in 
 this veritable story there was a worshipful 
 city, the fame whereof was bruited far and 
 wide as the abode and scat, as it were, of 
 pleasure ; for, from the very getting up of 
 the sun to its lying down, nought seemed to 
 bo known or understood in that gay place, 
 but the art of passing time — or wasting it, 
 according to some — in the pursuit of the 
 most agreeable pastime in which man and 
 woman could be engaged. This pastime, 
 be it known, which was so generally en- 
 ga.ged in, that old and young, rich and poor, 
 
 learmd and ignorant, the greatest states- 
 men and the most absolute bloikheails, 
 joinxl in it with a like eagerness, and each, 
 after his own fashion, made it the very busi- 
 ness of his life, was, by general consent, 
 regarded by a name to which it had no man- 
 ner of pretension. As in a great cage of 
 monkeys you shall see every one of thein 
 hlching his neighbor's apple rather than 
 guard his own, these worthy persons took 
 on themselves to leave their wives, or daugh- 
 ters, or sisters, or mistresses, as the case 
 might be, for any man's unlawful having, 
 while they were dishonestly intent on the 
 wives, d lughters, sisters, or mistresses of 
 their especial friends ; and this was to them 
 a source of inlinite contentation, nay, the 
 suiiumtm honum of their lives — and the 
 name they gave to this pleasure was none 
 other than '• Love." 
 
 Now it chanced that the king of this peo- 
 ple as much exceeded any of nis subjects 
 in the energy with which he embarked in 
 those pleasant adventures, as doth a triton 
 exceed a minnow. It would be in vain to 
 number the wives, daughters, sisters, and 
 mistresses of other men who were honored 
 as objects of his particular and right royal 
 regard. In these pleasant alfairs he was a 
 merchant adventurer, who had taken out 
 letters of marque against all and sundry the 
 fairest dames and damsels that were to be 
 met with on the high seas of gallantry ; and, 
 though he chose to appear as a holiday 
 barge rather than as a corsair, he rifled 
 such as fell in his way as comj)lctely as 
 though he carried a black flag at his mast; 
 and the citizens of his good city looked up 
 to him with admiration, assisting him with 
 all their powers to secure success in his 
 several adventures, feeling most loyally in- 
 dignant when he met with any obstinate,, 
 rebellious virtuousness, and triumphing in 
 his successes over chastity, modesty, and 
 the like sort of traitorous criminalitj', as 
 though they felt a more than ordinary in- 
 terest in the prosperity of his undertaking. 
 
 The consequence whereof was that the 
 whole city was continually astir with every 
 sort of entertainment that could so please 
 the fair dames and damsels within its walls, 
 as to incline their hearts to share in that 
 pastime which both sexes had been ])leased 
 to distinguish with the name just mentioned. 
 Dancing, singing, feasting, drinking, gam- 
 bling, and all other pleasures whatsoever, 
 were in such constant requisition, that an 
 indiff.'rent person might have said, after ob- 
 serving this constant hunur of revelry, that 
 there could be no other business m the 
 world. Such was the city, and such its 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 175 
 
 sovpreign — such was Paris at tlie com- 
 mencemsnt of the seventeenth century, and 
 such its popular monarch — the gay, the 
 gallant, fond, and fickle Henri Quatre. 
 
 It was about a month atVer tlie circum- 
 stance related at the close of the last chap- 
 ter that the gayest palace of this gay city 
 seemed to have assumed more tlran its cus- 
 tomary excess of revelry. Wherever tlie 
 eye turned within this magnificent building, 
 it fell uj)on evidences of luxury, profusion, 
 and grandeur. Such carving, such gilding, 
 such painting, such tapestry, such gold and 
 silver plate, bright burning lights, such va- 
 riety of costly raiment, such abundance of 
 rich jewels, such dancing, such music, such 
 a multitude of light hearts, and, to say the 
 truth, lighter heads, could be found in no 
 other place in the world. And, in especial, 
 the principal state rooms seemed the very 
 court of pleasure, where every one gave 
 himself up to the most absolute enjoyment. 
 Albeit, instead of the dwelling of a Chris- 
 tian king, it seemed the palace of a heathen 
 Aspasia, where beauty was the passport of 
 both sexes, and all qualities, gifts, and in- 
 joym£,nts made to minister to tiie gratilica- 
 tion of personal vanity. 
 
 There were great lords and great ladies, 
 great statesmen and great prelates, great 
 soldiers and great wits, one and all intent 
 upon considering themselves under the 
 shafts of the rosy urchin whose arrows are 
 f)f such intolerable keenness. The very at- 
 mosphere was pregnant with vows of ever- 
 lasting devotedness, and praises of incom- 
 parable attractions — whereof the vows might 
 stand firm for a week at the least, and the 
 attractions bo deemed matchless for a dura- 
 tion almost as long ; provided always no 
 other form and features appeared with any 
 pretentions to rivalry. 
 
 The great lords and ladies made their 
 language to be less of the proper court 
 phrase than the proper courting phrase. 
 The great statesmen pondered less on na- 
 tions and their policy than on hearts and 
 their affections. The great prelates preach- 
 ed but from one text, which was " Love 
 one another ;" and, to their praise be it said 
 — after a certain fashion — they practised as 
 they preached. The great soldiers chose 
 one particular campaign only, wherein, in 
 besieging hearts, taking captive such as re- 
 sisted them, and in bringing their fair ene- 
 my to an engagement, they covered them- 
 selves with laurels more than sulRcient to 
 liave satisfied all the Cassars ; and the great 
 wits were ever industrious in the invention 
 of sugared poems, pretty jests, choice epi- 
 grams, quaint sonnets, and the like dainty 
 
 goods, upon one theme only, whereof the 
 reader may presently get acquainted by the 
 prominency with which such brave words 
 as " love" and " dove," " heart" and " dart," 
 " grace" and " face," are thrust before him. 
 
 Filled with a throng of such worshipful 
 good company, the palace of the King of 
 France presented a scene alike joyous and 
 picturesque. The bravery of dress display- 
 ed by both sexes outrival led the peacock 
 and the dolphin in delicate colors, and in 
 gold and gems looked as though the jewel- 
 lers of the city had scattered their whole 
 shops upon their several persons. They 
 were engaged in all sorts of ways. In one 
 chamber they sat round tables gambling 
 with cards and dice, ladies as well as lords, 
 and, perchance, the winnings of the latter 
 from the others were rarely paid or demand- 
 ed in the current coin ; in anotlier, they 
 danced to amorous tunes measures of a like 
 tender character ; in a third was much pas- 
 sionate singing, and discoursing a mon- 
 strous deal of fiattery, and a prodigal al- 
 lowance of scandal — the natural sauces 
 wliicli do most delight a court palate. There 
 were groups of spectators, and groups of gos- 
 sips ; groups of busybodies, and groups of 
 idlers ; groups of young courtiers, niscussing 
 the perfections of the thousand-and-first last 
 new favorite ; and groups of old ones, equal- 
 ly fluent in their recollections of the thou- 
 sand who had preceded her. 
 
 Then in one place you heard a sort of 
 popinjay, with the earnestness of life and 
 death, laying down the law resiiecting the 
 color of the beard, the material of a doublet, 
 and the fashion of a sleeve ; while in an- 
 other should be a throng of vain-glorious 
 libertines, making free with tho reputation 
 of every lady who had the misforfune to be 
 of their acquaintance. It is our business 
 with none of these, but with a small party 
 of young gallants, who stood in a recess 
 some little way apart from the rest, and 
 seemed exceeding well satisfied with them- 
 selves, and inclined to hold every one else at 
 an infinitely less valuation. 
 
 They spoke of their own little exploits, 
 both in the duello, and in the favor of lair 
 dames, with a self-exultation that niade them 
 appear as monstrous fine fellows as you 
 shall see any where. There was no lack 
 of names of great ladies, with whom they 
 wished it to be known they had become, as 
 it were, hand and glove, and they abounded 
 in anecdotes sufficiently explanatory of 
 the excellent understanding that existed 
 between them. From this they took to 
 scandalous gossip, and put forth insinua- 
 tions respecting certain ladies of their ac- 
 
176 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 qnaintance, tlmt were exceeding tlefanv.i- 
 tory. 'i'liey diluti'd on the orgies of the 
 H(jtL'l de Sens, and disputed as to the exact 
 number vvitliin a score or two of tiie lovers 
 of its voliipluoiis mistress, Margaret de Va- 
 lois. TJiey made comparisons between the 
 last b.itdi of the king's mistresses, and the 
 most celebrated of tiieir predecessors, in 
 which divers delectable tales were told of 
 the fair Gabrieile, Charlotte des Essarts, l.i 
 belle C(iris:ind'% the beautiful daughter of 
 the gardener of Aret, and many others. 
 
 One thing leading to another, they at last 
 began to discourse of the appearance in Pa- 
 ris of a mysterious stranger, whose arrival 
 had for so.ne days past causod the circula- 
 tion of the most marvellous stories ever told 
 of a pretty woman, and had set the youths 
 of the court and city in a fever of curiosity 
 to know who and wlmt she was, anfi whence 
 she came. All that was really known was 
 that she entered Paris in company with a 
 yonng gallant, supposed to be an English 
 nobleiu.in, wlio atil'cted the strictest secrecy 
 and privacy ; that they lived in handsome 
 lodgings, without friends or visiters ; that 
 she was young and of a ravishing beauty, 
 and was supposed to be a Jewess. This 
 was but scant materials, but it was suffici- 
 ent to originate the most strange and event- 
 ful histories ever he;ird, even in a city so 
 famed fur the marvellous, as tiie capital of 
 the King of France. 
 
 It chanced, that, as these idlers were in- 
 tent upon their discourse, a party of live or 
 six individuals in passing through the rooms 
 took up a position close to them, for the bet- 
 ter observation of the crowd of gay compa- 
 ny that went from one apartment into ano- 
 ther. Sundry of these were of the courte- 
 ous reader's especial friends : to wit, the 
 noble and gallant Sir George Carevv, not as 
 had b;^en his wont many a festive day in 
 the glittering chambers of this gay palace, 
 with the fair and gentle Su>anna Shaks- 
 pearc on his arm, to whom, to the huge en- 
 vy of all the gallants of the court, who 
 much desired tu be in the good graces of a 
 creature so fresh and beautiful, he bore him- 
 self with the tt-ndernessof a parent, and the 
 gallantry of a lover, out of respect for his 
 especial friend, her worthy father ; but, in 
 close and serious converse with that friend, 
 whose thoughtful brow was impressed with 
 an ex|)ressujn of deep sadness, as if the im- 
 port of what he discoursed of was a matter 
 of life and death. 
 
 They were a little in advance of their 
 party, the principal persons of wlioin, 
 out. of all doubt, were the stately Lady 
 Carew herself, having, on one side of 
 
 her, in all the imposing pomp and vanity of 
 his church, a right reverend cardinal ; but 
 the bravery of his dress fell short of that of 
 his speech, which did out-compliment the 
 very finest words courtier ever spoke. Yet 
 though it seemed directed to this excellent 
 fair lady and no other, she was wise enough 
 to know it was intended for her exquisitely 
 fair compai.ion, our admirable acquaintance 
 Susanna, who, dressed in the full court tire, 
 looked a princess at the least, as she bowed 
 her graceful head in courteous acknowledg- 
 ment of the numberless fine things said to 
 her and of her, by a distinguisiied grand 
 duke, who had the honor of walking by her 
 side. After these came certain princes, 
 marshals, and prelates, having the new 
 made knight, young Sir Hugh Clojiton, in 
 the midst of them, in whose hearing they 
 rivalled each other in the extravagant things 
 they said of the charms of " la belle Su- 
 sanne," who had caused the composition 
 of ballads, ditties, sonnets, and madrigals, 
 since her arrival in France, out of all num- 
 ber. 
 
 As Master Shakspeare and his attentive 
 friend passed the knot of talkers in the re- 
 cess, he heard part of a sentence, which 
 caused him to interrupt some observation 
 the other had commenced. 
 
 " A young Englishman, say you ?" said 
 one of them, in a tone of exaltation. 
 
 " Perdie, that is well ! These English 
 are always thrusting their insolent preten- 
 sions before some charming creature or 
 other, for whom a Frenchnivin is her only 
 proper lover : but we have but to show our- 
 selves, and the intruder is content to make 
 the best of his way to his own foggy island, 
 leaving the prize in our possession." 
 
 '^Pardimiiez moi, 7)1011 ami,'' replied the 
 one who had spoken immediately before ; 
 " but this Englishman is not to be so easily 
 disposed of. I am told he carried her oil' 
 from an army of Turks, who were taking 
 her to the prince, their sultan, after slaying 
 with his own sword I know not how many 
 of her turbaned escort." 
 
 '• By this light, these English are mad !"' 
 observed another. 
 
 " They have not brains enough to be mad. 
 Tiiev are only foolhardy," said one less cha- 
 ritable. 
 
 " 1 know not, gertlemen, whether they 
 be one or the other," resumed the former 
 speaker ; " but of this I am sure, that JMon- 
 sieur Ic Comfe du Earre, my cousin, having 
 contrived, by the most politic stratagem, to 
 gain atlinittanc.e by the door, to the lodging 
 of this charming Jewess, or Moorish prin- 
 cess, or whatever ehc may be, in a few se- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 177 
 
 conds was seen to make her exit by the 
 window, in a fashion that must needs have 
 been intolerably disagreeable to so fine a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " How was that ?" exclaimed half a dozen 
 voices, in some astonishment. 
 
 " It was the pestilent Englishman !" re- 
 phed the other, with a shrug of his shoul- 
 ders, that said a great deal more than his 
 speech. 
 
 " Bah !" cried the first speaker, in great 
 contempt ; " Monsieur le Comte should 
 have chastised this rude fellow with his ra- 
 pier, and then carried off his mistress." 
 
 " My cousin, Monsieur le Comte du 
 Barre, intended so to do," answered the 
 other ; " but the Englishman, almost as soon 
 as he drew, sent my cousin's rapier flying 
 some twenty yards off in one direction, and 
 then, taking him by the back part of his 
 embroidered murray velvet trunks, and, 
 seizing him with the other hand by the 
 neck of his satin doublet, sent Monsieur 
 le Comte dn Barre flying through an open 
 window, some twenty yards off, in ano- 
 ther." 
 
 At this the party uttered various excla- 
 mations of indignation and horror, with a 
 handsome sprinkling of the newest oaths, 
 during which a few words passed between 
 xMaster Siiakspeare and Sir George Carew, 
 wliich ended in the latter making liis way 
 towards the group ; and, as he knew them 
 all exceeding well, he addressed them as 
 his familiars, begging to be made acquaint- 
 ed with the subject of a discourse, which 
 could not be but of surpassing interest, as 
 it rendered them indifferent to the attractive 
 scene around them. Ccnirteous pleasan- 
 tries followed on both sides, after which he 
 heard all that they had to tell concerning 
 the Moorish princess, or Jewess, or the 
 grand Turk's favorite Sultana — as she was 
 described to be by his various informants — 
 and her English lover. 
 
 '• You are right. Will," exclaimed Sir 
 George, as he returned to his friend, with his 
 ever pleasant countenance beaming within- 
 finite satisfaction in every feature. " These 
 fine chattering popinjays were talking of 
 your lost sheep, and the seductive wolf who 
 had carried him off." 
 
 "Let us away, Sir George!" exclaimed 
 Master Shakspearc, eagerly, all trace of 
 his late seriousness disappearing: — " He 
 hath led in'^ a tine dance, and hath filled me 
 with the most absolute anxiousness poor 
 governor ever endured, since, with my 
 trusty squire, Simon Stockfish, I have been 
 tracing his footsteps. I prythee let us 
 away, and secure him at once !" 
 12 
 
 « Not so fast, friend Will !" replied Sir 
 George. " At present he is safe enough, I 
 warrant you ; and it will be as well not to 
 disturb his fancied socin-ity till we have the 
 means of holding him fast for the future. I 
 will lose no tune in consulting a certain 
 excellent powerful friend of mine, who will 
 be here anon, and will put us in a way of 
 securing your scapegrace, and of placing 
 his dark dulcinea in worse than Egyptian 
 bondage, where she must needs find other 
 pastime than stealing young noblemen IVom 
 their proper guardians and teachers. But 
 we must hasten to pay our respects to the 
 crowned majesty of France ; for, having ob- 
 tained permission to present you both to 
 Henri and the royal Marie de Medicis, his 
 ill-beloved consort, I should get myself into 
 huge disgrace were I to allow you to leave 
 the palace without the necessary presenta- 
 tion, so you must e'en with me, my master, 
 as my poor jest hath it, ' Willi nilli.' " 
 
 Seeing there was no help for it. Master 
 Siiakspeare proceeded through two or throe 
 of the state apartments, and, notwithstand- 
 ing his excessive eagerness once again to 
 get his youthful charge under his govern- 
 ance, he could not help being famously en- 
 tertained by the little histories his compan- 
 ion gave him of the diflerent notables with 
 whom he exchanged courtesies, or whom 
 he pointed out in the crowd, as well as some 
 account he furnished of divers intrigues in 
 which the present favorite, the Marchioness 
 de Verneuil, was engaged for tiie puqxise 
 of securing her power over the king, and 
 humbling and annoying the queen. Ever 
 and anon Sir George would turn round and 
 address some pleasantry to the daughter of 
 his friend, who replied in a like spirit, which 
 caused the tongues of his eminence the 
 Cardinal and of his highness the Grand 
 Duke to proceed with their sweet phrases 
 with a new impulse. The grace! ul ease 
 and admirable self-possession of the village- 
 girl, amongst the most polished portion of 
 the most polite court in Christendom, was 
 not lost upon the delighted father. But he 
 knew that Nature hath her nobility as well 
 as kings and queens — and there was no 
 finer example than he exhibited in his own 
 person — and findeth, when it so pleaselh 
 her, from the humblest homesteads her 
 maids of honor, who could confer grace and 
 dignity to a palace or to a throne. 
 
 The courtly throng increasing, the party, 
 .-lowly making their way, were at last allow- 
 ed to approach a group composed principally 
 of ladies who were stationed on a dais, under 
 canopy of state, in the midst of which was 
 a throne, richly carved and gilt, whereon 
 
178 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 eat the proud, majestic, but unliappy-look- 
 iiig Marie de Medicis. The display of 
 costly silks and velvets, embroidered with 
 gold and jewels, were here exceeding con- 
 spicuous ; indeed, everything in that grand 
 apartment bespoke a scene of luxury and 
 inagni licence wortiiy the taste of a daugli- 
 tcr of a de Medicis. The proper officers 
 having facilitated their approach, Master 
 Shakspeare was presented in due form by 
 his friend; but, aklioiigh the queen conde- 
 scended so far as to grant the request of 
 the English ambassador, having subse- 
 quently learned that Monsieur Shakspeare 
 was neither a lord nor an abbe she did not 
 at first think it necessary to noMce him be- 
 yond that very slight attention the ceremony 
 permitted ; but his noble bearing and grace- 
 ful courtesy of manner did impress her so 
 favorably towards him, that she ultimately 
 unbent herself of much of her stiffness, and 
 even honored him so far as to mention in 
 terms of commendation his fair daughter. 
 
 " There is a Queen of Franco for you, 
 now !" said Sir George Carew to his com- 
 panion, as they left the presence. " She 
 certainly lacketh none of the external signs 
 of a queen, but she hath no more. All the 
 real power and consequence that should be 
 with the king's consort rests with the king's 
 mistress, who, besides usurping her state 
 and inveigling her husband, puts monstrous 
 affronts upon her, ridicules her, and seeks 
 all she can to excite the king's mind against 
 her. The knowledge of this maketh her to 
 wear so grave a visage : but it is said, on 
 pretty good authority, that she is not entirely 
 without consolation ; for that supple eccle- 
 siastic on her right hand, the very reverend 
 Master Richelieu, Bishop of Lucon, hath 
 the reputation of being able to preach to 
 her, to her heart's content, on matters of 
 which his breviary affbrdeth him no text. 
 Yet, whatever may be the state she here 
 supports, that with which the Marchioness 
 de Verneuil had surrounded herself in her 
 splendid apartments in the Louvre, and in 
 her own magnificent chateau, smacketh in- 
 finitely more of the queen." 
 
 As the two friends were pressing on with 
 tlieir company, a general murmur of " Le 
 Roi ! Le Roi !" whilst passing through one 
 of the handsomest of the saloons, announced 
 the approach of the king ; and, in a minute 
 or two, they beheld a middle-aged man, roy- 
 ally attired, with a peculiarly dignified 
 bearing and pleasing aspect, though, to a 
 close observer, it bore traces of sensuality 
 and satiety, walking along, leaning fami- 
 harly on the arm of a man, much iiis senior, 
 of a most profound gra\ity, to whose dis- 
 
 course lie seemed to listen with very little 
 attention, his eyes being directed to the 
 persons within his observation, yet never 
 resting on any for a moment, unless the in- 
 dividual chanced to be a woman with a new 
 face, and a famous handsome one. But he 
 was courteous and affable to all who recog- 
 nized him, returning their courtesies in 
 right princely fashion, and, to those who 
 knelt, giving his hand to kiss with the air 
 of one who strove earnestly to be consid- 
 ered the fither of his people. 
 
 "Behold the invincible Henri Quatre, 
 king of France and Navarre !" exclaimed 
 Sir George Carew to his companion. " A 
 great conqueror, truly ; though his conquests 
 have been amongst women rather than men 
 — a great hcM, according to the ideas of the 
 former ; for he hath often, to obtain an in- 
 terview with one or other of them, put the 
 fortune of a whole campaign into jeopardy, 
 and hath purchased their smiles at little 
 loss than the cost of a kingdom. His open- 
 handed generosity, his indulgent humor, and 
 his graceful courtesy, seem to blind his 
 good subjects to the extent of the evil he 
 has created in France by the general laxity 
 of morals throughout the country, caused 
 by his inattention to the ordinary decencies 
 of society. There is scarce a barber in 
 Paris who would care to live in honorable 
 wedlock — there is not an idler in all France 
 who hath not as deep an interest in her des- 
 tinies as his king. Fortunately for him 
 and for France, he hath for his counsellor a 
 man capable of managing the state for him ; 
 and equally fortunate is it, he chooses to 
 leave it to such management." 
 
 " That must be INhmsieur the Baron de 
 Rosni, of whom I have heard so much," 
 said Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " It is 110 other," answered Sir George. 
 " And there he stands — the Grand Master 
 of the Ordnance and Chancellor of the 
 Kingdom — by the side of his thoughtless 
 master ; in all honesty, much too good a 
 mentor for so indiflfcrent a scholar. But 
 the King's eyes are upon us. Will. — We 
 must advance." 
 
 The two approached the King of France, 
 who presently accosted the ambassador in a 
 sufficiently cordial spirit ; and, when the 
 latter presented his friend, received his hom- 
 age with a marvellous degree of courtesy, 
 and, after inquiring with much apparent 
 earnestness news of Prince Henry, he spoke 
 to some extent of the English stage, not 
 failing to express several well-earned com- 
 pliments respecting the important share Mas- 
 er Shakspeare had in making it what it 
 was. Presently he returned again to Prince 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 179 
 
 Henry, whom he mentioned in exceeding ex- 
 cellent terms, yet seemed to be in doubt his 
 life would be e.th'r very happy or very long. 
 
 Master Shakspeare proved himself an ad- 
 mirable intelligencer, and his pertinent an- 
 swers so pleased the king, he continued his 
 questions — now asking him of his travels — 
 now of his plays — now of the fair dames of 
 England — now of those of Italy and France 
 — now of his brother, the King of England 
 — and now of him. The conference broke 
 up at last, leaving each very favorably dis- 
 posed towards the other. Whilst they were 
 thus eng:iged, Sir George Carew took the 
 opportunity of entering into conversation 
 with the Grand Master of the Ordnance, 
 to whom, when the king was in deep dis- 
 course with the Spanish ambassador, Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare was presented. They con- 
 versed together for several minutes, on di- 
 vers subjects, in which the great counsellor 
 of the French king showed how well he 
 merited the reputation he had acquired, and 
 the friend of the English ambassador proved 
 Ijow worthy he was to hold discourse with 
 him. Afler sundry courteous expressions 
 on either side, Monsieur de Rosni returned 
 to his sovereign, who had just received some 
 news which had thrown him into an extra- 
 ordinary state ot disquietude. He kept ex- 
 claimin_r, " All is lost ! All is lost !" in the 
 most moving tones ; and, in his looks and 
 movements, showed as a man suddenly over- 
 taken by some overwhelming calamity. 
 
 " What think you, Will, is the monstrous 
 evil that hath so moved this magniticent 
 king ?" asked Sir George. 
 
 " Of a truth I know not !" replied the 
 other, " but methinks it must be something 
 very terrible." 
 
 '• Perchance you would take it to be the 
 destruction of an army abroad, or a terrible 
 insurrection at home, the death of a favorite 
 child, or the discovery of a deep spread con- 
 spiracy, the intelligence of the plague 
 breaking out in the city, or the news of its 
 fairest quarter being burned to the ground ?" 
 
 " Surely it must be one or other of these 
 huge calamities." 
 
 " By this hand it is notliing more or less 
 than the knowledge that the Princess di 
 Conti, a young beauty, recently married, 
 hath ventured to save herself and husband 
 from dishonor, by flying with him out of the 
 country !" 
 
 " This is marvellous, indeed !" cried Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare. 
 
 By this time it had become generally 
 known how the King's sudden disorder had 
 been created, and universal was the sympa- 
 thy for the royal sufferer, whilst the lady 
 
 and her husband, who had dared to evade 
 the King's august intentions, were stigma- 
 tised as traitors of the blackest die. Several 
 of the nobles threw themselves at the feet 
 of their unhappy monnrch, and offered their 
 services to trace the fugitives, and happy 
 was he above all his fellows who obtained 
 the envied commission of proceeding on their 
 footsteps. 
 
 "We have seen enough of this," said Sir 
 George. "Let us away, Will, after your 
 lost sheep. The Grand Master of the Ord- 
 nance hath promised me all necessary help, 
 so that now it may be ' the hunt is up,' as 
 soon as you please." 
 
 On this much. Master Shakspeare was 
 all eagerness to be going, and the party were 
 soon afterwards seen leaving the palace, but 
 not before his Eminence, the Cardin;il, had 
 taken advantage of a convenient opportunity 
 to whisper to the fair object of his attentions, 
 a communication which had all the fervor 
 of the most devout supplication he had 
 ever offered ; and his Highness, the Grand 
 Duke, had availed himself in a similar man- 
 ner of an occasion to express his senti- 
 ments, which were uttered with no less im- 
 pressiveness than he could have employed 
 had he been addressing an assembly of no- 
 tables. And the small crowd of princes, 
 marshals, and prelates, that were in her 
 train, either bv look or speech, ventured to 
 make known to her that in losing sight of 
 her inestimable sweet .society, they should 
 lose everything that gave attraction to the 
 place, or pleasure to the hour. The gentle 
 Susanna acknowledged all these precious 
 courtesies, with an air of graceful indiffer- 
 ency and happy pleasantry, and lelt the 
 glittering magnificoes with as much of her 
 regard as they had on the first moment of 
 their acquaintance; which was of that 
 small ness all the resources of fractions could 
 not give it quantity. 
 
 Whilst these things were proceeding, 
 doings of equal import to this our story 
 were in progress in a quiet but respectable 
 lodging in a retired part of Paris. Thither 
 had arrived, some days before, a noble cava- 
 lier, and a beautiful lady he treated with all 
 the tenderness and consideration due to an 
 adored wife. The young cavalier was no 
 less handsome than liberal — qualities that 
 served him better in this good city than if 
 he had brought with him the recommenda- 
 tions of the greatest princes in the world. 
 
 It is true the lady was of a dark com- 
 plexion, and there seemed no small amount 
 of mystery in her behavior ; but the people 
 of tlie house, like good Parisians of that 
 time, finding there was a sufficiency of mo- 
 
180 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ney, iliil not tliink it necessary to tvonblo' 
 tlicmselves aljoutwliatscoiued inox|)lic:ii)lc' ; 
 in wliicli they were continued by llieir lod- 
 gers conversiniT in a lanijnaire of wiiifh, 
 witli all their powers of listening, they found 
 they could not make out a word. 
 
 The understanding reader will find no 
 difficulty in discovering that the strangers 
 were the seductive Eohornian and my lord 
 of Pembroke's heir. This thoughtless pair 
 liad sought such concealment the more ef- 
 fectively to enjoy the happiness they, in their 
 short-sightedness, fancied was in store for 
 them. For anything in the shape of real 
 happiness, neither their dispositions nor 
 their circumstiinces allowed ; and, in a few- 
 days alter their mutual flight, they awoke 
 from a feverish dream, with anythinir save 
 the entire concentration of feeling for each 
 other, writers have been pleased to distin- 
 guish with the name of love. Nevertheless, 
 they would have been exceeding loath to 
 admit there v/as the very slightest diminu- 
 tion of their mutual devotion. 
 
 If the truth must be stated, they were 
 both of much too restless a spirit to be con- 
 tent with each other's society for any length 
 of time ; and a short period after their en- 
 trance into Paris, the retirement in which 
 they livetl throwing them entirely upon their 
 own resources, they found themselves living 
 after a monstrous dull fashion. 
 
 La Xariqua yearned for the exulting 
 freedom of the green woods — the guiltless 
 intercourse of the wild family of which she 
 was an honored member : and the young 
 noble began to regret the seclusion that 
 kept him from sharing in the festivities and 
 revelries that were going on in every quar- 
 ter of the gay city in vi'hich he had taken 
 up his residence, lie had been both an- 
 noyed and enraged by the impertinent cu- 
 riosity of some hair-brained Frenchmen, 
 whom the extraordinary charms of the Bo- 
 hemian had influenced to an extent that 
 made them desperately eager for any ad- 
 venture that promised her notice and favor : 
 but latterly he had taken less notice of this 
 curiosity. 
 
 He also had been the object of similar no- 
 tice, as he had received several tender com- 
 munications, oneof which, signed "La Dame 
 des Roses," had not filled to create a slight 
 Impression in favor of the writer. 
 
 He had all along behaved to the compan- 
 ion of his (light with the very utmost devo- 
 tedness ; but, to one so ignorant of anything 
 in the shape of restraint, the comforts and 
 luxuries with which he had surrounded her 
 Bcemed a poor recompense for the inspiring 
 dance in the free air, and the tumultuous 
 
 plaudits of crowds of spectators. He began 
 to imagine that the care with which he had 
 kepi her concealed was unworthy of him 
 and her. He had heard much of the attrac- 
 tions of the gardens of the Il^tel de Sens, 
 wherein the gayest company in Paris were 
 wont, not always creditably, to amuse them- 
 selves, and proposed to her, by way of a 
 frolic, to go there disguised, and be enter- 
 tained with whatever was worth seeing. A 
 joyful assent was readily given ; and as 
 there was no difficulty in the way of admis- 
 sion, he having a few days since received 
 an invitation, the pair were soon promena- 
 ding the pleasant walks and umbrageous 
 groves, masked and disguised so completely 
 that they scarcely knew each other. 
 
 They mingled with the crowd of idlers 
 that had there assembled to kill time as 
 agreeably as possible, listening to concealed 
 music of the most ravishing description 
 and admiring the dancers, the jugglers, the 
 singers, the fountains, the flowers, and the 
 trees, that gave a fairy-iike beauty to the 
 scene. They at last found themselves in a 
 path into which all the company seemed to 
 be crowding, as if it led to some peculiar 
 place of attraction. By imperceptible de- 
 grees it narrowed till it was impossible 
 for two to walk abreast ; and on each 
 side there rose a wall, as it were, of holly, 
 that seemed about to contract, till further 
 progress, even for one person, looked to be 
 impossible. 
 
 The cavalier allowed his fiiir companion 
 to precede him. The path ended in a sort 
 of fairy temple divided into several compart- 
 ments. He saw her enter one, when the 
 whole structure turned on a pivot, and 
 placed her out of sight. He followed into 
 the building, and found as soon as he en- 
 tered it, that it revolved with him. On its 
 stopping, he beheld a flight of very narrow 
 stone steps, down which he perceived his 
 companion proceeding with considerable 
 speed. He followed very quickly, and saw 
 her disappear under an archway, where an 
 ascent of steps brought him again into the 
 open air, but in a grove thickly planted with 
 trees. 
 
 Observing female drapery fluttering in 
 the distance, he was quickly in pursuit, al- 
 most inclined to marvel at the sportiveness 
 which made his mistress so nimble of mo- 
 tion, now she was once more under the 
 friendly covert of such old familiar friends 
 as the tall trees of the forest. He mended 
 his pace, but so quick of foot was she, that 
 only with much ado could he keep her in 
 sight. At last he saw her enter a building 
 by a postern door. He followed as quick 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 181 
 
 as he might, and found himself entering up- 
 on a long dark passage. Thinking he might 
 lose her in so strange a place, lie called to 
 her to stop, but to nis huge astonishment 
 receivt'd no answer. He repeated his call 
 with a like success. He then hurried on, 
 not knowing what to think. 
 
 The banging of the door led him towards 
 it. He passed through as he beheld another 
 at some distance thrown back. In this way 
 he went on, meeting no one, the chambers 
 increasing in the richness of their furniture, 
 in as gr^at astonishment at tlie whole ad- 
 venture, as a youth of his spirit ciiuld well 
 be. He began to doubt that it could bo his 
 enamored mistress running from him in this 
 strange fashion. Alas, poor youth ! She 
 to whom you direct your thoughts is fir 
 enough away in a different direction, well 
 cared for, by one who has both the will and 
 means ample enough to secure her Irom all 
 others whatsoever. 
 
 He at last entered a magnificent saloon, 
 with hangings of the very richest looms of 
 arras, delici'lely painted with the stories 
 from Ovi 1 his Metamorphoses. He made 
 for a dcor he saw belbre hiui, and nothing- 
 could equal his surprise, when, on pushing 
 it open, he found himself in a place fash- 
 ioned l.ke a bower of roses, and giving out 
 the moit ravishing perfume of thac daintiest 
 of flowers. On what seemed to be literally 
 a bed of their odorous leaves, reposed a fe- 
 male tigure in a garb no less classic than 
 seductive. 
 
 He gazed as it were spell-bound — scarcely 
 willing to believe his eyes. The lady rose 
 gracefully trom her position, and bade him 
 welcome to her palace, where she added 
 his presence had been long hoped lor. Then, 
 clapping her jewelled hands thrice, there en- 
 tered Several nymphs of ravishing loveli- 
 ness, also in the ancient classic garb, bear- 
 ing refreshments of the most tempting sorts, 
 which they set before him. Half inclined 
 to believe the whole a delusion, he tasted of 
 the cates and the wine so temptingly brought 
 for his delectation, and any thing for the 
 palate so truly delicious he had never known 
 before. He soon ascertained tiiat he be- 
 held his fair correspondent ; and, recovering 
 from the bewilderment into which he had 
 at tirst been thrown, he presently poured out 
 a bumper of wine, and with a gallant air 
 drank to the health of " La Dame des 
 Roses." 
 
 As the attendant nymphs disappeared, he 
 could alino^t fancy himself that he had gone 
 a vast way back ui the history of the world, 
 and was at the moment in classic Athens, 
 
 in the luxurious villa of the voluptuous As- 
 pisia. Although this was not the case, he 
 could not be considered in better hands ; for, 
 as he soon discovered, he was in the pres- 
 ence of Margaret de Valois, the divorced 
 Queen of France. 
 
 The ladies of Paris were not more active 
 in seeliing new objects of attachment than 
 the cavaliers, and the arrival of a young and 
 handsome Englishmm created as great a 
 sensation amongst them, as his companion 
 had done amongst the <ither se.x. Marga- 
 ret de Valois had early intelligence of the 
 stranger's appearance, and determined to 
 cajitivate him, if possible. She toc^k her 
 measures without delay, and the reader has 
 seen how far they succeeded. The Lord 
 of Pembroke's heir had heard too many sto- 
 ries of Margaret de Valois, not to be well 
 satislied as to who was his entertainer ; and 
 neither his taste nor his principles were suf- 
 hciently vitiated to make him see any grat- 
 ification in an intimacy with such a person- 
 age. Nevertheless, he thought it necessary 
 not only to coiiceal his seniiments, but to 
 behave with a certain degree ofgillantry. 
 
 This had its due cll(:'ct. Alter a sutfi- 
 cient commodity of impassioned looks, ten- 
 der speeches, amorous ditties, and the like 
 artillery, the regal beauty fancying she had 
 made a sufficient impression for one inter- 
 view, gave another summons, which was 
 answered on the instant by a black slave 
 dressed in the Indian fashion, who was di- 
 rected to leid her honored guest to his 
 chamber. The Lady of the Roses accepted 
 his murmured adieus with a glance suffi- 
 ciently encouraging, and he left her bower 
 to all appearance her vowed servant. 
 
 With the assistance of his sable conduct- 
 or, he very shortly made his way to a cham- 
 ber furnished in the most magnificent man- 
 ner. Vessels of gold and silver, costly 
 hangings, richly carved furniture were pre- 
 sented to his observation in every direction, 
 and an almost overpowering air of luxury 
 seemed to pervade the chamber. Our young 
 adventurer, in a cursory glance he gave to 
 its ornaments, saw that if the senses could 
 be operated upon by external objects, noth- 
 ing had been left undone in the furnishing 
 of this chamber to nuike the influence as 
 perfect as possible. He found a suit of the 
 most splendid description ready for him, 
 and every arrangement for a change of ap- 
 parel worthy of a crowned head. A silver 
 bell lay on a table of poijihyry for his use, 
 when fie required an attendant. He was, 
 however in no mood for availing himself of 
 such munificence. There were some un- 
 
182 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 pleasant stories afloat rcppectingtlie fate of 
 certain gentlemen and lords, who were 
 known to have been the lovers of Margaret 
 de Valois, and, with every disposition to play 
 the gallant, he had no ambition of following 
 I hem too closely. Besides which he was 
 anxious to learn something concerning his 
 so suddenly lust mistress, who had disap- 
 peared after so very marvellous a fashion in 
 the gardens of the Hotel de Sens ; but this 
 he knew full well he was not likely to do as 
 long as he remained in his present sump- 
 tuous quarters. 
 
 By drawing aside the arras, he discovered 
 a window, and, although the day had closed, 
 he could easily see that the chamber was 
 elevated not more than ten or twelve feet 
 from the ground. His resolution was soon 
 taken. Opening the casement, he cautious- 
 ly glanced at tlie ground beneath, and find- 
 ing there nothing likely to impede his de- 
 scent, he carefully let himself out feet fore- 
 most, with his face to the window, till he 
 was supported only by his hands clinging to 
 the sill — he then let go his hold and dropped. 
 The shock was considerable, but in divers 
 of his adventures he had had worse. 
 
 He now found himself in a deepening 
 twilight, standing in the shadow of a spa- 
 cious mansion, in an enclosed space that 
 seemed to be a courtyard. If this were the 
 case, he knew that high walls and impassa- 
 ble gates still stood between him and his 
 liberty. He had not yet concluded what he 
 should next attempt, when he heard the 
 hum of voices approaching, and [)resently 
 discerned several tigures by the light of 
 flambeaux crossing the courtyard. He kept 
 in the shadow as close as possible. 
 
 As the party approached nearer, he fan- 
 cied he recognised a voice. He redoubled 
 his attention. He could discern a figure 
 and countenance in which it was impossi- 
 ble for him to be mistaken. It was that of 
 an English gentleman to whom he was well 
 known, and whose powerful protection he 
 might rely upon. With him were several 
 
 f)ersons ; but the majority, from being in the 
 ivery of Margaret de Valois, it was evident 
 were attending his departure as an honored 
 guest of their mistress. As they passed, he 
 heard his friend say, *' 'Tis marvellous 
 strange. I can prove he entered the gar- 
 dens at three of the clock, and hath not been 
 heard of since. O my life, 'tis exceeding 
 strange!" What reply was made he could 
 not distinguish, but wh.it he had already 
 heard was quite sufficient to cause him to de- 
 cide what he should do. Stealthily creeping 
 from hi& hiding, he made for the great 
 
 gates, which a gigantic porter was unfast- 
 ening for the Englishman's exit ; when one 
 gate opened, ho watched his time, and, as 
 the man was pulling back the other, he 
 quickly glided out. 
 
 He waited close by. In a few minutes, 
 to his great relief, he heard the sound of the 
 horses' hoots. His friend and his retinue 
 of grooms and running footmen were sweep- 
 ing by ; when he called out his name, the 
 latter pulled up instantly, and the whole 
 party stopped. It was the English Ambas- 
 sador, who, not finding his friend's scholar, 
 had traced him to the gardens, and, as he 
 had never returned, had been to make in- 
 quiries at the palace, where he was assured 
 by the chamberlain, the groom of the cham- 
 bers, and other domestic officers, that such 
 a cavalier as he described had not been seen 
 there. As their mistress was not visible, 
 he was returning to seek the assistance of 
 the Grand Master of the Ordnance, when 
 the object of his disquietude, to his great 
 relief and astonishment, unexpectedly pre- 
 sented himself before him. 
 
 Sir George Carew had been a frequent 
 visitor at the mansion of the Earl and Coun- 
 tess of Pembroke, and was on such intimate 
 terms with the family, as to allow of his 
 taking upon himself to play the counsellor 
 to the son ; and this he did so earnestly and 
 pleasantly withal, that the thoughtless 
 youth promised to be guided by hiui, and 
 told him all his story from his riight with 
 the Bohemian. Sir George knew too well 
 the character of the divorced Queen, not to 
 be fully aware of the hazard his young 
 friend would run by remaining in Paris. 
 He found him well enough inclined to take 
 his departure, but felt bound to remain for 
 the purpose of finding out where Ins mis- 
 tress had bjen kidnapped. This d;ity Sir 
 George promised he would himself pcrt'orm, 
 assuring his young friend, from his know- 
 ledge and influence, he was far more likely 
 of t'le two to succeed. 
 
 The joy of his worthy governor at seeing 
 him again was of the deepest sort the heart 
 could have experienced. Master Shaks- 
 pearo had ever since the discovery of his 
 flight endured the most painful anxiety. 
 His love for the youth, notwithstanding his 
 wilful unsteadiness, was, as it were, twined 
 with his life ; and his anxiousncss became 
 the more painful, as he s.iw how impossible 
 it was for him to present himself before the 
 youth's noble mother, to inform her what 
 little heed he had paid to the trust she had 
 reposed in him, as to allow of his giving 
 liiin the slip with soiil-chosen a companion. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 183 
 
 Having experienced such deep distress, 
 there is the less cause for marvelling that, 
 on the youth's making his appearance, in- 
 sfiead of being severely lectured for his 
 monstrous ill conduct, he found himself 
 clasped in the arms of his faithful fond 
 governor, as though he were a prodigal son 
 returned to a dating father. Nevertheless, 
 having learned all Sir George Carew could 
 inform him of, he was in such a fever to be 
 gone, that he would give no one any peace 
 till he had left Paris far beiiind. 
 
 He now came to the determination that 
 these travels should end, and in a few days 
 he was on the sea, shouting '-Ho, for Eng- 
 land !" with a more cheerful heart than he 
 had known since his undertaking so great 
 a charge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Ay, but the milder passions show the man ; 
 For as the leaf doth beautify the tree, 
 The pleasant Ho wers bedeck the painted spring, 
 Even so hi men of i^reatest reach and power, 
 A mild and piteous thought augments renown. 
 
 Lodge. 
 
 Our young physician had now so long 
 sojourned amongst the scenes he so well 
 loved, as to have recovered, in a great mea- 
 sure, from the violent shock, both his moral 
 and physical nature had sustained, through 
 the abominable villaiiyofthe infamous Mil- 
 licent. His very excellent fond parent had 
 tended him with all a mother's affection, 
 and all a wo;nan's delicacy. She asked no 
 questions, and made no comments likely to 
 givfi her son pain ; but she had contrived to 
 obtain a tolerable correct knowledge of his 
 trials and sufferings, and took heed to min- 
 ister to the diseased mind with that marvel- 
 lous gentle hand for which her exquisite 
 sweet sex are iamous. She talked inditTer- 
 ently as it were, yet was there in every 
 thing she said a healing balm, that soon be- 
 gan to show its wholesome effect. 
 
 With such soothing converse, joined to 
 the healthy inspirations which nature ever 
 giveth tosuch as seek her medicinal aid John 
 Hall began once more to take a proper in- 
 terest in the small concerns of daily life. He 
 again had recourse to his books, and, in 
 studying the art of healing others, rapidly 
 obtained a cure for himself; albeit, though 
 the wound was in time healed, it left a pain- 
 ful cicatrice. He could not think of the 
 peril he had passed without a shudder — as 
 one who, by wonderful good fortune, is 
 Baved from the jaws of a venomous serpent, 
 
 long after remembers with fear and tremb- 
 ling the vehemency of his danger. 
 
 It so chanced, that an incident occurred 
 about this time, which, though it was fruit- 
 ful of misfortune to him beyond any thing 
 that could have happened, by engrossing 
 his attention, perfected his cure more read- 
 ily than other things could. This was the 
 death of his admirable mother. Her only 
 son had been to her the very well-spring of 
 her pure life. Her late anxiety had been 
 infinitely greater than it seemed, but it did 
 not show itself upon her delicate system, 
 till it appeared no longer to be excited by 
 the subject. Then she fell ill, and though 
 she was cared for by the most skilful and 
 tender of nurses, she daily grew worse. 
 The fiat had gone forth, and it found her 
 well prepared, though it was a sore strug- 
 gle to part from all she so dearly loved and 
 prized. Her beloved son had her last wishes, 
 her last blessing:;, and her last prayers ; 
 and then the fragile form that rested in hia 
 arms became but as a clod of the earth, ob- 
 livious of the active world of fine percep- 
 tions and excellent influences that had so 
 long and well supported the claim of its spir- 
 it to immortality. 
 
 John Hall buried her in the well remem- 
 bered nook in the green churchyard, where 
 his other parent had found his last resting- 
 place, and he went forth from its melan- 
 choly memorials with a saddened heart, it is 
 true, but with a vigorous desire, that be- 
 came a joy to him in after-hfe, to prove 
 himself worthy of that immeasurable love 
 he had just seen shut out from communion 
 with mortality, by the only gates that never 
 re-open for those they enclose. 
 
 On proceeding lo examine the papers the 
 fond mother had with a careful foresight 
 prepared in case of her decease, our young 
 physician found fresh evidence of her rare 
 affection. By the most rigid economy and 
 comprehensive self-denial, she had contriv- 
 ed to save what he saw at once was a suf- 
 ficient sum, not only to finish his education, 
 but to give him a good start in his profes- 
 sion, and in the directions with which this 
 sum was made over to him, he read what 
 was henceforth to become the twelve tables 
 of his law. 
 
 As soon as possible, he prepared to fol- 
 low the first and most important of her 
 wishes, and entered himself a student in one 
 of the most esteemed colleges at Oxford. 
 Here he remained, steadily pursuing his 
 studies, and winning the esteem of the 
 learned in that famous school, till he ob- 
 tained his degree. It was about this time, 
 that he was found by his father's faithful 
 
184 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Ecrvinof-inan, Simon Stockfish, when at Ox- 
 ford oil business of Master Shakspcuro. 
 'J'lie result was their travellinjr to I^ondou 
 togretlier, whicli journey, tlianks to oinis>ion 
 ot all atteiTipis at ]iolicy from the over-poli- 
 tic serviiisj-man, partly perchance from his 
 conviction that his old master's son was of 
 an ajre to take care of himself, was attend- 
 ed with no accident. 
 
 On his arrival at the lodging of Master 
 Shakspeare, he was enforced to make his 
 liome under his roof, for no denial was al- 
 lowed, and Master Doctor Hall, as he mnst 
 row be styled, found himself in greater con- 
 tentation of mind than a few months since 
 he could have hoped for, which he owed to the 
 pleasant intercourse of his excellent friend, 
 and of his excellent friend's very excellent 
 fair daughter. 
 
 This careful friend provided against any 
 further designs from his vindictive enemy, 
 the false Millicent, by getting him appointed 
 physician to the embassy in Paris, where he 
 shortly afterwards proceeded to iiiltil the du- 
 ties of his othce. 
 
 In the meantime, there had been other 
 doings connected with the principal person- 
 age in this my story that deserveth not to be 
 lo-t for lack of a chronicler, for as soon as 
 his return was known, so well was he loved 
 of all who had any acquaintance with him, 
 lie was, as it were, liesieged with visiters. 
 Among the first comers were that truly 
 honest heart, Master Edward Allen and his 
 liuxom honest partner ; and whilst the latter 
 clo.seted herself with Susanna, to hear the 
 marvels she had seen in foreign countries, 
 the other two friends gossipped about their 
 own matters with as ready an eloquence. 
 The master of the Fortiuie spoke of the 
 various admirable new players and match- 
 loss fresh bears he had got, so confusedly 
 withal, that many times was his friend led 
 into asking questions concerning the famous 
 brute he spoke of when the other had all the 
 while been praising a man ; and when he 
 desired to know wiiat place had the honor 
 of giving birth to the estimable famous gen- 
 tleman hO' mentioned in such high terms, 
 learned, in some astonishment, that he be- 
 heved it must have been a den in some of 
 the trackless forests of Muscovy. 
 
 One interview he had long looked for- 
 ward to with the most excited feelings. 
 I'erchance, the courteous reader hath not 
 forgotten the memorable secret visit of a 
 noble lady to Master Shaks[)eare's lodgings, 
 in the (Jlink Liberty. 'J'lic hour had arrived 
 when be sliould present himself before her, 
 and declare how he had fulfi led the honor- 
 able ollice she had induced him to take. 
 
 Many a time and oft, when in far off lands, 
 he thought of the time when he should again 
 stand before her, and hear what estimate 
 she made of Ids services ; but, with the an- 
 ticipation of the happiness of again behold- 
 ing her, there mingled no small share of 
 disquietude, when he called to mind Jiow 
 little benefit he had been able to eliect in 
 the exercise of his office, where benelit was 
 so greatly needed. 
 
 He had now little cause of congratulation 
 on that score, and he could not but take a 
 heavy share of blame to himself for not hav- 
 ing been more strict in the execution of his 
 duty ; but, circumstanced as he was, how 
 was he to put on the pedagogue ? He had 
 made njany resolutions to use a proper se- 
 verity ; but when he beheld the face of the 
 offender, alt thoughts of liarshness disap- 
 peared from his mind, as the dews of the 
 morning before the flashing sun. And now 
 he was to render an account of his steward- 
 ship ! He had neglected his trust. The 
 want of discipline tliat iiad previously been 
 so marked had blazed torih in ungovernable 
 wantonness, and what excuse could he have 
 for having caused so discreditable a blot to 
 be produced so close to her unsullied nature ? 
 
 He had but one consolation. This wild- 
 ness arose in a great measure from the ex- 
 cess of animal S|.irits. These must exhaust 
 themselves before long, and then there was 
 every liope that the i!:any noble qualities he 
 inherited from his noble mother would have 
 fair play, when he must needs become an 
 honor instead of a reproach ; a source of 
 luibounded content, instead of one of mon- 
 strous disquietude. 
 
 The worthy governor had, as carefully as 
 he could, concealed his feelings towards his 
 young charge from him ; and though his 
 affection would often burst through the re- 
 stramts he put u])on it, the other saw only in 
 these displays a more than ordinary attach- 
 ment to him, which it was impossible to re- 
 sent. Had he not found vent for the power- 
 ful emotions that often so moved him, by 
 writing down his thoughts from day to day, 
 in many a powerful sonnet and lofty rhyme, 
 he could not have worn the mask so well. 
 It was now more than ever imperative on 
 him to keep his nature under the strictest 
 subjection. The old Earl had been called 
 to his ancestors, and the youth, clothed with 
 the proud distinctions ot nobility, was in a 
 situation where an evil surmise might work 
 incalculable mischiefs. 
 
 After many delays, the interview took 
 place. There was now no longer a necessity 
 for its being clandestine ; and, instead of 
 creeping in disguise to obtain the conversa- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 185 
 
 tion she wanted, the noble Hdy gave him 
 audience in her own mansion. As Master 
 Shakspeare was ushered into the lofty cham- 
 ber, surrounded on all sides with the impos- 
 ing evidences of rank and fortune, and be- 
 held the stately form of that most queen-like 
 woman, in her mourning habit, lie felt much 
 inclined to doubt her identity with the self- 
 denying, heart-devoted being who had so 
 long carried on an untiring war with her 
 own feelings. Bat it needed not this change 
 to i id, tee him to treat her with the most 
 profoun I res})ect. He bowed his head as to 
 a shrine of unsurpassable holiness, and his 
 heart partook of the same reverence. A 
 deep and eloquent silence was maintained 
 for a few minutes. The lady had schooled 
 herself with the severe disc plino of pride 
 and self-respect to pass through this ordeal 
 with a spirit worthy of her race. But blood 
 respocteth no discipline — it taketh marvel- 
 lous little heed of any lessons of inward or 
 outward apj)lication. 
 
 Fin illv, as though determined to express 
 one of the many sentences that presented 
 itself to her, to break the embarrassing si- 
 lence, she said in a low tone : — " My son 
 Herbert h.ith borne testimony. Master Shak- 
 speare. of your great zeal and affectionate- 
 ness for his interests, whilst he had the 
 benefit of your trusty guardianship." 
 
 " Truly, it glads my heart, my lady, to 
 hear he hath been so good to me." 
 
 " In truth, he is ever sounding your 
 praises. He loveth you well indeed. Me- 
 thinks he hath protited much of your proper 
 teaching." 
 
 Her companion could not in conscience 
 affirm this. 
 
 " He seemeth to be well disposed ; which 
 is a huge comfort to me. I am wondrously 
 anxious he should prove himself deserving 
 your attentions, and worthy of his family." 
 
 Master Shakspeare was anxious also, but 
 had had reason to doubt the youth was in 
 the right way to worthiness. As it was 
 utterly impossible he could breathe a word 
 of such doubt to the devoted mother, he felt 
 forced, somewhat against his conviction, to 
 affirm that my lord would prove himself 
 every thing that was desired ot him. 
 
 The lady had got so far with some effort ; 
 but here she came to a stop. This lasted 
 not long, however ; for, as though she 
 thought silence more dangerous than speech, 
 anon she strove to enter into conversation 
 with her companion on indifferent matters, 
 the which he encouraged by tnany perti- 
 nent retnarks and just conclusions. But an 
 uninterested spectator might easily have 
 perceived that she was talking at random, 
 
 and, though she strove most earnestly to 
 conceal her real sentiments, her emotion 
 was getting so eviilent, it was impossible it 
 could escape observation. At last she seem- 
 ed to have come to a sudden resohition, for, 
 leaving till her idle questions and unmean- 
 ing remarks, she, thougli evidently hugely 
 excited, addressed him in a iiurried and 
 somewhat wild manner : — 
 
 " I sent for you, Master Shakspeare," said 
 she, " to make one request of you." See- 
 ing he was about to speak, she added : — "I 
 ktiovv what you would say. Vour assent is 
 already on your tongue. Your willingness 
 to give me further assurance of tlie noble 
 spirit I have so long admired in you, I see 
 and know how to appreciate. I am now 
 about miking a great demand upon it. It 
 is a sacrifice winch very few of your sex 
 would make, and it is to be hoped, still 
 fewer of mine require." 
 
 " Be assured," answered her companion, 
 emphatically, "you cannot ask anything I 
 should tind any ditliculty in granting." 
 
 A pause of a i'ew seconds succeeded, 
 which seemed emjdoyed by the lady in ar- 
 ranging her thougiits for expressing the re- 
 quest of which she had given notice. Pre- 
 sently she added, in a low voice, cvidenrly 
 laboring under increased excitement, and 
 with downcast look, which seemed not able 
 to raise itself from its enforced humbleness, 
 " It is proper and necessary that this should 
 be our last meeting." 
 
 Master Shakspeare seemed to hear this in 
 some surprise, and with more regret. With- 
 out noticing him, the lady continued : — • 
 '• There seemeth to me to be but one way 
 in which our coming together, either by 
 accident or design, can be prevented. Whilst 
 you are in London, I can scarce help my- 
 self from meeting you at some time or an- 
 other, and bearing of you at all times. I 
 pray you, sir, of your infinite goodness, of 
 wliich 1 have had ample evidence, this long 
 time passed, to satisfy me in this. I must 
 not see you again. I am asking a great 
 matter, I am exacting a serious condition ; 
 but, sir. if you could only kno*v how vital a 
 thing it is to me, so noble a gentleman as I 
 have found you, would not deny me. I pry- 
 thee leave this place, and avoid where I am 
 with all possible care; and deem me not 
 moved to this on light grounds. Avoid me, 
 sir, avoid me. It is necessary for my peace 
 of mind. As God is my help, it is a thing so 
 absolute, it cannot, must not, be avoided !" 
 
 ■ Your wishes shall have a speedy ac- 
 complishment," rejilied he, striving to con- 
 ceal his great emotion. " But this much 
 let me say before ] depart. If blessings and 
 
186 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 prayers, good wishes and honorable thoughts 
 can minister to your contcntation, be sure, 
 my l;i(Iy, tii:it tliere never can exist a more 
 earnest laborer in your liappiness." 
 
 At this her heart seemed too full for 
 speech. After a while she held out her 
 hand, which he advanced to take. As he 
 knelt with more of the spirit of a devotee 
 than of a lover to raise it to his lips, she 
 pressed his hand eagerly in her own, and, 
 snatching it towards her, covered it with ca- 
 resses ; then, muttering a fervent blessing 
 as she rose, she rushed wildly out of the 
 room. 
 
 A few day^ after this, Master Shakspeare 
 surprised allliis good friends and gossips, 
 by announcing his intention of leaving 
 London entirely, and retiring to live in his 
 native town. By his fellows at the Globe 
 such intelligence seemed most unwelcome. 
 Since his return to England he had taken 
 his place amongst them as of old, occasion- 
 ally enrapturing the town by some new pro- 
 duction from his golden pen, the sttrling- 
 ness whereof all readily acknowledged. But 
 it was not alone as the most successful 
 writer of the day that his character was ad- 
 mirable. He was the friend of all writers, 
 no matter how obscure, who possessed ta- 
 lent of any sort. He gave them honest 
 counsel ; he improved their ideas by con- 
 tact witli his own; he increased their know- 
 ledge out of his own boundless stores ; and, 
 after each several play had been by him and 
 by his well advised hints improved into an 
 effective drama, he took care to have it 
 played in such a manner as to secure it a 
 fair chance of success. 
 
 With the players, not only of his own com- 
 pany, but of all otliers, he was looked up to 
 as their head and chief, and all Master Shak- 
 speare did in the bringing out of a play was 
 accounted as a law, which was well worthy 
 tlieir observance. If the tiring-room of the 
 players was resorted to by the gallants in 
 Queen Elizabeth's days, it became quite a 
 fashion in those of her successor. All the 
 gayest courtiers, the bravest gallants, and 
 many even of the graver sort of our nobles, 
 were wont to be iound thronging round 
 Shakspeare, either at the theatre in the 
 Blacktriars, the one at Southwark, or at the 
 Mermaid Tavern ; and his lively wit and 
 his general handsomeness of behavior did so 
 recommend him, that to several of the no- 
 blest and best amongst them, he was on 
 euch near terms of intimacy, no brother 
 could be more kindly and honorably treated. 
 
 His circumstances had so continued to 
 thrive, that he had become quite a man of 
 worship as to property, having been able to 
 
 make sundry purchases of houses, both in 
 London and in Stratford. He had also be- 
 come possessed of a principal share in the 
 property of the company to which he be- 
 longed. Though his purse was ever open 
 to a distressed brother, and he did not fail to 
 send atnple remembrances to Stratford, he 
 might be called a rich man. His affairs 
 were in an excellent flourishing state, out 
 of all doubt, but he was far from being 
 happy. The continued wildness of the 
 young Lord Pembroke often caused him 
 much uneasiness ; and in his own domestic 
 state, saving only the treasury of love with 
 wiiich the gentle Susamia had enriched him, 
 there was but little room for congratulation. 
 Nevertheless, save only a few admirable 
 rare verses, wherein he expressed his feel- 
 ings towards his late pupil, and took his 
 leave-taking of the idolized object of his 
 Secret Passion, he never gave any evidence 
 of complaint. In society he was ever the 
 courteous, gracious, witty gentleman, that 
 made his company so sought after, and his 
 discourse so listened to. It was only in the 
 retirement of his study, when left to the ex- 
 pression of his own thoughts, thattliey took 
 a melancholy and unsatisfactory tone. 
 
 Among those of his old acquaintances 
 most surprised by his determination to quit 
 the field of his triumphs, and the scenes 
 where his greatness had been realized and 
 acknowledged, was honest Ned Allen. He 
 would not at first believe he could have en- 
 tertained any such serious intention, and in 
 the feelings with which he regarded the 
 matter, he forgot every thing relating to the 
 two different objects of his regard, that 
 played such fantastic tricks with his me- 
 mory. But much against his will, he was 
 convinced that he was going to lose ins 
 good gossip and fast friend. He, however, 
 proved a friend to the last, by purchasing 
 whatever property Master Shakspeare had 
 in London, he could not or cared not to take 
 with him. 
 
 There were friends of a higher though 
 not, perchance, of a warmer sort, who as 
 little approved this retirement of their fa- 
 vorite. His intention became talked of by 
 the nobles and courtiers ; and, among others, 
 it came to the ears of that gracious young 
 prince, now so completely the idol of the 
 whole nation for his great virtues and gal- 
 lant spirit. Prince Henry had oftentimes 
 sought his pleasant society, and at each 
 grew more and more to like it. Since 
 Master Shakspeare's return, they had had 
 muc!i discourse together, the prince asking 
 numberless questions concerning of what 
 remarkable things fell under his observation 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 187 
 
 during his travels, and at every interview 
 the other coining away more deeply im- 
 pressed with the excellences of his iieart 
 and mind. A mutual liking of thesa noble 
 spirits had sprung up betwixt them ; and 
 now the prince was threatened with the loss 
 of his pleasant associate, he had resolved 
 not to let him go till he had been able to ex- 
 press his high estimate of his character. 
 
 Master Shakspeare had tixed that the 
 last day of his stay in London should be the 
 last day of his appearance as a writer of 
 plays. Bat he wished to close his London 
 career with some crowning vvoriv, that 
 should excel all previous etiorts. With this 
 object in view, he had selected a subject 
 that he had studied during his travels ; and 
 ho bestowed upon it more than ordinary 
 pains. Of a s irety, the result was of the 
 jnost sterling sort — one on which the world 
 hath stamped its hall mark of immortality. 
 What lie was intent on was well known to 
 the young prince, who had had, at his de- 
 sire, many passages read to him ; and he 
 took counsel with certain of liis friends that 
 the representation should be as great a 
 triumjth to its author as it deserved to be. 
 
 On the morning of the day tixed for the 
 first perfcr.nance of the new play, the door 
 of the Globe was bjsieged, as it were, with 
 a crowd impatient to get admittance. Al- 
 most as soon as it was opened, the interior 
 was as full as ii. could crain, the best places 
 beuig tilled with the prince and his friends, 
 and even among the understanding gentle- 
 men of tne pit were divers persons of wor- 
 ship, who were fain to be content with what 
 accominodatioii they could there hnd. There 
 was no room on the stage now for any hue 
 gallant to set up his stool, and enjoy his pipe 
 of tobacco, as he criticised the play. He 
 was forced to be well content to take up 
 witii standing room wliere it could be had. 
 
 The play commenced vviih an audienc 
 exceedingly content to be well pleased ; but, 
 as the e.xquisite poetry of this new creation 
 fell upon their minds, their satisfaction grew 
 upon tiiem until it burst forth in loud and 
 frequently-repeated plaudits. When the 
 object of their esteem first appeared, as the 
 magician Prospero, it seemed as though he 
 really had the gifts he assumed, for he rais- 
 ed a famous storm throughout the whole 
 house ; and as the delighted spectators 
 learned all the excellence of the work his 
 genius had set before them, had sufficiently 
 admired the tender Miranda, had m.irvelle'd 
 at the monster Caliban, and had begun to 
 love the graceful Ariel, the enthusiasm that 
 then manifested itself in all quarters was of 
 the most extravagant character. At the 
 
 closing of the play, there was such a scene 
 before the curtain as that curtain had never 
 fallen upon. Every one seemed under the 
 same influence. Acclamations, praises, and 
 good wishes, burst from all the tiiroats with- 
 in the walls ; and a sea of handkerchiefs, 
 and a foi'est of hats and caps, were waved 
 to and fro, as though their owners were 
 complimenting a hero who had gained a 
 province, or saved a kingdom. 
 
 A few hours after he had broken away, 
 with monstrous difficulty, from the hearty 
 congratulatious and dolorous farewells of 
 his fellow players and play-writers, he might 
 have been seen seated at the festive board, 
 whence the remains of a sumptuous banquet 
 were being removed, and surrounded by 
 some of the noblest of his friends, making 
 the enjoyment of his society more prized 
 than the precious wine and sweet cakes that 
 were placed upon the table. The chamber 
 was one worthy of a palace, and this most 
 assuredly it ought to have been, for to a 
 palace it belonged. The furniture was of 
 the richest, the attendants numerous, and of 
 the royal livery, and every object witiiin 
 sight bespoke an enlightened minJ, and am- 
 ple means for affording it every desirable 
 enjoyment. Pictures, bronzes, carvings, 
 armor, books, and musical instruments, met 
 the eye in every direction, intermingled with 
 a profusion of gold and silver plate, costly 
 hangings and rich drapery. 
 
 At the head of the table was a noble 
 youth, in a suit of embroidered velvet, in 
 whose pleasing features and thoughtful 
 brow the observant reader cannot fail to re- 
 cognise that darling of the nation, and de- 
 light of all who had the honor of being of 
 his acquaintance, his highness Henry Prince 
 of Wales. On his right, sat Master Shak- 
 speare, whose right witty speech had evi- 
 dently done its olfice, for the prince was 
 attending to him with such a face of enjoy- 
 ment as bespoke his full appreciation of 
 some inimitable jest. On his left was the 
 prince's governor and chamberlain. Sir Tho- 
 inas Newton, his grave aspect relaxing into 
 pleasantry under the influence of the mirth- 
 I'ul spirit then ruling the hour. 
 
 At the bottom of the table sat the most 
 courteous of old courtiers. Sir George Ca- 
 rew, but lately returned from France ; he 
 appeared to be bantering the young Lord 
 Pembroke, who was seated near him, which 
 the latter took in a humor as if he was far 
 from being displeased. Of him it is neces- 
 sary to add that he was as bravely appar- 
 elled as the last new tire, and no lack of 
 means for paying the mercer and tailor 
 could make him. He was known as a very 
 
188 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 model of a gallant ; a iC|)utation hi; to k 
 what measuros he could to in^rjaso. llis 
 handsome person and gay a|)pearance caus- 
 ed him to be no loss a favorite vvitli the fair 
 dames and gentle damsels of his acqiiaint- 
 ance, than ho was tho dread of their hus- 
 bands and fathers. If the truth must be 
 told, in the respect of his wildness, little 
 improveuient \v;is to be seen in Jiim ; and 
 though his mind hud proht^'d much from the 
 admirable lessons he had had during liis 
 travels, and, in some respects, he had been 
 awakened to a clearer sense of what was 
 due from himself to his own honorable sta- 
 tion, it still, much too frequently happened, 
 that in the gratirication of his passions he 
 was eqiuilly w.lful and wanton. 
 
 Near him was ths young Sir Hugh Clop- 
 ton, in appearance as lino a gallant as my 
 Lord of I'embroke ; my Lord Soiitliainpton, 
 returned from his exile, and much honored 
 at court; Sir Charles Cornwallis, the 
 prince's treasurer, and one or two more of 
 the highest officers of the prince's house- 
 hold. I'hs discourse was full and exceed- 
 ing animated, the prince eagerly putting 
 questions to Master Shakspeare of his 
 travels, and also of books that had been 
 sent him from other countries, and men- 
 tioning what intelligence he liad had froai 
 divers noblemen and gentlemen his corres- 
 pondents ; thereupon Master Shakspeare 
 would reply in speech full of pleasant reciil- 
 lections, nut only of books and men, but of 
 all the countries he iiad visited. His de- 
 scriptions of scenes were very pictures ; 
 and, when he spoke of ancient Rome, or 
 classic Naples, he so filled his hearers with 
 remembrances of their wisdom and glory, 
 that his words seemed to bring back — with 
 the memories of the Caesars and of the 
 more powerful Caesars, the great poets and 
 historians whose monuments survive in all 
 their freshness and beauty, whilst those of 
 emperors, conquerors, and gods are cruuib- 
 ling into dust — the classic days of the 
 world's youth, when the song of the melli- 
 fluous Ovid was not less honored than the 
 law of the imperial Augustus. The dis- 
 course was greatly enriched by the appeals 
 of the prince to Southauipton, Carew, and 
 Cornwahis, who had recently been travel- 
 lers, and could furnish excellent garnish to 
 the sumptuous feast their friend and favor- 
 ite was setting before them. 
 
 Their prince did not fail to fulhl the du- 
 ties of a host in other matt 'rs besides lind- 
 ing sutHcienl subjects for the convensation 
 of his guests, and the wine having done its 
 genial oliice, a little less cpreinoniousness 
 might have been perceived in the younger 
 
 portion of them. The Prince of Wales 
 himself set the example in a pause which 
 ensued, whilst the principal speaker >vas 
 doing due respect to the rare Malmsev that 
 had been placed before him, by caliinj for 
 a song from my Lord Pembroke, wh > was 
 diligently carving an orange, with his 
 thoughts wh jre he had last seen such choice 
 fruit growing. 
 
 Now, of all the accomplishments of this 
 young lord, none stood him in such good 
 stead, amongst his numerous fair mistresses 
 — whose sworn servant he would sometimes 
 be, for a matter of four and twenty hours 
 — as his very exquisite sweet voice. Whe- 
 ther he chose to handle the lute or not — 
 which, by the way, had miny a time and 
 oft been a famous letter of introduction to 
 him to the tempting dames of Italy — his 
 song was sure to be inrinitely ridished. The 
 knowledge of his musical qualities, to the 
 which that choice musician, Dr. tiud, had 
 given its best graces, made him ever amongst 
 the first to procure the freshest ballads and 
 love ditties, and nothing of the choicer sort 
 ever came from Lawes or Wiloye but lie 
 was ready to pour out its sweetness in a 
 moment of gentle dalliance or of social 
 festivity. 
 
 The Prince's desire excited loud applause ; 
 and without any deiayings or excusings he 
 commenced. 
 
 THE GALLANT'S SONG. 
 
 1 lead the gallant's pleasant life, who liveth at 
 
 his ease, 
 Having no aim, but buxom dame and dainty 
 
 ma d to jjlease ; 
 My doublet is of velvet piled, my trunks are 
 
 gay and new. 
 Bat if my purse be all the worse, " Why 
 
 what is thai to you ?" 
 
 To see me as I walk along, it is a goodly 
 
 sight — 
 No maid or wife can, for her life, but gaze 
 
 with all her might; 
 The jewel glitters in my hat, the feather's cock 
 
 is true. 
 But if slie cares for other wares, " Why — what 
 
 is that to you ?" 
 
 Or seated at the social board, wliere good 
 
 wine dotii abound. 
 Now this 1 try, now that put by, until the 
 
 room goes round. 
 A catch I'll roar with any man, and have my 
 
 jest heard too, 
 And if iny gains be loss of brains, " Why — 
 
 what is that to you ?" 
 
 Perchance, I meet some brawling knave, who 
 givetli mc the lie. 
 
TIIE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 189 
 
 Then at a word I draw my sword, and at him 
 
 I let fiy ; 
 I all my skill of fence employ and make a 
 
 great to do, 
 If then give in, to save my skin, " Why — 
 
 what is that to you ?" 
 
 But see me when " A hall ! a hall ! my mas- 
 ters !" hath been cried. 
 
 Forth I advance, to lead the dance, the host- 
 ess at my side — 
 
 We foot it well, the dame is pleased, and pass- 
 in;^ fair to vieu'. 
 
 And if 1 tmd I'm to her mind, " Why — what 
 is that to you ?" 
 
 Should I away from town delights, to rustic 
 
 folk resort 
 From blushing maid (but half afraid), to learn 
 
 her country sport ; 
 To couch am d the golden sheaves, and hear 
 
 the ringdove coo, 
 But if you spy her coif awry, " Why — what 
 
 is that to you ?" 
 
 Thus do we glide from youth to age, like 
 
 water through a trench, 
 A game of bowls to glad our souls, and now, 
 
 a pretty wench : 
 New braveries, new toys, new jests — and thus 
 
 our course pursue ; 
 But if that Death should stop ovir breath, 
 
 " Why — what is that to you ?" 
 
 The applause h'j'mg subsided, and also 
 the many pertinent allusions which the 
 Prince, uiy Lord of Southampton, and Sir 
 George Carew gave to it, Master Shuk- 
 spearo took the opportunity of privately 
 communicating some intelligence to his 
 highness, that seem?d to interest him mar- 
 vellously. The subject was, th;it noble 
 gentleman, Sir Walter Raleigh, still a close 
 prisoner in the Tower, whom Master Shak- 
 speare, at the direction of the Prince, had 
 lately visited. He was the better able to 
 state what he was intent on without attract- 
 ing observation, as a conversation had 
 sprung up at the lower end of the table, 
 seeming of such interest as to engross the 
 attention of all but themselves. As what 
 passed was so strictly con.fidential, no part 
 of it has been handed down to these times, 
 the courteous reader must be content with 
 knowing that it was no doubt expressive of 
 the greatest possible sympathy for the illus- 
 trious hero, scholar, and gentleman, whom 
 fear and envy, in the most contemptible of 
 kings, had consigned to a dungeon. Leav- 
 ing the Prince and his friend to their pri- 
 vacy, the author will give him an insight 
 into the interesting subject discussing by 
 the rest of the Prince's guests. 
 
 " Never was there so beauteous a lady 
 
 iu all Paris," said my Lord Southampton. 
 " Courtiers and citizens, for once in their 
 lives, were of one opinion, and united in 
 declaring the pre-eminence of her attrac- 
 tions." 
 
 " r faith that was a miracle at the least !" 
 exclaimed Sir George Carew. 
 
 '■ But the stories said of her beauty," con- 
 tinued the young nobleman, '• were not half 
 so marvellous as those said of herself. The 
 popular version of her history varied every 
 day, but that which was most in repute, 
 spoke of her as a princess brought to their 
 i city from some far kingdom in the East, by 
 a youthful Sultan of a neighboring state, 
 who had suddenly disappeared, without 
 leaving so much as the slightest clew by 
 which he might be traced." 
 
 "1 Vvill wager my George he had grown 
 tired of his princess, and had gone to get 
 him another," said Sir George, merrily. 
 
 '• Some were of such an opinion," replied 
 the Lord Southampton, " bat the majority 
 were of an opposite way of thinking. They 
 found it was clean impossible for any man 
 to have done so ungallant a thing. Her 
 beauty was of that e.xcessive rareness, he 
 who had once felt its power could no more 
 tear himself from it, than he could have 
 created it. It was the common rumor that 
 he must either have been hurried away pri- 
 vately to some secure hiding-place, by one 
 or other of the great nobles envious of his 
 exceeding good foitune, or slain outright 
 and made away with, by a vindictive rival, 
 intent on the most villanous courses to pos- 
 sess such ravishing perfections." 
 
 " What, kill a Sultan !" cried my Lord 
 of Pembroke, as he put a tall glass, of rare 
 workmanship, from his lips. " By this 
 hand, he deserveth the strappado !" 
 
 " I warrant you he is no man of Paris," 
 observed Sir George, in a like tone. " They 
 prize such rare birds too well to make away 
 with one, unless it might be by killing him 
 with kindness." 
 
 " Of a truth, "tis hardly credible," said 
 Sir Charles Cornwallis. 
 
 " Any great personage from a far-off 
 land, were he from the savagest state of 
 Africa, is sure of being sufficiently caressed 
 by those good people, out of their love for 
 what is new and strange." 
 
 '■ This may be, my masters ; nevertheless 
 the young sultan was nevermore heard of," 
 replied the Lord Southampton. " But the 
 strangest part of the story is yet to come. 
 After she had disappeared for some time, 
 and a score of new wonders had in their 
 turn outlived the marvelling of the people 
 of tliat famous city, she suddenly reappear- 
 
190 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ed at court. Some say slie had superseded 
 the Marchioness de Verneuil in the exceed- 
 ingly comprehensive aftections of the mag- 
 nificent Henri Quatre ; others gave her to 
 the Prince de Joinvillc, and not a few to the 
 Diii<e de Guise; but tiicre were many who 
 insisted on affirming nincli scandal relating 
 to her in connexion with the name of the 
 queen's confessor, the wily Richelieu, to 
 whom tlioy attributed the merit of her con- 
 version tu their holy religion from the errors 
 of paganism and the knowledge of the 
 French tongue." 
 
 " Monstrous !" exclaimed Sir George, 
 laughing. " What, not content with a Chris- 
 tian queen ! — did the holy man covet a 
 heathenish princess ? Wiiat very villany !" 
 
 " Be assured it is a calumny," said Mas- 
 ter Newton, who hked not to hear the char- 
 acter of a priest, of even an opposite faith, 
 rudely assailed. 
 
 "Like enough," replied my Lord South- 
 ampton. " Tliey are not quite so careful 
 of what they say in that good city, that is 
 out of all doubt. But certain it is that, for 
 I know not quite how long, i'rom the high- 
 est to the humblest, little was said except 
 about her peerless beauty, her unparalleled 
 extravagance, her magnificent banquets, her 
 splendid palace, and her innumerable do- 
 mestics. Nut a song was written that was 
 not to her praise; and, of all the newest 
 oaths, you could only be in the highest fash- 
 ion when swearing by the matchless splen- 
 dor of the inhnitely lustrous eyes of the in- 
 comparable Xariqua !" 
 
 "Xariqua!" exclaimed the young Lord 
 Pembroke, with an air of utter astonish- 
 ment, as soou as that familiar name met 
 his ear. 
 
 The speaker continued, without noticing 
 the interruption — 
 
 " The crowning marvel is yet to come."' 
 
 " By this light, my lord, you are like a 
 conjuror at a fair." cried Sir George Carew, 
 very nn'rrily ; " you keep your greatest 
 wonder for the last." 
 
 '• Of a surety, this is an extraordinary 
 lady," remarked Sir Tiiomas Newton, in a 
 more serious tone ; " yet she doth not ap- 
 pear to have been a very creditable one." 
 
 " Ah ! Sir Thomas, credit is no commo- 
 dity in this good city we are speaking of, 
 replied Sir Cliarles Corn wallis. "One who 
 hath the least character is sure there of get- 
 ting on the best ; and he that doth the uiost 
 unwarrantable things, is more talked of than 
 he iiath the least chance of being were he 
 one of the seven sages." 
 
 "But touching this crowning marvel," 
 eaid my Lord of Southampton, " which it is 
 
 but proper you should have the benefit of. 
 Know then that, after keeping the whole 
 city in a ferment with lier brave way of liv- 
 ing, she suddenly disappeared ; and, after 
 incredible labor spent in tracing her retreat, 
 it was discovered that she had fled to an en- 
 campment of Bohemians, or, as some call 
 them, Rommanees, or gypsies, who had 
 scarcely a day before made their appearance 
 in the neighborhood. A deputation was des- 
 patched on the instant to the peerless Xari- 
 qua, to otier her two palaces, two innumer- 
 able trains of domestics, with permission to 
 be twice as unparalleledly extravagant as 
 she had hitherto been; but when, with their 
 horses in a foam, they reached the sput that 
 had been pointed out to them, not a vestige 
 of a Bohemian or any other creature of any 
 sort was to be seen ; nor, though messen- 
 gers were despatched in every direction 
 throughout the kingdom, and most tempting- 
 rewards oiTered for any information that 
 would lead to her recovery, was any one 
 able ever to get sight of her in France 
 again." 
 
 " A strange tale, o' my life !" exclaimed 
 Sir George. Perceiving, for the first time, 
 how closely connected with it was the 
 young Earl of Pembroke, and wishing, with 
 his natural good feeling, to spare him any 
 embarrassment, besought to change the dis- 
 course. " But strange tales are the natur- 
 al property of every traveller. I remember 
 one now " 
 
 " But was nothing further heard of this 
 singular woman, my lord?" inquired the 
 prince's secretary. 
 
 "1' faith, yes, and in a manner which is 
 not the least uiarvellous part of the busi- 
 ness," replied the young noble. "A cer- 
 tain French nobleman, travelling on an em- 
 bassy into the Low Countries about a 
 month after, in one of the towns through 
 which he was JDurncying, was stopped by a 
 crowd who were fixed in admiration on the 
 movements of a woman dancing in a style 
 no less animated than graceful to some rude 
 music. He stopped and looked on with the 
 rest. The dancer, having finished her per- 
 formance, comes to him for money ; and 
 prythee, if yon can, imagine the noble 
 count's consternation in discovering that 
 the woman who in Paris had enjoyed all the 
 state of a queen, had been displaying the 
 graces which captivated the powerfullest 
 princes of France, for a few coins drawn 
 irom the chance passengers in the dirty 
 street of an obscure Fleuiish town." 
 
 " An extraordinary change," observed 
 Master Newton. "But was it never ex- 
 plained ?" 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 1»_ 
 
 Sir George Carew saw it was useless at- 
 tempting to stem the current of inquiry, and 
 wisely desisted. The object of his regard, 
 however, had in a great measure recovered 
 the shock he had received, and was listen- 
 ing without any greater appearance of in- 
 terest tiian the character of the narrative de- 
 manded. 
 
 " He questioned her," replied my Lord 
 Southampton -, " and she, after some liesi- 
 tation, acimowledged that she was a Bohe- 
 mian, and was so enamored of that wander- 
 ing way of life, that she returned to it the 
 first opportunity she had, and for no tempta- 
 tion would be induced to abandon it again. 
 It then came out that she had carefully trea- 
 sured up the dress she had been used to 
 wear, throughout the wliole of the time she 
 had been queening it so bravely at Paris. 
 Tlie sight of this served to call iier back to 
 tlie free air of tlie forest, and the green 
 nook, and the murmuring stream, tiiat had 
 been so long her famihar friends ; and, 
 when she heard that some of her people had 
 arrived in the neighborhood, she put on her 
 liumble yet treasured garments, leaving all 
 her jewels, velvets, satins, every coin of the 
 large sum she had at her disposal, and all 
 the lu.xuries she had so long enjoyed, and, 
 like a bird escaped from a gilded cage, 
 made off" for the tents of the Bohemians, to 
 fare coarsely and become a vagabond." 
 
 " Was it never known why and in what 
 manner she had at first forsaken this so 
 prizf^d way of living?" inquired Sir Charles 
 Cornwallis. 
 
 " On this point she would not give any 
 direct information," said the other. " Yet 
 it was generally rumored there had been a 
 lover in the case, from whom, by some 
 trick, she had been separated." 
 
 My Lord of Pembroke was inexpressibly 
 relieved at this moment by hearing the 
 voice of the Prince of Wales, challenging 
 his guests to a bumper. The subject of 
 their discourse was presently lost sight of; 
 and, as if to make amends for the time that 
 had been devoted to conversation, the Prince 
 took care that sociality should rule para- 
 mount, and healths were drank, and songs 
 sung with unabated spirit, many compli- 
 ments being paid to Master Shakspeare by 
 all the company, especially by their prince- 
 ly host, to which he responded in language 
 worthy of himself, till, the hour getting late, 
 the party broke up. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 See'st thou not, in clearest days. 
 Oft thick fbijs cloud heaven's rays: 
 And the vapors tlial do breathe 
 From the earth's gross womb beneath. 
 Seem they not with their black steams 
 To pollute tlie sun's bright beams, 
 And yet vanish into air, 
 Leaving it unblemished, fair ? 
 So, my Willy, shall it be. 
 With Detraction's breath and thee. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 He is great and he is just. 
 He is ever good, and nuist 
 Thus be honored 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 There were merry doings at Stratford. 
 The whole town was astir, as with a new 
 impulse. Such gossippings at street-cor- 
 ners — such visitings — such a commodity of 
 endless questions, and seemingly equally 
 endless answers — had never been known 
 before. Mine host of the Twiggen Bottle, 
 in attending to the demands for intelligence 
 from his numerous customers, made his 
 throat so dry that he was fain to moisten it 
 from the nighest tankard every quarter of the 
 hour at tiie least, to keep it from splitting ; 
 and Ralph, the barber, got so bewildered by 
 the interminable catechism he had to en- 
 dure from those of his townsmen whose 
 beards he trimmed, that even his tongue, 
 inured to as much clatter as the parish 
 bells, became at last dumb from exhaustion. 
 The baker allowed his batch to spoil while 
 swallowing, with more zest than his hun- 
 griest patrons ever felt for anything of his 
 handiwork, the surprising account brought 
 to him by his journeyman and apprentice, 
 who had heard the strange news from the 
 chandler's son. The butcher allowed a 
 long reprieve for the bound and panting 
 sheep, while he made inquiries of the one- 
 eyed water-carrier for the latest news of the 
 all-engrossing subject. The blacksmith 
 stopped his hammering, and almost let the 
 forge-fire burn out, whilst listening lo the 
 last particulars of a travelling tinker. The 
 aldermen and burgesses, in their town-hall, 
 equally with the humblest of the beggars in 
 the streets, seemed wonderfully interested 
 in this strange matter. 
 
 And what think you was it that so com- 
 pletely turned one of the quietest towns in 
 all England into one of the most active and 
 talkative ? Of a truth, it was no more than 
 this : The fair mansion, known as New 
 Place, which had remained so long tenant- 
 less, that all hope of its again becoming a 
 dwelling seemed to have departed from the 
 
19S 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 minds of every inhabitant of the town, at 
 last was enlivened with an owner, and tliis 
 owner was no other than their excellent ac- 
 quaintance and fellow-townsman, William 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 But, of all the houses in Stratford town, 
 there was not one to equal the amount of 
 gossippin;r on this marvellous proper topic, 
 that took place in that of the merry hatter 
 and Iiis buxom little helpmate. The topic 
 was dear to both of them — Master Shaks- 
 peare possessinjr their love and reverence, 
 to an extent it was impossible to exceed; 
 therefore, all who had got any thing to say 
 respecting him, were sure of a right lionest 
 welcome under their roof — always provided 
 their speech was sufficiently respectful — 
 for, if not, they stood a monstrous chance 
 of being sent out of the house faster than 
 they came in — a chance that had happened 
 to more than one, as the three inveterate 
 mischiefmakcrs, Aunt Breedbate, Aunt Pra- 
 teapace, and Aunt Gadabout, bad discover- 
 ed to their exceeding sorrow. 
 
 Under this impression, the kitchen of 
 Tommy Hart was filled with visitors, either 
 desirous of telling or of liearing something 
 concerning "the object of the general talk. 
 There was Jonas Tietape in his motliest 
 wear, the little dogs, as usual, ever and 
 anon peering and yelping out of his great 
 pockets, when any vagary, more violent 
 than the rest, disturbed them in their hi- 
 ding-place ; and, as usual, he was keeping 
 the company in an incessant roar, by the 
 strange freaks of his wild fencies — grima- 
 cing, posturing, tumbling, juggling, and 
 singing old snatches of ridiculous songs, as 
 though he must needs be doing some out-of- 
 the-way thing or other, or cease to live. 
 
 There, too, came Uick Quiney, in his 
 roughest suit, full of strange oaths and mon- 
 strous unpolished speech, like a mariner af- 
 ter a three years' voyage. With him was 
 Cuthbert Dredger, the old miller ; his hair 
 and beard and suit of friar's gray covered 
 with meal ; and there was his son, in all 
 things his very fac-simile, even to his style 
 of speech ; and there also was Jasper 
 Broadfoot, the sturdy ploughman, with his 
 huge honest face, bearing unanswerable 
 te.stimony of his extreme satisfaction. These, 
 with the merry hatter himself, in a merrier 
 trim than ever, constituted the male part of 
 the company. 
 
 The women consisted of the laughing 
 Joan, who had not lost somuch as anatomof 
 her overwhelming good nature; her buxom 
 kinswoman, Judith, no longer the desperate 
 shrew she was, for i' faith, the shrew had 
 been tamed so absolutely, that there never 
 
 was a more excellent obedient wife, quiet 
 and modest withalj as a good wife shnuld 
 ever be. With them was Goody F^)ppet 
 with a face like a harvest moon — always 
 excepting the matter of the tri|)le chin. The 
 two maypoles, starched and stiffened, and 
 looking like a couple of ninepins left stand- 
 ing alter a successful cast of the bowl 
 amongst their fellows ; and Peg o' the Tv.-ig- 
 gen Bottle, with such a dextrous use of her 
 somewhat sinister looks, as made it mar- 
 vellous she had not become a Peg for some 
 of her admirers to hang himself on withal, 
 the which would most certainly have been, 
 had it not been thought by all the better sort 
 that she was a Peg too low. 
 
 As none of these worthies had much ac- 
 quaintance with the rare gift of holding 
 tiicir tongues, as pretty a confusion of voi- 
 ces was going as might have been produced 
 in a rookery by a sudden shot. The sole 
 subject and object of this Babel was the 
 new tenant of New Place. Some of them 
 had been enabled to obtain intelligence of 
 matters respecting him and his establish- 
 ment, of which the others were clean igno- 
 rant, and their interest in him would have 
 made them good listeners, had not their ea- 
 gerness in asking questions far oulspent 
 their patience to hear the answers. Some 
 had been so fortunate as to see him ; and 
 wondrous appeared the result of their inter- 
 view. At last the notion seemed to be 
 gaining ground that the best way of becom- 
 ing acquainted with the strange matters 
 their more fortunate associates were com- 
 municating, was to allow the latter to speak 
 their minds uninterruptedly. They, there- 
 fore, grouped round the principal speakers, 
 and, saving a due allowance of eager inter- 
 jections and judicious comments, appeared 
 disposed to become respectable listeners. 
 
 " To think that Ragged Launce should 
 have been taken into favor !" observed the 
 ploughman, in a sort of amazement, " a 
 thoughtless, idle varlet, that knoweth not so 
 much as the coulter from the furrow it 
 turns over." 
 
 " Not so fast, good Jasper, 1 prythee," 
 said Tommy Hart. " Ragged Launce will 
 not now answer to his title. He hath since 
 been styled ' Lazy Launce :' but methiid^s 
 he shall now rejoice under the style of 
 ' Bragging Launce ;' for he be ever telling 
 you the wonderfullest brags concerning his 
 adventures beyond the sea, that can be con- 
 ceived." 
 
 " He it is, then, that is to look to the 
 beasts?" inquired the old miller. 
 
 " By the bungholo of the cask of Bac- 
 chus !" exclaimed young Quiney, " he can- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 193 
 
 not look to one requiring more looking to 
 than himself." 
 
 '• Bat commend me to the varlet whom 
 Master Shakspeare hath brought with him 
 as his steward," observed 'rommy Hart, 
 with a chuckle. " Wnen I said to him, 
 ' Simon Stoikhsh,' quoth I, ' wilt take a 
 draugiit?' he h.Ked on me a wonderful pen- 
 etrating look, as though he thought my ci- 
 vility intolerably suspicious, and, with a 
 grave face, informed me he would think of 
 it." 
 
 " An ass of a notable breed, o' ray life !" 
 added Jonas Tietape, " for I liave good rea- 
 son for knowing he thiaketh himself three 
 parts fox. Nevertheless, with all his hu- 
 mor of sublcty, the plainest trap that ever 
 was set shall hold him fast, though he be so 
 on the guard, he faiicieth snares in every 
 body's speech." 
 
 " We Will take the fox out of him befoi'e 
 he is many days older, I promise you," said 
 Joan, laugliingly. " I am no woman, if 1 
 fail to make him stand confessed the goodly 
 breed he is, ere our acquaintance be tlior- 
 oughly ripened." 
 
 Aifairs of such importance soon began to 
 be discussed, and of such interest too, that 
 even Jonas Tietape left off his vagaries to 
 take part in the conversation. Tommy 
 Hart had spoken to the aldermen and bur- 
 gesses about holding a festival, and having 
 all sorts of country games in the town, in 
 iionor of their wortiiy Master Shakspeare : 
 and as they determined Stratford should pro- 
 duce all that was most attractive in the way 
 of revels, every one of the company felt 
 bound to do his or her best to afford amuse- 
 ment. The question was, what shape 
 should this amusement assume. Various 
 sports were then thought of, and each in 
 turn discussed ; every one i^iving an opin- 
 ion for some favorite. There were advo- 
 cates for Coventry Plays : lor mock tourna- 
 ments; for mummings ; for a mor.ice; for 
 a chase after a soaped pig ; for a bear bait- 
 ing ; for a badger hunt ; for chuck farthing ; 
 and for divers other approved sports of a 
 simil.ir sort. 
 
 At last it seemed settled, that nothing 
 could be chosen so likely to do honor to 
 their distinguished townsman as a play; 
 and althougii to other sports they might also 
 have recourse, a play they determined 
 sliould be the great feature of the day. On 
 this decision being come to, Jonas Tie- 
 tape put himself forward to arrange not 
 only the particular play, but the particular 
 way in which it should be played, and the 
 particular persons who were to share in its 
 performance. Considering they had got 
 13 
 
 I neither scenery nor wardrobe, the company 
 I appeared less doubtful of their resources 
 [than might have been expected: but this 
 was the result of the superlative conridence 
 of their leader, who acted the part of each 
 in turn, showing how marvellous well it 
 miglit be done, alter a fashion that was a 
 marvel indeed. 
 
 Jonas took immeasurable pains to in- 
 struct his associates, who were not all of 
 them so apt at their lessons as they might 
 have been. This, let it be observed, was 
 the lirst of several meetings of the same 
 kind, when the same lessons were repeated, 
 and the assistance of otner worthies pro- 
 cured to help out the personation of the va- 
 rious characters that were to speak on this 
 moLnentous occasion. But, leavinsr them 
 to arrange such business in their own way, 
 we must at once to higher game. 
 
 As the reader hath already learned. Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare had returned to his native 
 town, a prosperous if not a happy man. 
 Tiiat he left London with some reluctance 
 is e.vceeding probable. There he had 
 achieved his first triumphs; had secured 
 his best friends ; there he had obtained the 
 HatLcring notice of one of the nobl st of 
 created beings, whose attentions were re- 
 garded by him as honors, to which those of 
 Czars and Caesars were empty and puerile. 
 He had been driven forth out into the wide 
 ocean of the world without chart or compass, 
 scores, or necessaries of any sort by which 
 tiie fearless marmer might contend out the 
 hercest storms, and had found there a port 
 in which he had rode at anchor for many 
 years in safety and honor, whilst others, 
 seemingly better provided, had been cast 
 away. 
 
 London and her multitudes, therefore, 
 might well be dear to him. He was grate- 
 ful, he was proud, he was happy in the 
 greatness they had brought him ; and it 
 was with a sighing breast and dimmed eyes, 
 he left the crowds of warm friends and hon- 
 est admirers its numberless streets contain- 
 ed. But with one individual, the parting 
 was more dilhcult than with all the others 
 put together, or even a thousand times their 
 sum ; and, such are the marvellous freaks 
 of human nature, this one was no otlier 
 than his quondam scholar, my Lord of Pem- 
 broke, from whom he had more trouble than 
 every other besides. It is not in the art of 
 poor words to express the depth of his feel- 
 ings in being obliged to tear himself from 
 an object that had lately become the very 
 principle of his life. He, however, knew 
 the huge necessity there was for this forced 
 separation, and with a swelling heart school- 
 
194 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ed himself into a proper affectation of indif- 
 ferency. 
 
 If there was regret in leaving a place in 
 whicii he had been made so rich in friends, 
 thsre was much of the same feeling await- 
 ed him on liis return to a place where all 
 he had known of sorrow and humiliation 
 had visited him. The wound may have 
 healed, which the death of his sweet young 
 son had created ; and that equally painful 
 blow which had annihilated his domestic 
 happiness may have ceased to give any 
 very acute pain ; but there were times when 
 they would not bear touching, and these 
 times the scenes that every day met his 
 gaze seemed to bring before him. But if 
 he had his discomforts in this return to a 
 spot which, whatever of pain or disappoint- 
 ment there was with it, he had his pleasures 
 also ; the satisfaction which his coming to 
 dwell among his townsmen gave to one and 
 all, tilled him with a peculiar satistaction. 
 For the rude but honest affection of the com- 
 pany that assembled in the kitchen of Tom- 
 my Hart, he had a deeper sympathy than 
 for his popularity with the gay butterllies of 
 the court of King James. 
 
 But the great source of his gratification 
 was his most admirable fair daughter. Su- 
 sanna had become his companion and friend. 
 With her ho was wont to visit the old fami- 
 liar faces that had haunted him so often in 
 his dreams — the favorite walks, and views, 
 and resting-places in and about Stratford, 
 where, during the vernal spring of his fruit- 
 ful life, lie had learned so many lessons of 
 beauty, purity, and love, that he had siuce 
 reproduced in materials as indestructible 
 as the pyramids, and as intelligent as the 
 stars. 
 
 She gave earnest attentiveness to all such 
 reminiscences — they were to her as the re- 
 velations of an oracle. But at times he 
 felt somewhat disappointed in her hearing. 
 It was kind, considerate, soothing, full of 
 exquisite comfort and ci insolation : but a 
 sensible change seemed lately to have pass- 
 ed over her. She was no longer the crea- 
 ture of life and light he had seen her at the 
 French Court. Perhaps, thought he, she 
 cannot reconcile herself to the sudden alte- 
 ration of her position — from being one of 
 the brightest ornaments of the brilliant 
 court of Henri Quatre, where all eyes 
 were upon her and all hearts at her devo- 
 tion, to be the repository of melancholy 
 thoughts, and receive no otlier courtesies 
 than might fall from a solitary in a small 
 provincial town in England. He enter- 
 tained some hopes that this gloom might be 
 removed in due course of time. Ho would 
 
 take care to secure her amusement and so- 
 ciety more worthy of her time of life. 
 
 Poor Susanna ! There was indeed a 
 change in her. Her buoyant nature, that, 
 like the brighter glories of tlie sky, came 
 upon your vision floating in an atmosphere 
 of its own light, had received so rude a 
 shock, that nothing but the posses.--iun of 
 that steadfastedness of spirit, which, in per- 
 sons so excellently disposed, bears up against 
 the rudest shock of evil, could have ena- 
 bled her to keep her proper place, and re- 
 tain her proper part. A settled melancholy 
 had possessed her — the light and grace- 
 ful gaiety, which had thrown around her 
 natural gentleness and modesty so winning 
 a charm, had given way to a gravity almost 
 solemn. But it was not any yearning after 
 the lost splendors of Paris life, tiiat had 
 created in her so painful a gravity. Of a 
 truth, so far irom it, she was right glad 
 she was well quit of the place, and all its 
 hollow pleasures. Nor would the sunshine, 
 which her courteous admirer. Sir George 
 Carew, was preparing to fling across her 
 patti, penetrate, to the slightest extent, the 
 deep shadow by which, in her idea, she was 
 surrounded. 
 
 What had caused this shadow to fall 
 there was no telling — the discreet Susanna 
 kept a strict silence. Her father asked her 
 no questions. His quick eye perceived the 
 change, but mistook the cause. Yet, had 
 this been otherwise, he respected her too 
 much to have attempted to pry into a secret 
 she seemed inclined to preserve. 
 
 On her part, whatever gloom may have 
 overspread her mind, she felt bound to con- 
 ceal it as much as possible from her indul- 
 gent parent, and ofttimes took upon herself 
 the humor of pleasantry, as if she had not 
 a care she need trouble herself about. She 
 appeared to take a sensible interest in the 
 approaching re\els, and put some touch of 
 liveliness upon her s])eecii, whilst she des- 
 canted on the infinite pleasure it would 
 afford to the worthy people of all the neigh- 
 boring villages. Nevertheless, she would 
 have liked nothing so well as hearing it 
 abandoned — or that she could in any way 
 escape appearing there. Yet, of all strange 
 matters, this seemed the most unaccounta- 
 ble — for, next to her father, whom she re- 
 verenced above all human creatures, and 
 loved with an aftectionateness akin to wor- 
 ship, she regarded the gallant Sir George 
 Carew, and his equally kind and conside- 
 rate lady, who had been active in planning 
 and settling all the necessary arrangements. 
 
 Far and near, for many miles, these ap- 
 proaching revels had become the favorite 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 195 
 
 theme of every idle tongue. As the day 
 they were to be held drew near, there was 
 no subject so generally discussed, and every 
 one seemed to be making extraordinary 
 preparations for a visit to Stratford. 
 
 At Shottery this was especially the case ; 
 and, at the cottage, the three aunts seemed 
 to be talking themselves into a fever. Aunt 
 Gadibout had been to Welford Wake, to 
 Bidford Whitsun Ale, to a hurling at Fui- 
 brooke, to a wedding at Charlcote, and to a 
 christening at Bidford ; yet she looked for- 
 ward to her jaunt to Stratford as to a plea- 
 sure that Cometh but once in a way. Aunt 
 Prateapace had heard a world and all of 
 gossip concerning Giles of Binton and the 
 parson's maid ; had managed to get even 
 on the right scent respecting the secret 
 visits of Tom the Piper, to the widow at 
 Bardon Hill ; and had ferretted out the rea- 
 son why the young squire went so fre- 
 quently to Wcllesbourn Wood ; neverthe- 
 less, her talk was all of Stratford, of what 
 was doing, and what was to be done. Aunt 
 Brcedbate ceased to inveigh against the 
 horrible tyranny of Batch, the baker, to his 
 prentices, though she had succeeded in per- 
 suading the latter that they were monstrous- 
 ly ill-used, because they had puddings, no 
 more than thrice a week; and made no 
 boast of having caused her neighbor. 
 Hunks, the carrier, to turn his only son out 
 of doors ; she, too, could tind no other mat- 
 ter for speech than all that she knew or 
 guessed of Stratford Revels, in which she 
 quarrelled with her sisters no more than 
 some half score times daring the hour. 
 
 The old and favorite source of their 
 united mischief-making and bickerings, 
 hugely to their discontent, they had for some 
 time past been denied. Their kinswoman 
 would hear no more of their meddling in 
 anything that related either to her " villa- 
 nous husband," or her " horrible infamous 
 children." Indeed a marvellous change 
 had taken place in her. She remained at 
 Iiome from morn till eve — took no concern 
 in the affairs of tho^e around her, and cared 
 not for the visits of any of her gossips ; the 
 more especially for those of her loving aunts. 
 No one knew but herself how the weary 
 hours were employed ; but it might have 
 been guessed tliat they were none so plea- 
 sant, as iicr looks were not those of one 
 whose privacy was happiness. She would 
 not be induced to go to Stratford, but let 
 her kinswouien depart without her ; and 
 then shut herself in her chamber, in the 
 same gloomy humor in which, of late, she 
 was comuionly to be found. 
 
 Bright gleamed the golden sunshine on 
 the day of the Stratford Revels, and from i 
 
 every village and townfor miles round — not 
 only from Bidford, Wixford, Exhall, Aices- 
 ter, Great Alne, Aston-Cantlow, Snitler- 
 lield, Barford, and Wasperton — a distance 
 of some five or six miles or so — but even 
 from Evesham, Warwick, Coventry, and 
 Worcester, from ten to thirty miles, came 
 horsemen, ay, and divers stout footmen, to 
 enjoy the sports tiiat had so long been talked 
 of over the whole country. Tliey came 
 pouring into the town in every accessible 
 direction, but over Clopton Bridge they 
 pressed like an invading army. They passed 
 under the famous triumphal arches made of 
 flowers and evergreens, which had been 
 ei'ected at the bidding of the corporation 
 across the principal streets, where as fa- 
 mous companies of musicians as all War- 
 wickshire could produce were stationed, 
 making such a glorious piping, trumpeting, 
 and drununing, as none ever heard before. 
 Much they talked as they passed along, 
 concerning that marvellous man, for whom 
 fortune and fame had done such wondrous 
 things, and of whom every group possessed 
 some one or more who could, of his own 
 knowledge, testify to the strangest matters 
 that ever befel one of mortal nature. Be 
 sure they had scores of eager listeners. He 
 who could tell some unheard-of tale of his 
 estimation among great lords and princes, 
 of which he had lumself seen ample war- 
 rant, ensured for himself the consequence of 
 their chief and director during tlie rest of the 
 journey ; but he whom chance and a good 
 memory had furnished recollections of cer- 
 tain glorious plays, seen in London or else- 
 where, was regarded by his associates, from 
 that time forward, as a friend to be jjroud of. 
 
 The high bailiff, with the powerful back- 
 ing of Sir George Carew, had taken espe- 
 cial care that due provision should be made 
 for the sustenance and refreshment of all 
 comers during the day. Nearly every 
 house had a bush over the door, where a 
 good draught ot ale or cider miglit be liad 
 almost for the asking ; and there had been 
 more boiling, roasting, and baking in the 
 town, during the last three days, then had 
 been for a full twelve months passed : so 
 that he that was tired, athirst, or ahungered, 
 had only to turn into the first open door, and 
 might be sure of getting all he desired. 
 
 For the gentry, other arrangements had 
 been made. New Place had been so rarely 
 garnished with green boughs and gay flow- 
 ers, that not a foot of the front could be 
 seen ; and within was the same dainty dis- 
 play in every possible direction : for the 
 which gay work the humblest poor person, 
 as well as the wealthiest burgesses, had 
 joyfully contributed. But there was store 
 
196 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 of other tilings — tables were laid out in the 
 hall, and over them was such bountiful 
 store of good eating and drinking, as, so it 
 seemed, might sutMce lor a garrison to sus- 
 tain a seven years' siege. Tlie high bailiff 
 also kept open house — so did the vicar — and 
 so did the ciiietest aldermen. The inns 
 were as admiral)ly well provided : and there 
 were also capacious covered booths erected 
 in various directions, willi flags and goodly 
 branches at top, whereof some showed such 
 a commodity of good victual as the whole 
 town could not have supplied at another 
 time — others were for dancing ; wherein 
 could be had wine, or ale, or cider, in sucJi 
 plenty as it was a marvel to see. 
 
 The fame of these revels had brought all 
 sorts of mounlebanks, pedlars, ballad-sing- 
 ers. c(>njiirors, masters, of puppets, exhibi- 
 tors of monsters, quack-doctors, and the like 
 sort of tbik, who, in every street, were to 
 be seen pursuing their vocations, intiuiteU 
 to the amusement of the rustics. This kept 
 the immense multitude from crowding too 
 much in one place, which the corporation 
 had likewise endeavored to avoid by caus- 
 ing dillljrent attractive spcjrts to be going on 
 at the same time — some withiu tlie town 
 aiid some without. 
 
 On the road to Shottery there was to be a 
 hurling-inatch — on that to Bidford, a bull- 
 baitini^r — close to the chapel of the Guild 
 was to be a game at barley-break — near 
 the church, a cudgel-play — provision for 
 shooting at the butts in one field, and for 
 running at the quintain in another — a bad- 
 ger-hunt on the Avon — a jumping-match in 
 the meadows — by the elm, at the Dove- 
 house Close end, in the Henley Road, a 
 maypole for a dance — and at the opposite 
 boundary, the two elms in the Meshain 
 highway a bonfire. There was also to be 
 every thing as at a May-day — Robin Hood 
 and Maid Marian — Hobby-horse and St. 
 George and tlie Dragon — and, greatest of 
 all attractions, in the most open place in all 
 the town, was set up a stage, in which was 
 to be represented the exceeding admirable, 
 most moving, and very delectable choice pa- 
 geant of "Tlie Nino Worthies." 
 
 But now there is a cheerful sound of 
 trumpets, and it is made known that the 
 corporation are going in procession from 
 the Town Hall to New Place, and present- 
 ly there is a vast show of running and 
 scrambling. The high bailiff, in the garb 
 of his office, descends from his horse, and 
 enters Master Shakspeare's dwelling, amid 
 a flourisii of trumpets and a great shout of 
 applause, to invite him and his exquisit" 
 fair daughter, in the name of the people of 
 Stratford, to see all the goodly sports that 
 
 have been [ rovidcd for their especial honor 
 and delectation ; and, presently, he is seen 
 bringing forth Master dhakspeare ; where- 
 upon there is set up so mam a cry, and so 
 piercing a flourish, that thousands are seen 
 hi.rrying to the spot in every direction. 
 Master Shaks])eare ackuovvledgeth the ap- 
 plau.se with such gracefulness and noble- 
 ness of bearing as speedily brought it tbrth 
 with double strength. '1 he whilst he was 
 so engaged, there was brought up to his 
 door a most stately steed, ca})arisoned as 
 for a king, which had been provided by his 
 loving friends for his accommodation. He 
 leaped into the saddle, and held his seat 
 with so commanding an air, dotiing his 
 beaver courteously to all around, as the 
 proud beast curveted and pranced his best 
 paces, as though knowing what inestimable 
 honor he bore, that the hurraing was re- 
 newed and continued as if never to end. 
 
 Anon there appeared at the door the figure 
 of the gentle Susanna, looking, from the 
 flusli ot aflection and pride, in seeing her 
 father so honored, that spread over her deli- 
 cate features, more lovely than ever she 
 had been. She seemed for a moment over- 
 powered by the tumultuous greeting that 
 awaited her; but this speedily passed, and, 
 with one graceful recognition, assisted by 
 the ever-gallant Sir George, she leaped 
 upon the noble steed that had been provided 
 tor her, and, by her noble horsemanship, was 
 winning the hearts of the vast masses that 
 thronged to every point, window cr house- 
 top, that could couunand a view of what 
 was going on. 
 
 A number of the gentlefolks of the neigh- 
 borhood, of both sexes, next appeared ; 
 who, having mounted their horses, the pro- 
 cession started from New Place in the fol- 
 lowing order — 
 
 Constables of the watch. 
 
 Twenty-four poor men of Stratford, be- 
 longing to the alms-houses, in blue coats. 
 
 iScholars of the Free-School — where 
 Master Shakspeare had received his learn- 
 ing — two abreast. 
 
 Vicar and Schoolmaster. 
 
 The difierent trades, with their banners. 
 
 Trumpeters — followed by the great ban- 
 ner of St. George and the Dragon, like unto 
 that famous representation on the chapel of 
 the Guild. 
 
 The high bailiff, on horseback. 
 
 The two churchwardens, a-foot. Also 
 the aldermen and other officers of the corpo- 
 ration, two and two. 
 
 Another great banner, bearing the arms 
 of England united with Scotland. 
 
 A company of musicians, playing joyfal 
 tunes. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 197 
 
 Master Shakspeare, on a tall horse, 
 richly cap irisom^d. By liis side, Mistress 
 SusANiNA Shakspeare, riding in a lil;e man- 
 ner. 
 
 Ladies and gentlewomen, on prancing 
 palfreys. 
 
 Knights and gentlemen of the neighbor- 
 hood, all riding. 
 
 Yeo:nen of Stratford and the Hamlets of 
 Shottory, Drayton, Little VVilmecote, and 
 Bishopton — every man on his own iiorse. 
 
 S_Tving-men of tlie gentry, in their coats 
 and badges, a-foot. 
 
 A great banner of the cross. 
 
 Two trumpet rs. 
 
 Constables of the watch. 
 
 As the procession passed through the 
 principal streets, there was such a gon'^Tal 
 craning of necks from opened casements 
 and crowded house-tops, doorvvays, and every 
 other convenient place, and such shouting 
 and hurraing, and waving of hats and hand- 
 kerchiefs, as was truly wonderful to see and 
 hear. There was no lack ot' comment on 
 the per-^onal appearance of both the princi- 
 pal personages, nor was there any lack of 
 adminition. Of their feelings, notliing can 
 be said to make tliem sutHciently under- 
 stood. Master Shakspeare felt elated — of 
 a surety, the sight that presented itself to 
 him was suiRcient to have exalted the most 
 earihborn of mortals : but the satisfaction 
 arose less from gratitied vanity than from a 
 love of that kindness that seemed the moving 
 spirit of the whole scene. 
 
 It was not till he passed by the well-re- 
 membered house in Henley Street, that his 
 feelings seemed to be getting the mastery. 
 He thought of the estimable hearts at rest, 
 under the churchyard turf, that would have 
 rejoiced beyond all mortal joy to have seen 
 that day : and, for one, what a day of honor 
 it would have been held, had not the de- 
 stroyer, so prematurely, cut him off Iroui 
 the world he was so well titted to adorn ! 
 
 He was aroused from an unhappy reverie 
 by a fresh burst of plaudits, v/liich brought 
 lus thoughts into a more ngreeable channel. 
 
 Susanna rode by his side with a swelling 
 heart. She seemed entirely oblivious of 
 her own peculiar ideas and sensations — and 
 she had much to forget. She thought and 
 felt only lor her f.ither. She had always 
 been pioud of him, but now her pride had 
 in it something so reverential, it looked like 
 an angelic appreciation of uu mortal excel- 
 lence. 'J'hey passed on, viewing with in- 
 finite contentation the arrangements that 
 had been made for the enjoyment of the 
 people of the difF ront revels. They bi held 
 several in full operation. Most, however. 
 
 had suspended their operations to obtain a 
 view of the approaching proce.-sion, but they 
 saw enough to know liovv well everything 
 liad been managed. 
 
 They now drew near to the spot where 
 the stage had been erected, and were soon 
 marshalled within view of it; the tbotmen 
 being pi iced in front, and the horsemen be- 
 hind. Here they had been but a brief space, 
 when the grand and wonderful pageant 
 commenced with the appearance on the 
 stage of three marvellous ill-visaged, ill- 
 sli iped, ill-clad personages, in turbans and 
 sandals, with monstrous long boards, who, 
 in rare ranting speech, proceeded to pro- 
 claim to their audience tliat they were the 
 three Hebrew worthies, Joshua. David, and 
 Judas Maccaba^us — they spoke some ex- 
 ceeding tine-!ustian sentences, and made 
 no small exertions to appear to perfection 
 the heroes of Israel, albeit they were but in- 
 ditferent Christians, that ansv/ered to the 
 names uf Jaspar 13roadfoot, Cullibert Dred- 
 ger, and his son. 
 
 When they had ranted sufficiently about 
 their distinguished names and deeds, they 
 made off — and [)resently they were succeed- 
 ed by t;iree as odd-looking varkts as ever 
 were met within the world, in helmets, hav- 
 ing naked feet with sandals, and an odd 
 kind of drapery thrown over their naked 
 shoulders. Tlieir very appearance was the 
 signal lor a burst of mirth tiiat seemed to 
 shake the whole town. First came the 
 mighty Hector, and a rare hectoring blade 
 he proved him.-elf. He swore pretty round- 
 ly there was not so fine a fellow of h,s inches 
 any where, and that he had just come from 
 the walls of Troy at the rate of a sheriff's 
 post, to show the whole world what match- 
 less choice spirits there were in the old 
 times. In sooth, he talked big enough ; 
 yet, lor all his tine feathers, he was no other 
 than the reader's politic friend, Simon Stock- 
 fish, who, after due deliberation, had, at a 
 prfssing request, lent his excellent |)owers 
 to secure a j)roper performance of the pag- 
 eant. 
 
 Next came a fellow who seemed full as 
 broad as he was long ; yet his length was 
 little better than that of a dwarf, and in his 
 bullet head appeared a brace of open jaws 
 that looked to be ready to devour any one 
 of the company inclined to test his powers 
 of swallow When he declared, in the 
 highest sounding phrase, that he was Julius 
 Cffisar, there was a laugh among all such 
 as had any acijuaintance with tuat worthy. 
 Nevertheless, he strutted, and grimaced, and 
 vapored for an intolerable long time, con- 
 cerning his valorous doings ; few there 
 
193 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 would have taken him for Julius Cccsar, 
 but it' there luid been any doubt on the mat- 
 ter amongst tlie town-^people, it musi liave 
 ceased wiu'n, in tiie midst of one of liis most 
 tearing speeciies, from two cavities or pock- 
 ets below his girdle, sprung forth the heads 
 of two little dogs, who set up such a yelp- 
 ing, tiiat Julius Cajsar stopped sudden short 
 in his i'eioics, and with two smart pats on 
 their heads, the voice of Jonas Tictape bade 
 tliem " get ni, and be hanged !" 
 
 At his heuls came a like sort of knave, 
 about tiie same height, but not so siout ; 
 albeit, however small he was in his inches, 
 he, too, was a lamous tall fellow with his 
 tongue. He made it out that he had con- 
 quered the world ; and by his bearing it was 
 plain to be seen, in ins own conceit, he 
 could do it again as easy as he could drink 
 off a pint of small ale. But, let him have 
 bragged till doomsd ly, it was plain enough, 
 Alexander the Great was but Tommy Hait 
 the Little. 
 
 These three having departed, there ap- 
 peared another lot of a like number, to 
 make up tlie nine ; and, however tiie Jews 
 and Intidels had bestirred themselves in this 
 business, th.se three, who came as Chris- 
 tians, in full suits of armor, outcrowed them 
 all to nothing. It came out that they were 
 no other tlian King Arthur, Charlemagne, | 
 and Godfrey of Boulogne. King Aithurl 
 had gnt a squint, and was lame of a leg, | 
 that marked hun lor the constable of the ' 
 watch ; and Godfrey of Boulogne was high- j 
 shouldered, and spoke with a cracked voice, 
 nobody woald have owned but the school- 1 
 master. As for the ilhintrious and very ab- ; 
 solute valiant potentate tlie great Chdrle-i 
 magne, by some cuance or other, ere he had | 
 spoke many lines, lie wanted prompting, i 
 Charlemagne the great, it was soon ob- ' 
 served was gifted with a wonderful little j 
 memory. He hardly knew who he was — 
 clean torgot what he had done, and could 
 not for tlie life of him say why he was 
 there. 'I'lie spectators made many sharp 
 remarks on this strange failing in Charle- 
 magne — and at last, things growing worse, 
 the great man was so badgered that he 
 scarce knew which w:iy to tarn. 
 
 When the public disapproval of him be- 
 gan at la.-t to tihow they would bear with 
 him no longer, he presently opened his hel- 
 met and t.irevv it aside, swearing pretty 
 roundly to ttie crowd beneath him, " He was 
 none of (Jharley Mam, but only simple 
 Launcelot CurMiose, Master Shakspeare's 
 boy, and he didn t care a tico lor the nine 
 worthies, or any of their generat.on." 
 
 In simple truth, Launce had been too 
 
 busy with the tankard, and liad become pot- 
 valiant. This burst of indignation set the 
 whole audience laughing, and in this merry 
 mood concluded the "exceeding, admirable, 
 most moving, and very delectable choice 
 pageant of the Nine Worthies." 
 
 Certes, Master Shakspeare found no 
 slight degree of amusement in this jierl'orm- 
 ance ; he often discovered himself wishing 
 that honest Ned Allen, Dick Burbage, or 
 any other of the great London players could 
 see how choicely the players ot Stratford 
 employed the resources of their art ; and he 
 could have laughed right earnestly, had he 
 not remembered that, however burlesque 
 was the playing, the players were honest 
 hearts, whose sole aim was to do him honor. 
 Thus influenced, it was no marvel he ex- 
 pressed himself exceeding gratitied with 
 every part of it. 
 
 After this the procession moved on, and 
 in turn visited the scene of the rest of the 
 Stratford Revels, with the which he was 
 equally well pleased. 
 
 An important feature in the day's festivi- 
 ties, was a grand banquet at the Guildhall, 
 mostly at the expense of the Corporation; 
 where they feasted their illustrious towns- 
 man and his friends right sumptuously ; 
 many handsome things being said of him, 
 to which he replied in a tone of earnest 
 thankfulness that did famously express his 
 sense of the honor they did him. When 
 this was over. Sir George Carew, with more 
 tender gallantry than any of his juniors 
 could liave used, must needs lead off the 
 rirst dance with his fair favcrite, Mistress 
 Susanna. They kept it up till a late hour, 
 having all the most approved dances, and 
 every admired tune; and when the time for 
 parting could no longer be delayed, it was 
 said of all — both such as came from a dis- 
 tance, and by those living in the neighbor- 
 hood — that, in their memory, tiiere had been 
 irolhing in the county that atibrded such ex- 
 cellent desport as tiiese Stratford Revels; 
 and it was the general desire that on the 
 twenty-third of every succeeding April, tiie 
 town should be rendered attractive by a 
 similar entertaiiunent- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Ifl9 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Hark hither, reader ! wilt thou see 
 Nature her Ovvn physician bs ? 
 Wilt see a mau all liis own wealth, 
 His own music, his own health ; 
 A man whoie sober soul can teU 
 How to wear her garments well ? 
 
 Crashaw. 
 
 Master Shakspeare had, by this time, be- 
 come settled in his new position. His man- 
 sion was Urge and commodious, and he had 
 taken onod care that in it he should be sur- 
 rounded with such comforts and accommoda- 
 tions as he most hked. There was his li- 
 brary full of choice authors, with here and 
 there a rare specimen of old armor, that 
 recalled the glories of the Black Prince, 
 and the triumphs of Henry of Monmouth 
 There, too, was a goodly hall, with no lack 
 of helmets, swords, and bucklers around the 
 walls ; a dining parlor, with wel -carved 
 furniture and handsome panels, with a few 
 choice old portraits; a " blue chamber," so 
 called froni being hung with arras of that 
 color ; a " paradise," bearing this designa- 
 tion in consequence of its having the story 
 of our tirst parents, to their expulsion from 
 the Garden of EJen, done in German water- 
 colors on the walls ; a " yellow chamber," 
 styled so from its yellow hangings, and 
 divers others, distinguished in a like man- 
 ner by so.iie peculiarity in the character i in so impressive a fashion, they presently 
 of the furniture. There was also ample [ clean repented of their infamy, "and took to 
 
 the fair Susanna riding by his side, each 
 with a favorite bird, would enjoy the delec- 
 table sport of hawking. Or, mayhap, he 
 might be ready for any other pastime that 
 looked to be most ready for him. His gar- 
 den and his farm seemed to possess for him 
 inexhaustible resources ; and, next to them 
 in interest, he regarded a clieerful ride or 
 walk into any of tlie most pleasant places in 
 the neighborhood. 
 
 He daily grew into more esteem with his 
 honest townsmen and neighbors, and wag 
 much talked of hn- many miles nmnd, not 
 so much in relation to the great gifts which 
 had secured him his great name, but rather 
 as one Squire Shakspeare of Stratford. Jn 
 trutii tlie character of squire suited him as 
 well as it would any who had been born in 
 it; and so it is palpable would any other, 
 let it have been of whatsoever rank or sta- 
 tion it could have possessed. 
 
 He had been appointed to the honorable 
 office of justice of peace ; and, having had 
 his hall in New Place turned into a justice- 
 room, it was his wont, with certain assist- 
 ants of his, to examine such offenders as 
 were brought before him. Frequently would 
 he so admonish the evil-doers that they 
 straightway abandoned their vile courses, 
 and became of a notable honesty ever after. 
 He saved many from the commission of 
 base offences ; and those notorious malefac- 
 tors he was obliged to condemn, he did so 
 
 accommodation in the way of buttery, kit- 
 chen, and the like sort of places, with stable, 
 and a choice garden. 
 
 The chamber lie most affected was the 
 one used as a common refectory. It was 
 distinguished by a bay window, and a most 
 capacious chimney-corner. Here in his 
 high chair he loved to sit, surrounded by 
 ad.niring friends, who afiected nothing so 
 
 better behaving from that time forth. In 
 brief, the fame of his jusiice, and his skill 
 in finding out the intricatest matters, spread 
 so every day, that he became looked upon 
 as the chief judge of such otiences in those 
 parts ; so that it was seldom he had not his 
 hands full of it. 
 
 He sat in his chair of worship, which he 
 filled wiih no lack of dignity, his person 
 
 well in the long winter nights as to get him I being now full and portly — mayhap the 
 
 in the hum >r of telling stories ; and number 
 less narratives, of wonderful interest, did he 
 narrate to th it enviable circle. There were 
 tales of all hues and complexions, to suit all 
 manner of tastes and inclinations ; tales of 
 all countries and of all times ; yet each 
 marked with the same marvellous invention, 
 that kept the rapt hearers in a very ecstacy 
 of mingled pleasure and wonder, till they 
 had deeply encroached into their ordinary 
 hours of rest. 
 
 Wlien he chose to seek relief from his 
 
 combined results of good living and of good 
 nature — Sir George Carew sitting near, 
 who shared in such business whenever he 
 could ride over from his own house ; and 
 Simon Stockfish over-ngainst them acting 
 as clerk, who occasionally ventured on 
 giving a hint in the way of djep policy, 
 which, though prohting no one, was sure 
 of being taken in good part. Launce had 
 been promoted to the otiice and dignity of 
 crier of the court, the which he rilled to 
 marvellous admiration, allowing of no noise 
 
 in-door amusements, he looked after hii or disturbance of any sort, save what he 
 lands and herds as attentively as any yeo- made himself, which was sure to be enough, 
 man in Warwickshire. If it pleased him | in all conscience, for all the rest of the corn- 
 better, he would mount his horse ; and, with j pany. There were also certain constables, 
 
200 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to wit, young Quiney, of whose discretion 
 and diligence in his office Master Siiak.s- 
 poare entertained an excellent proper (j[)in- 
 ion ; Toniiny Hart, who, an he could 1)0 
 serious, would have arrested any ofiender 
 that came in liis way ; but he wn.sso ready 
 to cr.icli a je?t with liiin, instead of proceed- 
 ing with such serious matter, that it was 
 scarce safe to put iiim on such office alone. 
 To these were added Jasper Broadfoot, and 
 old Cuthbert Dredger and his son, who were 
 tlien grouj)ed together, a short way from 
 where Master Shakspeare and his friend 
 were discussing some favorite subject with 
 marvellous earnestness. 
 
 At this period the reader's familiar ac- 
 quaintance Launce, the crier df the court, 
 wlio looked on himself as little less in dig- 
 nity thin his v.'orship, shouted out in his mo.^t 
 worshipful tone, "One to speak with his 
 worship!" and immediately afterwards there 
 appeared at the door a female, humijly clad 
 and closely veiled, attended by Susanna and 
 her sister on each side ot her. 
 
 " A plain case this," said Master Shaks- 
 peare, in an under-tone. " These two jades 
 of mine tike under their protection all the 
 amiable olFenders and interesting criminals 
 they can hear of ; and, forsootii. I am to 
 stand godfather for their misdemeanors." 
 
 "None so well, Will — none so well," 
 replied Sir George, merrily. " There are 
 so many of thine own to answer for, that a 
 few, more or less, need not trouble thee." 
 
 " Let her not come any nearer, I pray 
 you," earnestly whispered Simon Stocktish, 
 across tlie tibie, interposed between them. 
 " She, perchance, may have some danger- 
 ous weapon hid about her : if she be made 
 to stop where she is, there need be no fear 
 of her using it to any fatal purpose." 
 
 Thereupon he made a particular move- 
 ment with his head to Launce, who ap- 
 peared to understand its import on the in- 
 stant, for he repeated it to certain of the 
 constables, who, quite as quickly on the 
 alert, presently drew nigher to the prisoner, 
 or petitioner, or wiiatever she was ; so that, 
 had she offijred any violence, they could 
 liave pounced upon hu-r before she could 
 have done mischief. But the person who 
 had thus engrossed their regards seemed in 
 no case for any deed of desperaiion. If it 
 was not for her fair supporters, she must 
 have fallen to the ground, her steps seemed 
 80 moiislroiis weak and irresolute. She 
 trembled violently, and her sobs were deep 
 and frequent. Siie paused a lew moments, 
 and seemed as though she desired to go 
 back, bat a few words from her kind con- 
 ductors appeared to give her additional 
 
 sfrcngtii. She continued advancing, but it 
 was I'vidcnt that her emotion increased 
 v.'orjierfully. 
 
 " Merit reduced to beg ; or, misfortune 
 forcing an unwilling petitioner." observed 
 Master Shakspeare to his fiiend, as he be- 
 gun to regard her with considerable interest. 
 " Well, well, Master Justice," said the 
 other, who also looked favorably in the same 
 direction, " in such cases, it is easy enough 
 ' to see to which side the scale leans ; and, 
 I she being a woman, she is entitled to the 
 I mo.-t liberal dealing of that most worshipful 
 mf'mber of her se.x, the blind lady, v.'hose 
 office you have been called upon to tulhl." 
 
 All this time, Simon Stockhsh was fid- 
 geting on his seat, his eyes now dwelling 
 with no small degree of alarm upon the ad- 
 vancing female — anon, winking and point- 
 ing at tlie constables, who were all close at 
 hand, in a remarkable state of vigilance. 
 
 " Well, dame !" exclaimed Master Shaks- 
 peare, gently. " Whatever may be your 
 cause, you have taken care to jirovide your- 
 self with such counsel as the judge is pretty 
 sure to listen to witii some favorabkncss." 
 No rejily was given to this assiu'ance — 
 unless it was offered in the increasing sobs, 
 which came from the person to wbom it 
 was directed. The gentlemen seemed af- 
 fected, and even the constables looked some- 
 what bewildered. 
 
 " Prythee, come nearer, dame !" said Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare, in a still kinder voice. 
 " Perchance yon may have something to 
 tell me in contidence. Be assured you will 
 hnd me anxious to afford you any reason- 
 able assistance, and all proper sympathy. ' 
 
 At this the sobbing increased wonderfully; 
 but never a word was spoke. Master Siiaks- 
 peare was almost inciined to think that it 
 was a case of crime, loilowed by deep re- 
 morse. He looked steadily at her; but, 
 from the thickness of her veil, could niako 
 out nothing but a drooping head, a heaving 
 breast, and a trembling form. Both Susan- 
 na and Judith had occasionally addressed 
 words of encour.igement to her in an under- 
 tone, but they ceased to produce any bene- 
 ticial results. At last the elder spoke. 
 
 " I have ventured, sweet sir," said she, 
 " to bring hither, at her most urgent prayer 
 and solicitation, one who is dee) ly sunsible 
 of certain unworthinesses Ijy her committed, 
 when her heart and mind was clean inno- 
 cent of any kncjwledge whatsoever of the 
 nature and extent of I.er ill-do^ng." 
 
 " If sincere repentance of vvhat ill she 
 hath done," added the younger sift r, im- 
 pressively, " for which others are more ac- 
 countable than herself, may he considered a 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 201 
 
 claim, of a surety, dear father, she hath 
 adiiiirible grounJs for being indulgently 
 dealt with in this state." 
 
 " I am ever right glad," said her worthy 
 parent, "to hear of a turning back to the 
 right [)atli, when any deviation hath been 
 made from it. If it b3 in my power to set 
 your mind at euse, be content, I |)ray you ; I 
 will insure ynu every consolation your case 
 admits of. But, an it so please yciu, I would 
 fain see your teatures. In a business of 
 this sort, such mystery is by no means 
 desirable." 
 
 At tills the trembling and the sobbing 
 became more violent thuii ever. The party 
 had ap|)roa(hed close to Master Shakspeare, 
 to a vast increase to the fears and doubts of 
 Simon Stockfish, who, with his mind in a 
 whirl at the imininency of the danger, was 
 racking his brain, to discover some politic 
 plan of removing iiis honored master out of 
 the way. Sir George Carew looked on the 
 ground with singular interest — so gallant a 
 heart as was his was alive in a moment to 
 the distresses of a woman ; and he felt the 
 more sympathy fron seeing the amiable 
 part played in it by his fair friends, Susanna 
 and Judith. 
 
 Master Shakspeare gently attempted to 
 lift up the veil — to wiiich no resistance was 
 made ; and as he did so, the wearer of it fell 
 on her knees before him, in an agony of tears 
 and sobs. He started back, overcome as it 
 were, with extreme astoni-huient. Tiiere 
 knelt before him, as a suppliant and a peni- 
 tent, the creator ot his earliest and sweete>t 
 pleasures — the origin itor of his early griefs 
 and miseries. She knelt not alone; her two 
 daiigiiters knelt on each side of her, and all, 
 in tiie mute eloquence of tears, prayed for 
 forgiveness. 
 
 Sir George Carew could look on no longer; 
 on pretence of brushing back the hair tnnn 
 his forehead, he removed from his eyes the 
 abundant moisture that there suddenly start- 
 ed forth. Simon Stockhsh, in despair of 
 devising any stroke of policy to meet the 
 occasion, was on the point of rushing for- 
 w^■lrd to seize upon the suspected assassin, 
 when he became transfi.xed with wonder- 
 ment — staring with open mouth like one 
 beholding a ghost. Not less of marvelling 
 was seen in tlie countenances of tiie consta- 
 bles ; and one or two turned aside their 
 heads, and drew their sleeves across their 
 eyes. 
 
 What a Hood of subduing recollections 
 rushed upon the mind of Master Shakspeare, 
 at the sight of that still lovely lace! Tlie 
 exquisite sweet pleasure of early love, and 
 all iho bewildering trances of passion and 
 
 romance it brings in its train — the admirable 
 influence of a faith strong as life, in the 
 existence of the most complete perfectness 
 in womankind — the deep and ennobling 
 sympatiiy wliich, whilst it exalts the object 
 of preference to the dignity of a saint, places 
 the admirer in the privileged position of a 
 devotee — all pressed upon him at one and 
 the same moment. He thought not of things 
 evil, as arisingout of this overgrowth of grate- 
 ful feeling, like iungi spreading at the base 
 of the noblest plants of the verdant forest — 
 he saw before liim the Anne Hathaway of 
 his happiest hours, the wife of his bosom, 
 the mother of his children, and the partner 
 of his cares and sorrows, ere both had be- 
 come intolerably familiar to him, and caught 
 the trembling penitent in his arms to hush 
 her tears and terrors, on the breast from 
 which she had too long, by her own sen- 
 tence, been banished. 
 
 'I'his blessed event had been brought 
 about by the judicious and affectionate man- 
 agement of Susanna and Judith — though 
 the t'ormer had much the largest share in it. 
 Scarcely had she returned to Stratford, 
 when, unknown to any one, she made for 
 the cottage at Shottery, where, if a rough 
 reception awaited her, she contrived, by 
 good management, to get it passed over 
 without any ill consequences ; and, taking 
 advantage of the absence of the three harpies, 
 who were as usual juanting it together some 
 few miles off, she commenced her advances 
 towards the object nearest her heart. They 
 were less ill received than she had expected ; 
 and, at her next visit, which she so limed as 
 to avoid her aunts, she pushed forward more 
 boldly, with such satisfactory results, that, 
 on tlie next occasion of her coming, she 
 took Judith with her, and their united re- 
 presentations and entreaties eflected every 
 thing that was desired. 
 
 Aunt Prateapace managed to gain intel- 
 ligence of the reconciliation, and haslcned 
 with her two allies to their kinswoman to 
 use all their influence to prevent it ; but, 
 when they arrived at the cottage, there were 
 persons there they little expected meeting. 
 Master Shakspeare had gladly proceeded to 
 the dwelling, which had so oiteii rose up in 
 his reveries to bring liiin pleasant remem- 
 brances of the pleasant hours he had uiice 
 known in it, and a large party of humble 
 friends had been coliected to welcome him 
 back to his old thre.-iiold. When the three 
 niiscliief-makers made their appear.ince, 
 they were horribly astonished at seeing the 
 ro(jm fliled with company, over whom the 
 object of their bitter calumnies were presitl- 
 ing like a host, with both power and wisJi 
 
202 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 to make his fruestfs happy around him. 
 Prominent amongst these were Tommy Hart 
 and )iis merry helpmate; Ciithbert Dredger 
 and his son ; Jasper Broadfout; Peg o' the 
 Twiggen Bottle, and her old acquaintance 
 with the triple ciiin ; Quiney and his atfec- 
 tionate partner; Susanna and Jonas Tietape. 
 
 After a stare of intolerable astonishment 
 at the company, the tiiree wortliies stared 
 as fixedly at each other. The company 
 looked as though they enjoyed their confu- 
 sion ; one or two wore a grave aspect, a 
 few seemed inclined for sport ; and, when 
 the old Jezabels looked at young Quiney, 
 or Tommy Hart, or Jonas Tietape, tiiey 
 found fices so disguised by the extravagant 
 grimaces with which each strove to rival 
 the other, that they knew not what strange 
 animals they liad got amongst. 
 
 " O' the dickens !" exclaimed Aunt Prate- 
 apace, who was not easily abashed. " Who 
 would have thought of meeting here so plea- 
 sant a company ? There is Tom Quiney, 
 as I live !" At this recognition, the afore- 
 said Tom put his visage into a horrible 
 squint. " How fare you. Tommy Hart ?" 
 continued she, whereupon little Tommy set 
 up a squint more horrible still. " And my 
 merry gossip, Jonas Tietape ! how goes all 
 with you ?" Jonas answered only with so 
 unnatural a contortion of eyes, nose, and 
 mouth, that such as had with great difficulty 
 kept a serious aspect could restrain them- 
 selves no longer, and there was a general 
 laugh. 
 
 " Let us off to the church-ale at Wilme- 
 cote," said Aunt Gadabout ; " I warrant 
 you, we shall be more welcome there than 
 here." 
 
 " Go hang thyself for an old fool !" ex- 
 claimed Aunt Breedbate, evidently bursting 
 with rage and spite. "What care I for 
 their welcome ! Anne hath not the spirit 
 of a woman, that's plain." Here young 
 Quiney set up a caterwauling. " But if she 
 fancyeth being trampled on, I doubt not 
 she'll have enough of it, poor wretch !" At 
 this Tommy Hart addeth an exquisite at- 
 tempt at caterwauling in a higher key. — 
 " She's an unthankful, false, worthless, vile, 
 treacherous jade as ever was born ; her fine 
 husband will find that out, I can tell him. 
 God give her grace to mend her ways, say 
 I ! for the villany I have known of her 
 " She was interrupted by such a ter- 
 rible burst of cat music from Jonas Tietape, 
 as though a fight of tabbies had broken out 
 more general than had ever been known. — 
 Thereupon young Quiney and Tommy Hart 
 joined in full chorus, which made so intol- 
 erable a din, Talbot, who had hitherto re- 
 
 garded the whole scene in silent wonder, 
 rose up and commenced howling with all 
 his mi^jht, and some of the company were 
 glad to put their hands to their ears, the 
 rest having enough to do ho'ding their 
 sides. 
 
 The three worthies waited not for any 
 thing else. They bounced out of the house 
 like very furies ; but, ere they had well got 
 into the road, commenced so fierce a qu r- 
 rel amongst themselves, as to who was to 
 blame for this misbehaving of rheir kinswo- 
 man, that for the first time since they had 
 been together, they would have none of each 
 other's company. It may be here added, 
 that soon after this they found themselves so 
 ill received wherever they went, that they 
 thought it best to leave Shottery. Each 
 proceeded in a different direction, and for the 
 rest of their lives never again entered into 
 that neighborhood. 
 
 Perchance the reader will not object in 
 this instance to diverge a little from the 
 current of the narrative, to follow the for- 
 tunes of one of his especial acquaintances, 
 the young physician. It has been shown 
 how he went to the French king's city of 
 Paris, to be physician to the ambassador. — 
 When Sir George Carew returned home, 
 Dr. John Hall was recommended to a great 
 nobleman of France, with whom he travel- 
 led into the Low countries. He ultimately 
 left Flanders for England. On his landing 
 he made directly for London, where, as he 
 approached, he was sensible of some un- 
 pleasant feelings. What further annoy- 
 ances might be in store for him he had yet 
 to learn, but the subject was one he could 
 not think of without many discordant asso- 
 ciations. It chanced, as he entered London 
 by the Oxford road early in the morning, he 
 descried a great assemblage of per.-ons 
 pushing towards him with a horrid yelling 
 and screaming : — " Prythee, good I'liend," 
 said he, to one of a group who were pass- 
 ing close to him, " what meaneth this com- 
 motion ?" 
 
 " Know you not. valiant sir " replied the 
 other, seemingly in some astonishment, 
 " that this is the morning of the execu- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " A morning which all London have been 
 thinking of this last fortnight or more," 
 added a middle-aged, flauntingly-dressed fe- 
 male beside him. Dr. Hall recognisi d the 
 voice. It was one he had often heard. It 
 was that of Tabitha Thatch])ole, of Golden 
 Lane. He, however, stood in no fear of 
 being recognised, as in the last few years 
 he had greatly altered. He briefly men- 
 tioned that he had been but scarcely a day 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 203 
 
 in England. This made the other commu- 
 nicative. 
 
 He ritated that, in the midst of the ap- 
 proachino^ crowd, two of the horribles! cri- 
 minals ever heard of were being conducted 
 to Tyburn. 
 
 " J would not have believed it," said Mis- 
 tress Thatchpole, " had it not been so clear- 
 ly proved against them. They were among 
 my most familiar gossips. Alack, who 
 would have thought, after such pleasant 
 hours passed with them, that I should go so 
 far to see them hanged ! In sooth, "tis a 
 strange world, e.xcellent sir. This noble 
 soldier. Captain Swashbuckler, is my hus- 
 band." 
 
 " A master of fence to the Czar of Mus- 
 covy, and to the Emperor of China, at your 
 service, valiant sir," whispered the cast 
 captain. 
 
 " And we have known these villanous 
 wretches as familiarly as we have known 
 each other," added the female. " But it was 
 clean impossible any one could have dreamt 
 of the villany they practised. As lor Mistress 
 Millicent " 
 
 " Millicent who?" demanded the young 
 physici in earnestly. 
 
 '• Why tiie intolerable base wretch, who, 
 with her horribly infamous father. Doctor 
 Posset, as he was styled, are now about to 
 suffer the punishment due to such abomi- 
 nable wickedne-s as they have been guilty 
 of during a long course of secret poison- 
 ings, by wiiich it has been proved they got 
 great gains." 
 
 On hearing this, Doctor Hall strove to 
 put his horse in another direction, but he 
 was encoiiipassed by the crowd, and he w.is 
 obliged to wait lill it had passed. The in- 
 telligence he had heard was but too true. — 
 An enquiry into the mysterious death of a 
 nobleman e.xcited suspicion, a coime.xiou 
 having been proved between the widow and 
 the physician's daughter. Sufficient came 
 out in the e.xami nation to warrant the com- 
 mittal to prison of both father and daughter. 
 Evidences of their guilt were discovered in 
 the little back chamber in the house in Gul- 
 den Lane, which contained, in a secret 
 press, a collection of the most subtle poi- 
 sons, with every apparatus for weighing, 
 measuring, and mixing; and it was proved 
 in the trial that, under cover of being a phy- 
 sici. in, the self-styled doctor had for many 
 years securely carried on the trade of a se- 
 cret poisoner, in which his daughter had ac- 
 tively assisted, among others having been 
 employed fur that purpose by the infamous 
 Countess of Rochester. 
 
 It was in vain Dr. Hall strove to keep 
 
 his horse out of the press ; the yelling and 
 shouting so increased, the animal became 
 almost unmanageable ; and, in a state of 
 horror not to be conceived, he found himself 
 so close to the sledge on which the crimi- 
 nals were being dragged to the gallows, 
 that he could distinguish their haggard, 
 ghastly features. He closed his eyes — a 
 sense of sutFocation seemed to overwhelm 
 him, and he knew not how he got out of the 
 crowd, or completed his journey to his inn 
 in Smithfield, for afterwardd all seemed a 
 blank. 
 
 It may here be added, that these villanous 
 wretches were hanged at Tyburn, accord- 
 ing to their sentence, after having confessed 
 to a series of murders, by secret poisoning, 
 that made the very blood run cold to hear. 
 Such was the detestation felt by the citi- 
 zens for their hellish practices, that the 
 house in which they dwelt was presently 
 razed to the ground ; and, for many years 
 afterwards, many an awful tale was told of 
 the dark practices of the secret poisoners 
 of Barbican. The rest of the family disap- 
 peared, and were never more heard of. 
 
 It was not until he found himself in the 
 genial society of his fast friend, Master 
 Shakspeare, a welcome visiter at New 
 Place, that Doctor Hall could get out of 
 his mind the terrible end of the base wretch 
 whose villanous arts hid cast such a blight 
 upon his youth. There, however, he spee- 
 dily regained his wonted composure. Cheer- 
 ful society, continued intercourse with 
 minds of a pure and lofty character, could 
 not fail to elevate his own. He soon found 
 himself taking a deep interest in matters 
 that entirely led him away from the past ; 
 and, as this grew more engrossing, the in- 
 fluence of the latter entirely disappeared. 
 But the restoration of his mind to its native 
 tranquillity he owed rather to the daughter 
 than to the father. Ever since their mutual 
 attendance at the sick bed of the honored 
 inmate of the dwelling in the Clink Liberty, 
 they had entertained a most favorable opi- 
 nion of each other from the amiable quali- 
 ties they exhibited. 
 
 Many a miserable hour had been bright- 
 ened by the recollection of the gentle, self- 
 denying creature, with whom the young 
 physician had shared so many anxious vi- 
 gils at the bedside of Master Shakspeare : 
 and it may also be said that, in the brilliant 
 scenes in which she afterwards moved. Su- 
 sanna did not forget the grave, pure-minded 
 youth, whose devotion to her parent had so 
 entirely won her esteem. On their meeting 
 under happier aus[)ices, these favorable es- 
 timates of each were much strengthened. 
 
204 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Tliey now possessed ample opporlunilies of 
 stU(lyini>- eacli other's dispositic^ii, and cvpry 
 day they gave to the tatk increased their 
 adnnration. 
 
 'I'hey were necessarily thrown much into 
 each other's society under circumstances 
 wliicli allowed the cultivation of the most 
 agreeable impressions. Master Shakspeare 
 was ever intent on setting afoot some plea- 
 sant pastime in which all those around him 
 might join. One day, a party went a-bird- 
 ing to 'J'iddington, — another a-hunting in 
 Drayton Bushes, a third a-fishing by the 
 meadows no;tr V\'elford, a fourth they would 
 proceed to Hy their hawks along the river 
 by Ludington ; then they would take ram- 
 bles, perchance, to Hampton Lucy, or Low- 
 er Clopton, or Bardon Hill, a summer-day's 
 stroll in the woods, or a moonlit walk on the 
 banks of the Avon. In all such cases, Mas- 
 ter Doctor Hall and Mi.stress Susanna 
 Shakspeare frequently found themselves 
 together, taking exceeding delight in each 
 other's observations. Altliough since his 
 appearance she was observed to be a shade 
 less grave than she had been for some 
 months, s!ie was far from being the same 
 careless-hearted being she had seemed dur- 
 ing her appearance at the court of France. 
 
 'J'he young physician seemed to possess 
 unusual buoyancy. The vast stores of 
 learning he had accumulated he gave out 
 with liberal hand, and took his share in the 
 conversation with the many noble spirits 
 continiutlly ajipearing at Master Shaks- 
 peare's hospitable board, in a way tint 
 shewed he was not unworthy of such fel- 
 lowship. 
 
 Their mutual liking had been of long 
 standing, but it appeared as though warmer 
 feelings were now exercising their influ- 
 ence. This was not so plainly visible in 
 their conversation as in their general bear- 
 ing towards each other. There was a con- 
 stant attention paid by the one to the other's 
 feelings and sentiments. Nei her expressed 
 the emotions the other had inspired, but a 
 thousand graceful attentions gave evidence 
 of their existence. They were, however, 
 becoming much too strong to remain longer 
 undeclared. 
 
 It chanced that, in one of thf>ir customary 
 moonlit rambles, which had been prolonged 
 somewhat beyond the usu-al time, they con- 
 versed in that low, earnest tone used only 
 where the speaker speaketh to th-^ heart ra- 
 ther then to the ear. The subject, either 
 by accident or design, was the possibility 
 of the existence of a second attacliment, af- 
 ter the first had ended in horrible disap- 1 
 pointment. The young physician, with 1 
 
 deep earnestness, and a tremor in his voice 
 that bespoke the power! ul intenst he felt 
 in his subject, was expressing his argu- 
 ments in favor of the mind and heart reco- 
 vering themselves even after the terriblcst 
 shock. 
 
 Susanna listened with unusual attention. 
 Her eyes were directed to the ground, and 
 her complexion .seemed a shade |)aler than 
 ordinary. There was a balmy freshness in 
 the air, peculiarly welcome after a sultry 
 day ; and the stars shone in the clear hea- 
 vens with a brightness that seemed truly 
 magical. The mill and the mill-stream 
 looked bathed in an atmosphere of liquid 
 silver, that gleamed over the river, and on 
 the neighboring barn, the trees, and the 
 town and church spreading out in the near 
 distance. In briel, it was a landscape which 
 lacked nothing but a pair of lovers to appear 
 a very paradise upon earth. It can hardly 
 be said that there was any thing of such a 
 sort wanted here. If the two who walked 
 so quietly through this unfrequented path 
 were not lovers, they were in a state as 
 near to loving as it was possible for them 
 to be in. 
 
 " Methinks," continued he, " nature would 
 be losing sight of justice, were t'le heart, 
 that hath already been once strongly acted 
 upon to no end but its own deep unhappi- 
 ness, never to know the genuine taste of 
 that extreme bliss of the which it hath been 
 wilfully cheated. That it doth so ha|'pen 
 cannot be denied, — for, in some, the shock 
 which misused affection endnreth is of that 
 t rrible sort that it bringeth all to one con- 
 fused ruin ; but as, in the ] hysical world, 
 we see after the fiercest tempests the land- 
 scape look more lovely than ever, so in the 
 moral world, these rude tornadoes may 
 sjiend their fury, yet in time there t-hall 
 arise sensations, hopes, and wishes, of that 
 goodlier sort no a[)preciation can fully ap- 
 praise. 'J'he clouds liave passed otl"; the 
 atmosphere hath become clear ; the mind 
 rebounds from the severe pressure that hath 
 fallen on it to an elevation far above its or- 
 dinary level ; and the sense of enjoyment 
 becomes the more active, it being, as it 
 were, a rebound from the sense of misery 
 which preceded it."' 
 
 Susanna still listened with downcast eyes. 
 
 "If anyone look carefully to the laws 
 which govern the great sphere we inhabit, 
 there will be found to be a carefully adjust- 
 ed system of compensation. No injury is 
 done for which a recompense is not off red. 
 No loss is sustained which is n.t followed 
 by a gain. 'J"ho leaves that the autumnal 
 blast tears from the boughs, form, during 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 205 
 
 winter, a source of nourishment arH warmth 
 to the roots. The lira that destroy eH an i 
 impassable tangled thicket, where there 
 grows nothing wholesome, creates a soil 
 that will speedily produce the richest ver- | 
 dure. Wherever there is evil, be sure there 
 is some good at hand to neutralise it. It is 
 not enough to know, that the bee that 
 stingeth you an sting you no more ; the' 
 true satisfaction lieth in learning he posses- 
 ses a honey-bag, that is at once the best 
 remedy for the wound, and the e.xquisitesl 
 gratilication to the taste. When you are 
 tossed in a storm thai mingleth sea and sky 
 together, you may draw comfort from tiie 
 conviction that the same mighty force which 
 plungeth your ship into the trough of the 
 sea, sends her careering over tlie next 
 mountainous billow, a good step towards a 
 secure port." 
 
 'J'he speaker paused, but he heard neither 
 reply nor comment. 
 
 •'And touching our inward natures," 
 said he. " It standeth to reason that the 
 same beneficence should equally preside 
 there. Surely there is a fund to draw upon 
 in case of reverses : and that he who is a 
 bankrupt in heart shall find means to begin 
 the world again with fairer hopes than ever. 
 Perchance I shall be better underslood, if I 
 ])ut the case in this sort." At this part his 
 voice began to falter somewhat. " I will 
 say tlrat I have loved — loved wholly and 
 most passionately ; but have been made the 
 victim of the most consummate craft and 
 treachery. My affections have sutiijred 
 shipwreck, but Time, the consoler, hath at 
 last enabled me to put to sea again, far 
 away from any such breakers as have done 
 me such ill service. Suppose it should 
 chance to be my good fortune to meet with 
 a person so admirably disposed as yourself, 
 and, under the influence of your number- 
 less sweet virtues, I should surrender up 
 my faith, my hope, my pleasures, unto your 
 honorable custody. Let it not be conceived 
 that, having been robbed of my happiness, I 
 am so thorough a pauper in that commodity, 
 I am in tlie state of him who seeketh a pro- 
 vision out of the abundance of another, on 
 the claim of destitution. So far i'rom the 
 sweet well of human comfort being exhaust- 
 ed in me, it is only in that state which re- 
 quires a touch of genuine sympathy to bring 
 it out in more freshness and abundance, 
 than followed the smiting of the rock by the 
 great law-giver of ancient time. Well 
 then, excellent Susanna ; in this case I pre- 
 sent myself before you — I look to you for 
 the happiness I should have found elsewhere. 
 I require of you to answer whether, knowing 
 
 my misadventure, you can assure yourself 
 of the same perfectness of contcntation, you 
 might have looked for from one who hath 
 had no experience in such matters." 
 
 These words were not expressed without 
 some hesitation on the part of the speaker, 
 and on the part of the listener, wiih very 
 evident embarrassment. At the conclusion 
 of his s])eecli, there remained a pai.se for 
 some few minutes : the silence was at last 
 broken, but, as it seemed, with no small 
 ditficulty. 
 
 " The case you have put," answered she, 
 " of a surety, is well worthy of attention, 
 and demandeth some consideration in the 
 answering. Before I attempt this, I have 
 much to say, that must be said. I do not 
 feel equal to enter into such a matter at this 
 moment. Permit me some sufficient time 
 to think of it. To-morrow, if it please you, 
 we will resume our walk in this direction, 
 when I will unburthen my heart of a misery 
 which I thought to have left there undis- 
 turbed for the rest of my days. Till then, 
 bear with me, I pray you." 
 
 The walk was concluded in silence, but 
 this silence was more eloquent to tlie hearts 
 of both, than could have been an age of onli- 
 nary talking. Soon afterwards iiiey sepa- 
 rated. Dr. Hall pressed an uneasy pillow 
 that night. There was something in the 
 parting words of Mistress Susanna, that 
 seemed pregnant with unpleasant mystery, 
 and he thought it boded him and his hopes 
 of happiness no good. She had impressed 
 on him so firm a conviction of her being es- 
 sential to his felicity, if ever that was to be 
 attained by him, that any thing that tended 
 to disturb it filled him with intolerable un- 
 easiness. 
 
 He waited all the next day with a sort 
 of creeping dread upon him, and thought 
 time never hung so heavy as in the hour 
 that interposed between their meeting. He 
 saw her not all that day. As tlie tune drew 
 near, his uneasiness increased. He imag- 
 ined all sorts of unaccountable strange 
 things that were to affect his hopes. Doubts 
 and misgivings followed each other in ap- 
 parently endless succession, the hour at 
 last arrived for the customary evening walk, 
 but to his exceeding astonishment, instead 
 of mistress Susanna, came a letter from her. 
 He opened it with infinite inquietude, and 
 read as follows : 
 
 " I tliought I could have schooled myself 
 into the doing of a task, which your late 
 advertisement to me hath rendered too abso- 
 lute to be avoided ; and finding I am quite 
 unable to the due performance of it, I must 
 throw myself on your indulgence, whilst, 
 
206 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 with whatever humble craft of pen I possess, 
 I proceed to it by an easier method. Know 
 then, sweet sir, tliat like youn-^elf I have 
 loved witli all mine heart, one whom I be- 
 lieved the devotion of a thousand hearts, 
 had I possessed them, were no more than 
 his due. In sUition he was so far above 
 me, that I felt it to be an honor to have his 
 notice — a happiness unspeakable to obtain 
 his affection. For some time he lived under 
 the same threshold with myself, and, besides 
 swearing himself my true servant, seemed 
 never to be easy unless testifying to me how 
 much above all other women in the world 
 he held me in his esteem. In sooth these 
 fine speeches gave me such exquisite con- 
 teniation, that nothing on earth could come 
 nigh it. If ever woman loved in all hon- 
 esty of heart, and believed she was loved 
 with a like entireness, I was that happy 
 creature. Of course I thought him of such 
 nobleness of mind as only angels are kin- 
 dred of; I could not for an instant imagine 
 that one who looked so well and spoke so 
 well, had any sort of ill-disposedness what- 
 ever. 
 
 " One night we had sat up late together, 
 and were alone, as we had been many times 
 before ; but of this terrible night, spare me, 
 I implore you, any further history, than that 
 only by a chance so fortunate as to declare 
 itself a Providence protecting a helpless and 
 almost fallen creature, I escaped from a 
 villany as deeply laid as it was basely put 
 in practice. I held my peace, for I saw 
 full well my speaking might do much mis- 
 chief, but could do no good. Of him it is 
 only necessary to say that he had the grace 
 to seem repentant ; yet the outrage was too 
 gross to be so readily overlooked as he ex- 
 pected. I bade him avoid me — 1 would 
 have none of him from that time forth. My 
 heart ached for it for many a weary day and 
 sleepless night, bat I felt it was due to my- 
 self to show such a person I possessed that 
 sense of self-respect which is the true armor 
 of proof to innocence and purity. 
 
 " I will not deny i hat you, sweet sir, have 
 medicined most welcomely to the devouring 
 misery, which, for no inconsiderable time, 
 looked to have marked me for its prey. The 
 influence of your worthiness has fallen on 
 my path like a sunshine, and the shadow 
 that seemed impenetrable is now dispersing 
 rapidly away. I deeply regret that the 
 heart you have done me the honor to desire 
 is too battered and bruised to be worthy of 
 your possessing ; but, if you be in the same 
 mood after the perusal of what is here writ 
 down, be assured that, as far as your hap- 
 piness can be secured by so poor a source 
 
 of enjoyment, there shall be nothing want- 
 ing to hold it as securely as ever happiness 
 was held in this world. And so Aire you 
 well, sweet sir, till we meet on the morrow !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Ease and wine 
 Have bred these bold tales : Poets when they 
 
 rage, 
 Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age ; 
 But 1 will give a greater state and glory, 
 And raise to time a noble memory. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 In the long winter evenings, it became 
 the custom at New Place to cheer away 
 the hours with all manner of pleasant sports, 
 Master Shakspeare being ever ready to set 
 an example of such pleasantry, and a jovial 
 time it was sure to be when he set the game 
 afoot. Barley-break, hunt-the-slipper, blind- 
 man's-buff, hot-cockles, and I know not what 
 exquisite pastimes, were going on in the 
 hall ; and of the merry company who en- 
 joyed themselves equally with the host, be 
 sure there was Sir George Carew, our 
 young physician, Susanna and Judith, Tom- 
 my Hart, Jonas Tietape, and Dick Quiuey; 
 and the prodigal heaps of mirth with which 
 they garnished this pleasantry, no pen can 
 sufficiently express. When they had tired 
 themselves of these several honest sports, 
 they would each to his stool or a corner of 
 the settle, and sit round the hearth, banter- 
 ing, and jesting, and relating such things 
 worth the telling as had come within their 
 several observations. But the chief enjoy- 
 ment to the greater number was the telling 
 of stories, as hath been said, which, when 
 they got in the humor, all were obliged to 
 do in turn, and the listening to such was 
 found to be as exquisite pleasure as ever 
 was known. Now, there was some mar- 
 vellous tln-illing narrative from the host 
 which sent them to their beds brimming 
 with wonder, pleasure, and admiration ; anon 
 came a strange eventful adventure among 
 the wild Irish, or some glance into court 
 life by Sir George Carew. Next followed 
 j some touching tale of love by Judith or Su- 
 1 sanna ; Jonas Tietape, Dick Quiney, and 
 I Tommy Hart, would be content only with 
 i tales of mirth ; and such mirth was put 
 forth in them as would have stirred a bed- 
 ridden weaver out of his melancholy. Joan, 
 too, could not but choose to be in as merry a 
 key as her hu.sband ; and our young physi- 
 cian threw variety into the series by nar- 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 207 
 
 rating scenes of sorrow and suffering he 
 had had notice of whilst practising the art 
 of healing in England and France. 
 
 Of the storie.s that formed the entertain- 
 ment of this merry circle, it so chances 
 that the reader cannot, at this present, 
 have a choicer sample of them than can be 
 found in the one here given, which was 
 one niglit related by the rire-ide by no less 
 a person than Sir George Carew, and called 
 by him 
 
 THE COURT FOOL. 
 
 In a goodly chamber, well hung with 
 costly arras that was in the palace of Hat- 
 field, there sat a lady of a very commenda- 
 ble aspect, though it wore an expression 
 somewhat serious withal. She was young 
 — that is to say, nigh unto five-and-twenty 
 years of age, and looked to be of a fair 
 stature. Her hair, of a light red tint, where- 
 of the greater portion was concealed under 
 a small caul of gold thread, was combed up 
 from the forehead, showing a right delicate 
 complexion, and a brow of a famous thougbt- 
 fulness. Her dress was a close-vested robe 
 of a sober color, and without ornament, 
 that had nothing noticeable about it, save 
 its extreme simplicity ; indeed, in her whole 
 attiring, seemly though it was, there was 
 evidence of a wonderful modesty in the 
 wearer, and a marvellous freedoui from that 
 common vanity of the sex that deligbteth in 
 the wearing of gaudy apparel. She sat in 
 a cushioned arm-'^hair of carved oak, close 
 upon the hearth, seeuiinglyas if gazing up- 
 on (he log that was burning on the tire-dogs 
 — for it was the 17th November — holding 
 in her lap what looked to be a missal, or 
 other work of the like kind, used by Catho- 
 lics in their devotions ; and she wore a ro- 
 sary round her neck, to the which there was 
 athxed an ivory cross. This was no other 
 than the Lady Elizabeth, at that time resi- 
 ding in a sort of honorable durance at ihe 
 royal palace of Hatfield, by command of her 
 sister, Queen Mary, who, out of fear that 
 the Protestants of the kingdom would, in 
 consequence of her highncss's persecution 
 of them, rise iu rebellion, and drive her from 
 the throne, to place the Lady Elizabeth 
 thereon, did treat her with a monstrous lack 
 of sisterly affection, kept her a prisoner, and 
 sought always to make her disavow any 
 participation in the principles of the Re- 
 formed faith ; of which the end was, that 
 the poor lady did lead a most unhappy life. 
 
 Doubtless was she reflecting upon her 
 distressed condition at that time, and ima- 
 gining of some means whereby she might 
 escape the snares with which her enemies 
 did encompass her all around. Presently 
 
 she pulled from her bodice a letter, which, 
 first taking of a hasty glance around the 
 room to see that she was watched of none, 
 she opened, and quickly began to read, it 
 was to this effect : — 
 
 " Count me not a laggard, or one unmind- 
 ful of your interests, I pray you ; for, though 
 I. have not writ to you so lonu a time, it 
 hath been entirely because of my poor wit 
 not being able to discover such conveyance 
 as would warrant me risking a letter. Me- 
 tbinks now I have hit upon such a plan as 
 must be the very safest of all under the cir- 
 cumstances of the case. The bearer hereof 
 is trustworthy, and is not like to be suspect- 
 ed. You may say to him what your neces- 
 sities require of you, the which he will, with 
 a proper cunning, and with all convenient 
 speed, transmit to me ; and at the next fa- 
 vorable opportunity count upon having my 
 answer at his hands." 
 
 At the perusal of this passage, the Lady 
 Elizabeth broke off, and looked to be con- 
 sidering of the matter for a minute or so; 
 anon she read on : — 
 
 " To my certain knowledge, you will be 
 placed in great jeopardy, mind you not how 
 you carry yourself, ftly lord cardinal ap- 
 peareth to be sick of the slaughter that hath 
 been going on among the suffering Protes- 
 tants of this now unhappy country ; but 
 Bonner only getteth to be more sanguinary, 
 the more Christian blood he is allowed to 
 shed. Her highness, as I think, affects the 
 counsels of this recreant bishop, more than 
 she does those of Pole; and I ofttimes 
 tremble for your safety, for the loss of Ca- 
 lais hath made her temper most inhuman 
 and bearish. Doubtless they will strive for 
 the making a convert of you. Regard not 
 their efforts with too great an indiffer- 
 ence ; rather seek to make them believe 
 that you are ready to be convinced should 
 they afford you proper argument for it. In 
 this way shall you gain time, which is of 
 vital moment, and keep them frnm all ex- 
 cuse of violent measures. Remember how 
 many look to you for the rescuing of un- 
 happy England from the Philistines, by 
 wtiom she is oppressed, and be not regard- 
 less of a life so dear to so vast a multitude. 
 "From your humble, poor servant 
 "At commandment, 
 
 " W. C." 
 
 The lady Elizabeth, after carefully read- 
 ing of this epistle some two or three times, 
 with a countenance which showed she was 
 pondering on its contents, stood up and drop- 
 ped it into the fire ; then, after watching it 
 till it burned out, and, re-seating of herself, 
 she appeared to be intent upon perusing the 
 
208 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 little book she had a while since held in i 
 her lap. 
 
 " I prythee bold thy prate I" exclaimed a 
 gentleman of a pleasant cboeriul coiinte- 
 nanco, and somewhat worsliipt'ul presence, 
 as be entered at tbe door. He was closely 
 followed by as merry looking an object as 
 eye could desire to gaze on. He wtire a 
 parti-colured coat, fastened round tbe body 
 with a girdle, having a liood to it, partly 
 covering tbe head, and surmounted with 
 ass's ears ; below his coat be had on close 
 breeches, with hose of diflerent colors on 
 each log ; and in his band he carried a short 
 stick, with an inflated bladder at one end, 
 and a carving like unto a fool's head at 
 the other, lie came into tbe room, whirl- 
 ing of his stick, making strange grimaces 
 and ridiculous antics behind the person be 
 followed. 
 
 " I prythee hold thy prate," repeated tbe 
 gentleman, but not as if in any way out of 
 humor. 
 
 " That will I, master," replied the other, 
 with a famous grave countenance ; " be you 
 so civil as to show me at which end I be to 
 hold it;" and then he suddenly brake out 
 into singing : — 
 
 " Myleman and I fell out, perdie ! 
 
 "Witii my hey nonnie, nounie, ! 
 For love will not last every day, 
 And the summer grass soon turns to hay, 
 With my hey nonnie — " 
 
 " Hast no better singing than that in a 
 lady's bearing ?" exclaimed his master, 
 turning round upon him rather sharply. 
 
 " Ay, marry have I — brave singing, I 
 warrant you, if it please her ladyship to be 
 in a brave humor,"' answered he; "I have 
 songs of every color in tbe rainbow, for all 
 the several sorts of fancies ; and some that 
 be parti-colored, for such as God hath bless- 
 ed with an inhnite proper disposition after 
 motley." 
 
 " How canst talk of the colors of songs, 
 fool ?" asked tbe gentleman. " That must 
 needs be out of all reasonable conceit, seeing 
 that songs are made up of sounds that can- 
 not be judged by tbe eye. " Please you, 
 my lady," added be, as he advanced cour- 
 teously to the Lady Elizabetli, who, undis- 
 turbed by the entrance of her visiters, seem- 
 ed still to be perusing of the book she held 
 in her hand, " seeing tliat your ladyship 
 hath grown exceedingly melancholy of late, 
 I have taken into my service this varlet, at 
 a friend's recommendation, hoping he may 
 afford you such entertainment as may ren- 
 der your way of life somewhat the more 
 agreeable to you, than I am fearful it hath 
 been for this several weeks past." 
 
 "Truly, Sir Thomas Pope, T am much 
 beholden to you," answered the lady, gra- 
 ciously. " ]t is long since my poor condi- 
 tion hath seemed to be regarded of any in 
 this land ; yet happy am I that, with an un- 
 tioubled conscience, I can resign myself to 
 what may come of it. Certes, mctbinks 
 there must be no offence so great as that of 
 being innocent of all ; nevertheless, it is not 
 in my nature to be altogether indifferent to 
 the many great kindnesses I have received 
 at your hands, tbe which, weary of my life 
 as 1 am, I do hope, with God's good help, I 
 may live to requite." 
 
 " Well, Heaven hath been wonderfully 
 bountiful to me, that be a sure thing!" 
 cried tbe fool, with a monstrous urgency, 
 as he looked lo be examining of some books 
 upon a table in the middle of the chamber. 
 
 " How now, fool !" exclaimed Sir Tho- 
 mas. 
 
 " A grace of God, lady !" added tbe other, 
 in the same tone and manner, as he brought 
 a volume in his band for her to look at. "I 
 pray you say of what this book uuiy be 
 about, and in what tongue it be writ?" 
 
 " It containeth divers select oration-s of 
 Isocrates," replied she, " written in very 
 choice Greek." 
 
 " And this ?" asked he, taking up another 
 book. 
 
 " That is Sophocles his tragedies, writ in 
 the same tongue." 
 
 " And this, and this ?" continued he, 
 showing a new volume, when the last one 
 had been named. 
 
 " The one is no other than the Holy Evan- 
 gelists ; tbe other those masterpieces of elo- 
 quence, the orations of Demosthenes ; both 
 also writ in Greek, and very delectable 
 reading for all scholar-like and Christian 
 people." 
 
 " And, I pray you, tell me what may be 
 these others ?" inquired tbe fool, pointing 
 to many more that were upon the table. 
 
 " The one nigbest unto you is a volume 
 of Titus Livius bis histories, in excellent 
 good Latin," answered the Lady Elizabeth, 
 as courteously as if she was holding con- 
 verse with some ripe scholar or perscju of 
 worship, instead of being sso close ques- 
 tioned of an ignorant poor fool, who pos- 
 sessed not so much learning as would mas- 
 ter a horn-book. " That beside it is the 
 very moving and truly admirable story of 
 Amadis de Gaul, writ in French ; and the 
 two that lie further off are the pleasant 
 tales of Boccaccio and Bandello, writ in the 
 Italian tongue ; beside which there are sun- 
 dry right estimable volumes treating of re- 
 ligion, philosophy, and such other grave 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 209 
 
 matters it be necessary for the wise and 
 good to know of; aaci these t^e writ in the 
 same sev.Tal hmgiiages, as well as some 
 that be in English." 
 
 Doubtless, to know all these strange 
 tongues requireth a wonderful deal of pains- 
 taking and patience ?" asked the other. 
 
 " 'I'hey cannot be well learned without, 
 nor can any be accounted truly wise that 
 knowetii them not," replied the lady. 
 
 " Then they tliat be fools have much to 
 be thankful for !" exclaimed he, very hear- 
 tily. 
 
 " How so, knave ?" exclaimed his mas- 
 ter. " What have fools to be thankful for, 
 more than wiser f)lk ? that be clean con- 
 trary to common sense." 
 
 " Nay, by your leave, master, I will prove 
 it beyond all denying," replied the other, 
 with an exquisite, solemn, foolish face." 
 
 " Do so, then, and quickly, or [ will have 
 thee whipped over thy fool's pate with thine 
 own bauble !" added Sir Thomas. 
 
 " Now, it be on the face of it, no man 
 can be wise without he endure a monstrous 
 deal of trouble to make himself so." 
 
 "Weil, varlet !" exclaimed bis master. 
 
 " Now, this trouble, 1 take it, is a thing 
 that they be best off who know least of; 
 in hone^it truth, it seemelh to be a very 
 pestilent sort of thing, and to be eschewed 
 of all men." 
 
 " What then, knave ?" 
 
 " This much, master. Methinks it be 
 no way diificult to prove th:it a nun may 
 become a Tool, and know not a jot of trouble 
 in the becoming." 
 
 " I doubt it not," said the other, smiling 
 at the varlet's exceeding gravity. 
 
 " It Cometh naturally, as peascods come 
 upon their stalks, or as a calf seeketh its 
 daui — by a sort of instinct as it were, or 
 disposition which a man hath to bo a fool. 
 Therefore, not being })ut to the infinite 
 trouble which waiteth upon they that seek 
 t') be wise, they that be fools have much to 
 be thankful for!" 
 
 " Truly, a fool's argument !" cried Sir 
 Thomas, laughingly. " Dost not think, my 
 lady, that the knave hath some shrewd- 
 ness ?" asked he, turning to the lady Eliza- 
 beth. 
 
 " Methinks, for a fool, he is well enough," 
 answered the lady, carelesslj', as if she took 
 not much interest in the matter. At this 
 the fool began to sing, with great earnest- 
 ness — 
 
 "Hush thee poor babe ! — cold blows the wind. 
 Thick fails the rain upon tlie tree ; 
 
 But more regardless — more unkind. 
 Hath been thy father's heart to ine !" 
 11 
 
 " If thou canst not sing better matter 
 than that, and be hanged to thee, thou hadst 
 best come to a quick halt in thy singing," 
 exclaimed his mister. '• lie such miserable 
 cot-quean ballads as that the properest sort 
 of minstrelsy for a lady's bower — to say 
 nought of its unfitness for one of a inelan- 
 choly humor?" 
 
 " In good fay, master; I knew not the 
 lady was so disposed," replied the other. 
 Then, turning to the Lady Elizabeth, added, 
 ■' Art melanciioly for lack of a husband, an 
 it please you, my lady ?" 
 
 " By my troth, no, indeed !" answered 
 she, smiling. 
 
 " Such things have been, and much mis- 
 chief come of it," continued tlie fool, with 
 extreme solomness. " Now, there be 
 two kinds of husbands — to wit, your fool 
 husband, and your wise-man husband ; of 
 the which your fool husband is ever in won- 
 derful estimation of all women." 
 
 " He must needs be a fool who would be 
 seeking me on such an errand as marnage," 
 observed the Lady Elizabeth, with a smile. 
 
 " But how shall we distinguish your f jol 
 from your wise man ?" asked his master, 
 evidently in a most cheerful iiumor. 
 
 "Hearken to their wives !" answered the 
 other, knowingly. •' If you hear a wife call 
 her husband ' a brute,' be sure she hath 
 some parliculi'r reason for't, there be no 
 gainsaying. He is one of your wise men, 
 out of all doubt, who are ever at their wives' 
 kirtles ; whilst 'the dear good man,' who 
 is so cuddled and praised of his loving part- 
 ner, is, beyond all contradiction, souie esti- 
 mable famous fool or another, who heedeth 
 no more his helpmate's goings-on than he 
 does which side of a Shrovetide pancake 
 getteth fir.^t inio his mouth." 
 
 " O' my life ! Sir Thomas, methinks your 
 fool >-p3aketh but uncivilly ot us poor wo- 
 men," exclaimed the lady, yet not in any 
 way ungraciously. 
 
 '• Nay, he meaneth no harm, be assured," 
 replied bis master. Here the fool, looking 
 pathetically on the head carved on his 
 bauble, burst out a-singing — 
 
 " Oh, turn away those orbs of light, 
 
 Else, as the sun, where lires are blazing, 
 Their brighter splendor dim my sight, 
 And I grow bUnd by rashly gazing." 
 
 " r fiiith, that would be a pitiful mishap, 
 indeed!" cried the knight, with a merry 
 chuckle ; " but I like not the humor ot thy 
 singing — it soundrth as melancholy as a 
 hoarse cuckoo : peradventure, tliou wilt now 
 explain thy conceit of having songs of all 
 colors, affirmed by thee as we entered my 
 lady's chamber. Thou hast some exquisite 
 
810 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ridiculous reason for it, I'll bo boumi." — 
 
 " Dear heart ! I have reason enough, 
 and to spare, for any honest man," replied 
 the fool ; " and yet, master, I make no boast 
 of it. Forsooth, there be some who think 
 'tis a marvellous distinction now-a-days to 
 be a tool ; but he u lio ventures to say I am 
 prouder of it than I onglit to be, is a tho- 
 rough slanderer, and a siiallow ])Oor knave, 
 wlio deserveth no better hap than to have 
 his bniins beat out with a tool's bladder !" 
 
 " Well, knave ; but to the matter !" ex- 
 claimed Sir Thomas. 
 
 " And was my mother of a very excellent, 
 fine virtue ?"' continued the other, with in- 
 creasing earnestness. " Ay, that was she 
 — and every one had a wonderful apprecia- 
 tion of her exceeding virtuousness. Indeed, 
 it be well known she was sought after by 
 so many husbands, she never bad tiu)e to 
 marry one of 'em. 
 
 " That showeth the respect her virtue 
 was held in, of a surety," observed the 
 knight merrily. " But to thy conceit of the 
 colors !" 
 
 " Ay, master, and hugely to her credit ; 
 she brought up a htrge fannly — and one of 
 'em is a fool,"' added he. assuming of some 
 dignity. " Nay, it hath been said by divers 
 persons of worship, that you shall tind him 
 to be as pretty a fool as any that live ; but 
 he hath not the presiunption to think him- 
 self a greater fool than his betters." 
 
 " To thy reason of the songs, and be 
 hanged to thee !" cried Sir Thomas, catch- 
 ing up the bauble, and hitting the fool two 
 or three sharp thumps over the pate with 
 the bladder, and yet as if he was in a humor 
 of laughing all the time; whilst the Lady 
 Elizabeth, as was evident, could not forbear 
 smiling 
 
 " N;iy, master," exclaimed the fool, duck- 
 ing his head here and there to avoid the 
 blows, " if you kill me, I doubt you will 
 have it a bit the cpiicker. I will about it 
 o' the instant, please you to stay your 
 thumping !'' 
 
 " O' my word, I will send thee to the 
 grooms to be well cudgelled of them, hear I 
 any more of such prating," said his master, 
 desisting from his exertions. 
 
 " 1 pray you do not," cried the other, with 
 much seriousness. " Believe me, cudgel- 
 ling hath not agreed with me at any time. I 
 never look it kindly. But concerning of 
 the songs I will speak." 
 
 " Tliou hadst best," observed the knight. 
 
 " There be songs of divers colors, out of 
 all doubt," continued the fool. " In the 
 first place, there is your sad-colored sonir, 
 whicii be no other than a ballad that wear- 
 
 elh a perpetual suit of mourning. It al- 
 ways Cometh close upi»n the heels of a tra- 
 gedy, or other dolefid occasion, and is as 
 apt at a funeral as an undertaker. Now 
 those that do most affect your sad-colored 
 song are, perchance, a maid who hath lost 
 lier lover, or any oilier small matter there 
 be no likelihood of her recovering — a thief 
 that hath his neck being fitted with a rope's- 
 end — and a debtor that findeth himself with- 
 in four stone walls, and no chance of get- 
 ting out. And thus sing they." There- 
 upon, in an intinite melanch )ly voice, and 
 with a very pathetic countenance, he sung 
 these lines : 
 
 " Oh, woe is me ! oli, doleful strait ! 
 
 Now inhie Is sonovv's pieieiug thorn; 
 Oil, luckless hour ! — oli, crufl late ! 
 
 Alack that ever I was born !" 
 
 " In honest truth, there can be no doubt- 
 ing of what color such a song should be," 
 observed Sir Thomas. 
 
 " But my troth, it be a very sad color, in- 
 deed,"- added the Lady Elizabeth, in a hke 
 humor. 
 
 " An it please you, my lady, so it is," 
 said the fool. " Now your flame-colored 
 song is of a clean contrary sort. It be full 
 of heat. It burns, as it were. In fact, its 
 complexion be much the same as though it 
 were taken out of the fire, red-hot ; and I 
 doubt not, were it well hammered on a 
 blacksmith's anvil, there would be sparks 
 fly from it presently. The matter of this 
 song be ever of love; therefore, it s no 
 marvel that it is in wonderful great request 
 of all your young, your middle-aged ; ay, 
 and your old oft alfect it in no small mea- 
 sure — after such a fashion as this." 'i'hen, 
 putting his hand to his heart, he, with a 
 look of famous atlectionateness, commenced 
 the singing of these words : 
 
 " As burning coal, 
 
 I find my soul 
 Doth glow with Love's divine desires: 
 
 But in the blaze 
 
 Thine image ]>lays, 
 A phoEnix rising from its fires !" 
 
 " Methinks the singing of such a song 
 should save coal and candle all the winter," 
 remarked the knight. 
 
 " r faith, the flame of it seemeth so appa- 
 rent, I marvel it burn not the house over 
 our heads !" cried the lady, with a manner 
 as though quite forgetting of her melan- 
 choly. 
 
 "Certes, if the timbers be dry enough, 
 lady, such should be the case," observed 
 the fool, very seriously. " Of other songs, 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 211 
 
 that shall easily be known by their colors, 
 there is your watchet-co^ored sono", which 
 Cometh al-o of a lover's fantasy. In it you 
 may expect to iind ail the flowers of speech 
 culled to form a posy of compliments. Then 
 Cometh your yellow sono^. which hath ever 
 a very jaundiced look with it, and is in huge 
 request with your outrageous, com'uu-tious 
 jealous pates, and thorough-going cuckoldy 
 knaves. After this, there is your green 
 song, which shall be known by its conceit 
 of vegetation, as — 
 
 " 0, the green willow ! 
 I'll have for my pillow ;" 
 
 or, with a like wofulness — 
 
 " The green, green grass shall form my bed, 
 Alack and well-a-day, ! 
 And the cold, cold stone shall hold my head, 
 Whllr^t worms on me shall prey, !" 
 
 These be such pitiful ballads as are chosen 
 of those wiio ofltimes take to an ngly fash- 
 ion of tving their garters hijiher than need 
 be; or, like new-hatched ducklings, rush 
 to the nighest pond as their propere-t place. 
 Then, look to encounter your orange-tawny 
 song, an exceeding brave-hearted ditty — 
 free as nir — with an amorous countenance, 
 well embrowned with tropical sunshine. 
 Close iipon which cometh your nut-brown 
 song, which is snre to smack of a tankard, 
 and is likf to be in more estimation of a tap- 
 ster, than the whole Book of Psalms. They 
 do say it oi\eth more provocation to drink 
 than a pi kled herring ; therefore, will I 
 not essay the singing of it, an it please you, 
 master, el^e shall it chance to make me dry, 
 and a dry fool cannot help being as sorry a 
 commodity as heart could desire." 
 
 "Gad a mercv, fellow, thou sayesttrue !"' 
 exclaimed Sir Thomas, evidently amused, 
 as seemed the Lady Elizabeth also, with 
 the famous droll seriousness with which the 
 fool spoke the last sentence, as he appeared 
 intent npon the examinfition of his lincrers. 
 " But here is a groat for thee, and, if that 
 will not stay thy drought, get thee to the 
 buttery, and say I sent thee for a drink of 
 good ale." 
 
 As the fool was making his acknowledg- 
 ments for his largess, which he did in very 
 prodigal fishion. there entered a groom of 
 the chambers, announcing the arrival of 
 some person who would have instant speech 
 with Sir Thomas Pope on a matter of e.x- 
 ireme urgency, whereupon Sir Thomas 
 bade the fool stay where he was awliile, 
 and, with a courteous speech to the lady, 
 hoping the varlet might afford her some en- 
 tertainment, he presently took liis leave. . 
 
 No sooner was he out of the chamber, and 
 the fool left alone with the lady, than tlie 
 former, on a sudden dropping of Jiis appear- 
 ance of foolishness, seemed listening to the 
 retreating footsteps with a countenance of 
 intense interest; then went he and opened 
 the door and looked out, and after that kept 
 spying about the arras hangings very curi- 
 ously, the lady all the while regarding iiim 
 with a wonderful earnestness. In a few 
 minutes he approached his companion, in a 
 manner marvellous respectful, and, going 
 close up, said, in a low voice, '• I pray you, 
 my lady, tell me, iiave you read Sir Wil- 
 liam Cecil's letter ? — the which, though it 
 hath been in my hands ten days, could I 
 find no opportunity for its safe deliverance 
 till noonday yesterday, when, as Sir Tho- 
 mas was in close converse with tiie priest 
 in the park, I slipped it in the posy ot dan- 
 delions and daisies, and such poor weeds I 
 was then gathering, and gave unto you." 
 
 '• In truth, yes," said tlie lady, still re- 
 garding him closely, and speaking in an 
 under-tone ; " I iiave read it, but I marvel 
 greatly Sir William Cecil should show such 
 an intinite lack of discretion as to make 
 choice of such a messenger. That busi- 
 ness must needs come to a foolish ending 
 tliat hath a fool to meddle with it." 
 
 " I beseech you, my lady, take me not 
 for what I have appeared,"' replied the 
 other, earnestly. " This is nothing but a 
 device put on for the better carrying on of 
 our purposes, and watching over your safe- 
 ty. Think not that my worthy and approved 
 friend. Sir William, would have set me on 
 such service, had he not first looked narrow- 
 ly into my titness. I hope to prove myself 
 your assured good servant and poor bonds- 
 man ; hinder you not my service. It is an 
 excellent fine plot, my lady ; and I doubt 
 not to carry it on with such singular cun- 
 ning, that you shall reap by it much benefit, 
 and with Gi d's good help be rescued from 
 your present troubles." 
 
 ■'I would your hope could be accom- 
 plished," replied the Lady Elizabeth ; '• but, 
 1 pray you, tell me to whom I am indebted 
 for such ready zeal in my beiialf." 
 
 " My name is Thomas Challoner," an- 
 swered ho ; " a poor gentleman of some 
 small credit with his fellows, and not alto- 
 gether deficient of that experience — at least 
 so it hath been thought — necessary to one 
 who is ambitious of devoting his life in the 
 cause of the very fairest and most excellent 
 princess in Christendom." 
 
 " I heartily thank you. Master Challoner," 
 said his companion, very graciously ; '• I 
 would it were iu my power to recompense 
 
212 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 you as j'onr jrroat pains-tnking, aiitl roady- 
 tlirustiii<i' youiaelt' into clanger lor my sake, 
 merit; but, assfure yourscll, 1 v\ill ever hold 
 in my lieart a oratefui rcmernbrancc of 
 your infinite goodness towards me, and that 
 I live in the extreme liope of one day or 
 other making you such poor amends as my 
 ability may allow." 
 
 " Talk not of it, I prny you, my lady," 
 exclaimed Master ('halloner, respectfully. 
 "Believe m(>, the honor I find in what I 
 have undertook excecdeth all that the proud- 
 est monarch could bestow ; but rather, if it 
 60 please you, for the time is precious, pive 
 me some answer to the letter of Sir Wil- 
 liam Cecil" 
 
 " Tell him, then, from me, worthy sir, I 
 have done all that he would have me do, ere 
 his letter came into my hands," replied the 
 Lady Elizabeth. " This same meddlesome 
 and violent priei-t. Master Dr. Crosier, whom 
 I suspect Bonner hath sent here to worry 
 me into my grave, hath essayed all the hot- 
 test zeal and furious bigotry could do for my 
 conversion ; he hath persecuted me night 
 and mom with the horrililest threatenings 
 and terriblest denunciations, giving me rea- 
 son to believe that her Highness is thirsting 
 for my blood, and that nougiit could ensure 
 my safety but the complete renunciation of 
 my Protestant errors, and the declaring of 
 myself a member of his infallible church : 
 whereupon, weary of his persecutions, and, 
 in truth, almost weary of my life, and, scarce 
 knowing which way to turn in my extre- 
 mity, I heard mass, and confessed to him, 
 and in all things outwardly appeared as he 
 would have me, though in heart, as (Jod is 
 my judge, I am as true a Protestant as ever 
 lived." 
 
 Master Challoncr listened to this avowal 
 with a countenance of much anxiousness, 
 but at its ending brightening up somewhat, 
 he added — 
 
 " Methinks 'tis well it is no worse. I 
 grieve from my heart that your sufferings 
 should have been so great; but, knowing 
 the nature of those who have greatest influ- 
 ence in your late, I know they are in a 
 manner natural, and to be expected. I be- 
 seech you, my lady, think me not over-bold 
 if I offer to advise you in this strait, for I 
 know better than yourself the many dangers 
 that encompass you. From what I have 
 lately learned from a creditable source, 1 
 believe this to be the criticallest time of all 
 your life ; and therefore I pray you. in com- 
 pany with all your assured friends, take 
 good heed of what you do; appear what 
 you like, but pledge yourself to nothing; 
 Btir not your tyrants against you, if you ' 
 
 can help it; but sign no papers that shall 
 bind you to be their servittr in altertimes ; 
 delay, and keep delaying, should they press 
 you upon any such matters, lor you shall 
 find such policy of the very utmi,sl conse- 
 quence to your present salety and future 
 welfare." 
 
 Whilst this conversation was proceeding, 
 three persons had been in a secret debate in 
 another chamber of the palace. One seem- 
 ed to have rode hard and fast upon a jour- 
 ney, for lie sat wijiing of his face with a 
 napkin, though he talked earnestly all the 
 wliile ; beside which, the rowels of his 
 spurs were of a sanguine tinge, showing 
 he had spared not his horse as lie came ; 
 and his apparel was so covered with dirt 
 and dust, that it was hard to tell of what 
 color or material it might be. He was 
 stoutly built, and his features had some- 
 wiiat of a stern and unpleasant ca>t with 
 theui. Close upon him stood one of a spare 
 body, tall, with a sharp, thin face, of a 
 dark complexion, beetling eyebrows. hooked 
 nose, and thick bushy black beard, dressed 
 in the habit of an ecclesiastic, wiio seemed to 
 be listening to the other with so severe an 
 earnestness, it was evident that the matter 
 they talked of was of huge importance ; and 
 occasionally he would interrupt the speaker 
 with questions, to which the other gave an- 
 swers that appeared only the more to in- 
 crease the number of such inquiries. Op- 
 posite to him, leaning against a table, on 
 which was a hat, whip, and gloves, as if 
 carelessly thrown there, stood the more 
 courtly tigure of Sir Thomas Pope, with a 
 countenance full of anxiety and interest, as 
 he listened or took part in the discourse. 
 
 " Then there must be no time lost," ob- 
 served the ecclesiastic, as the other came to 
 a pause in his speech. " Hast got the pa- 
 pers tliat honorable and truly Christian pre- 
 late, my lord bishop, gave you, worthy sir?" 
 
 " Here are they, safe enough, I warrant 
 you, master doctor," replied the other, pro- 
 ducing some papers from his vest. 
 
 " Then come you with me. Sir Thomas ; 
 we will to her on the instant!" added he, 
 who had been styled doctor, as he look the 
 papers into his own hands. 
 
 " 1 trust you will use no violence, Dr. 
 Crosier," said Sir Thomas Pope, as the 
 other two seemed about to leave him. 
 " This is an affair of great peril, nor am I 
 sure Bishop Bijuner hath proper warrant 
 for setting you upon it." 
 
 " It is for her soul's comfort, and the 
 good of the true church!" exclaimed the 
 ecclesiastic, regarding Sir 'I'homas with 
 some severity. " Methinks iJiat bo proper 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 213 
 
 warrant enough ; and I marvel that any of 
 our iioly faith should say aught against it. 
 I charge yon, as you value your soul's wel- 
 fare, see that none enter at tliese gates till 
 we return to this chumher. This is God's 
 own wo'K we are a!x)Ut, and 1 doul t not to 
 make it the greatest victory ever achieved 
 over the accursed heresy that plagues this 
 unhapfiy land." 
 
 At hearing this, Sir Thomas reverently 
 bowed his iicad, though in his countenance 
 it was evident he was exceeding anxious 
 for the issue ; and then Dr. (Jrosier and his 
 companion, all dusty as lie was, took them- 
 selves out of the chamber. As they walked 
 along, they conversed with each other in 
 Latin ; and so intmt were they on what 
 they were saying, that tiiey noticed not one 
 close upon their footsteps. 
 
 " How now, fool '?" cried Dr. Crosier 
 sharply, as he all at once discovered he was 
 followed. 
 
 " Forsooth, and may it please your rever- 
 ence," said Master Challoner, in as foolish 
 a manner as was ever seen, " I have heard 
 it said that the ways of holy men were in 
 the paths of righleout-ness, and wishing to 
 get as nigii heaven as a fool can, I ttiought 
 it good to bring my toes and your rever- 
 ence's h'-els in as close acquaintance as pos- 
 sible, that 1 might be all the more sure of 
 the right patii." 
 
 " Begone, fellow, or your bones shall ache 
 for it !" exclaimed masier doctor. 
 
 " Nay, O' my life, I will tread on your 
 heels as little as may be!" added the as- 
 sumed fool, very movingly. 
 
 " Get you not gone this instant, I will see 
 you have such a cudgelling, as you shall 
 bear in remembrance to your life's end." 
 
 At this the other began to whimper, and, 
 mbhing his eyes with his sleeve, turned 
 himself round, and proceeded slowly the way 
 he came. 
 
 " Thinkest thou, he heard aught of onr 
 speech ?" inquired he who was styled Sir 
 Topas, as they continued their walk and 
 their discourse. 
 
 '•It matters not," replied Dr. Crosier; 
 "he is a very fool, without learning of any 
 kind." 
 
 Soon afterwards they arrived at that part 
 of the palace where the lady Elizabeth had 
 her lodging, and, gaining admittance to her 
 chamber, found her seated in a recess, 
 where the window looked out upon the park 
 and grounds, as if seriously intent upon the 
 perusal of the same little volume of pra3'ers 
 she had in hand a while since. 
 
 " Glad am 1 to find you so well disposed," 
 said Dr. Crosier, alter some civil greeting 
 
 betwixt him and ihe lady. " Doubtless your 
 ladyship tindeth excellent comfort from the 
 contemplation of such true piety and mar- 
 vellous tine wisdom as may be found in 
 those homilies." 
 
 " Indeed, I do find in them exceeding com- 
 fort !'' answered the lady Elizaljeth. 
 
 " Surely, you had no such satisfaction 
 from aught appertaining to that pestilent 
 heresy m which you had the ill-hap to get 
 instructed?" inquired the divine. 
 
 "Methinks, no," responded his apparent 
 convert. 
 
 " Believe me, there can be no compari- 
 son," added Dr. Oosier ; "and I doubt not, 
 ere long, you shall receive such delight — 
 seek you with all your heart and soul to be 
 a good Catholic — as, before, you have had 
 no knowledge." 
 
 •' 1 humbly trust I may become so deserv- 
 ing," answered the lady. 
 
 Thus went they on for some time, he 
 with great persuasiveness assuring her of 
 the wonderful content she must find in the 
 doctrines of what he styled the only church 
 in which rested the saving of souls; and 
 she, with a wonderful resignation, seeming 
 to assent to everything, yet pledging herself 
 to nought. 
 
 '■ Methinks, now, I cannot doubt of your 
 conversion," said this ecclesiastic at last ; 
 •' with the which I am the more pleased, as 
 her Highness, at my report of your complete 
 casting away the wretched schism with 
 which you had been aftVcted. hath sent one 
 of her chaplains, my estimable and very 
 learned friend here. Sir 'i'opas Fletcher, to 
 see that ym have truly done what I have 
 reported." 
 
 " Truly, honorable lady," exclaimed his 
 companion, now addressing the lady Eliza- 
 beth for the first time, " what Dr. Crosier 
 hath st ited is not a whit from the truth." 
 
 " And moreover, he hath brought from 
 her Highness," continued master doctor, 
 producing and opening a paper, "a written 
 recantation of your errors, which, it is ex- 
 pected, you will sign without any demur or 
 delay." 
 
 The lady Elizabeth, without expressing 
 any objection, took the paper into her hand, 
 and read it carefully, the two priests regard- 
 ing her all the whilst with a st vere scrutiny. 
 She discoverid that it contained not only a 
 solemn declaration of her true and steadfast 
 participation of the doctrines of the Church 
 of Rome, but promised, on the event of her 
 attaining the English crown, to do her ut- 
 most to extirpate heresy out of the land ; 
 and in case of any remi.«sness on her part 
 in such godly and laudable endeavors, re- 
 
214 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 noiincod all natural right and claim to tlje 
 throne, now and lor ever after." 
 
 " There is matter in this that reqiiiretli 
 deep consideration," observed she, assinning 
 an indilKrence slie felt not at all. 
 
 " And moreover," continued master doc- 
 tor, producing another paper, " iier High- 
 n'. ss liath sent liere a warrant for your com- 
 mittal tothe Tower, in Ciisc you hesitate in 
 the innnediate signing of what is required 
 of you." 
 
 The lady Elizabeth then examined the 
 second paper, and finding it to be a warrant, 
 as had been stated, for her imprisonment, 
 and 'hat it bore Queen Mary's signature, 
 her heart was smote witii a sudden fear, for 
 she knew full well, went she to the Tower, 
 her enemies would grant her no peace till 
 they had taken her life. It was well re- 
 membered of her, at that moment, that she 
 had been advised to seek, by every means 
 she could, to gain time if pressed on any 
 such matter ; but the liapless lady felt a pre- 
 sentiment that, in such an extremity, all 
 such endeavor would be fruitless. 
 
 " I pray you lose no time, if it please you. 
 my lady," here observed master chaplain, 
 with some eagerness ; " for I promised her 
 Highness I would not stay an hour at Hat- 
 field, without your signature, or yourself in 
 my custody." 
 
 " Here is pen and ink ready at hand," 
 said the other, as he brought them from the 
 table where the books were. 
 
 " Surely there be no need of such ex- 
 treme haste," remarked the lady Elizabeth. 
 " There yet remain many matters of doc- 
 trine of the which I have no certain knowl- 
 edge ; and my conscience will not allow me 
 to atte.-t my conviction of the truth of that 
 I am ignorant." 
 
 " I doubt not you are a sufficient Cath- 
 olic for the purjiose required of you," an- 
 swered Ur. Crosier ; " and, as there can be 
 no delaying now, her Highness's orders are 
 so strict, 1 [iromise you, on your dismissing 
 master chaplain with the necessary docu- 
 ment, without more words snid, 1 will m ike 
 it my business to give you daily instruction 
 in every minutest point of failli profcssHd by 
 all true Catholics, till you shall be as learn- 
 ed in them as is my Lord of London him- 
 self." 
 
 " But grant mc some preparation," ex- 
 claimed she, as one held out the pen for her, 
 while the other unfolded the paper. " Sure- 
 ly, on a matter so vital, I may have time 
 afibrded for proper retlection ?" 
 
 " Nay, it cannot be," said Sir Topas. " I 
 myself heard her Highness say, the signing 
 of such a declaration would be a lest of 
 
 your sincerity and affectlonatcness towards 
 "her." 
 
 " The which, if you made any to do 
 about," added master doctor, " Ik r llighness 
 would judge your late behavior as liypocrit- 
 ical, and put on the better to hide some 
 treasonable practices you are privately en- 
 gaged in, of which she hath coustaiit intel- 
 ligence; and, moreover, I heard her High- 
 ness affirm," continued the chaplain with 
 increasing earnestness, " should you attempt 
 to evade tlie signing of that p.i):cr. no pun- 
 ishment should be scvf^re enough for you ; 
 for it was plain, whatever appearance you 
 put on, you were in heart a plotter of trea- 
 son, a black heretic and a false woman." 
 
 In vain the poor lady tried all sorts of 
 excuses, and brought fi^rward all manner of 
 pretexts for delay. She wished first to 
 write to her Highness; she would rather 
 defer the signing for a week, till to-morrow 
 at noon : in vain she prayed to be left alone 
 for a single hour — the two priests were in- 
 flexible; it was more than their lives were 
 worth to allow of any such thing. Her 
 Highness was imperative, and the signing 
 must be without the delay of a single mo- 
 ment. Bewildered, and in great j)i rplexity 
 of mind, seeing no help for it, and fearful 
 of the consequences if she refused what 
 was required, the Lady Elizabeth was about 
 to take the pen in her hand, when she spied 
 a company of horsemen riding post-haste 
 towards the palace, which, the other two 
 seeing, they regarded each other with some 
 uneasiness, and their brows grew black of 
 a sudden. 
 
 " I can tarry here no longer !"' cried the 
 chaplain, with more severity than he had 
 yet used. " Hither come the escort to con- 
 vey you to the Tower." 
 
 " Surely never was woman so much her 
 own enemy before !" exclaimed master doc- 
 tor, with an exceeding stern aspect. ■' You 
 are hurrying your head to the block." 
 
 " I pray you pardon me, but 1 like not be- 
 ing in such monstrous speed," observed the 
 Lady Elizabeth, at last taking the pen into 
 her hand. At this the two ecclesiastics 
 looked with a sort of smile. " At least I 
 will again peruse what is here writ, that 1 
 may not be in ignorance of what I am 
 signing," added she. 
 
 '• Nay, by the mass, but once reading 
 must serve your turn this time I" exclaimed 
 Sir Topas, somewhat rudely. 
 
 " O' my word, lady, this is but trifling 
 with us!" cried Dr. Crosier, in a like un- 
 civil manner. 
 
 " By your leave, w'orfhy master ('ocfor, I 
 must needs re-pcrusc tliis paper ere 1 sign," 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 215 
 
 answered the lady ; and despite all they 
 ■could say or do, she not only commenced 
 reading of it slowly, sentence by sentence, 
 but made remarks on such passages as 
 seemed to demand obsei vation ; wherein 
 she was constantly interrupted by the im- 
 patience ol her companions, who, at last, 
 got to be so desperate to liave her do their 
 bidding without turtlier hindrance or loss of 
 time, that tliey lost all resj;ect in their be- 
 havior, and they looked to have more of the 
 restless eagerness of lunatics than the so- 
 briety of doctors of the church. Neverthe- 
 less, she dipped not her pen in the ink till 
 she had coiue to the end of the paper. At 
 this moment there was a loud outcry heard, 
 mingled with a great knocking. 
 
 " What noise is that ?" asked she, eager- 
 ly, doubtless glad to avail herself of any- 
 thing that gave her a delay, was it of a 
 single moment. Her two compunions ap- 
 peared moie alarmed than she at these 
 sounds ; for their hands trembled as the one 
 held the paper and the other the ink. 
 
 "The noise matters not!" cried master 
 doctor, vehiTiuently. "Sign the paper on 
 the instant, or be adjudged a continued and 
 obstinate herttic, accursed in the sight of 
 God and man !" 
 
 " Nay, but so huge an nproar putteth me 
 in some fear of my lite,'' added the lady, 
 with more urgency as the ncjise increased. 
 "Mayhap there is mischief in it for one or 
 all of us — the house is on fire, or there be 
 thieves broke in ? Indeed, I know not what 
 great evil it may not be the herald of." 
 
 " Pish !" exclaimed master chaplain. 
 " ' Tis nought but the escort, impatient of 
 being kept so long awaiting. Sign — or, 
 without more ado, 1 must oil" with }'0u to the 
 Tower." 
 
 " indeed, it be but uncivil of them to be 
 so soon impatient," cried she again; "for, 
 methinks, they have scarce had t me to get 
 to the jralace gales." At this moment the 
 noise was heard more distinctly as if it was 
 approaching nearer, and seemed to be the 
 hurraing of many voices. 
 
 " All's lost !" exclaimed master doctor, 
 furiou.-ly dashing down the ink-horn, and 
 hurrying himself out of the chamber; and, 
 at the same moment, master chaplain 
 snatched iivvay the papers, and disappeared 
 with the like celerity : but, just as the lady 
 El.zibeth had got well quit of them, a com- 
 pany of stately gentlemen entered her cham- 
 ber by another ooor, followed by a multitude 
 of meaner sort, and, with every demonstra- 
 tion of resject, the foremost of them all did 
 kneel bcfi.re her on one knee. 
 
 " What me:.neth this, Sir William Ce- 
 
 cil ?" exclaimed a lady, in exceeding as- 
 tonishment, to him. 
 
 " It mcaneth, an it please you, my gra- 
 cious mistress," replied he, with much rev- 
 erence, " that your troubles are at an end. 
 Your sister hath been overtaken by the hand 
 of death, and by all the proper authorities 
 your Highness, without opposition or let of 
 any kind, hath been proclaimed Queen of 
 these realms." 
 
 " God save Queen Elizabeth !" eagerly 
 exclaimed the assumed i'ool, throwing his 
 cap and bells, with a monstrous zeal, far 
 above his head ; and every one of that as- 
 sembly thereupon, with the same heartiness, 
 joined in the cry. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 The sixth age shifts 
 
 Into THE LEAN AND SLIPPERED PANTALOON, 
 
 ******* 
 
 His youthful hose ivell saved; and his big 
 
 manly voice. 
 Turning again toivards childish treble, 
 
 pipes 
 And whistles in the sound. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 Despiteful Flora! Is't not enough of grief, 
 That Cynthia's robbed, but thou nmst grace 
 
 the thief? 
 Or didst rhou hear Night's sovereign queen 
 
 complain. 
 Hymen had stolen a nymph oiU of her tiaiu. 
 And matched her here, plighted lrenceibi.tli 
 
 to be 
 Love's friend, and stranger to virginity. 
 And niak'st ihuu sport lor this? 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 There was a cloud resting upon the 
 honored roof-tree of New Place — a cloud 
 that cast its shadows over all Stratford, and 
 even over many a fair dwelling far beyond ; 
 for the master-spirit, who was the pride and 
 glory of all that admirable neighborhood, 
 had for a long period been so nigh unto 
 death's door, that it had more than once 
 been feared he had crossed the gloomy 
 threshold. 
 
 Master Doctor Hall, with no less craft of 
 love than of medicine, had held a desperate 
 conflict with his malady, day after day, and 
 week after week, assailing it in so many 
 divers ways, as though his resources were 
 out of all number; and whenever it seemed 
 to be getting the mastery, bringing forth 
 some new sort of artillery, and some secret 
 stratagem of physic, that made his enemy 
 fain to give up what ground of vantage he 
 
2J6 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 liad grained. Tlie skill of other pliysicians 
 liiul boi'ii required — ^o ill looked tlie case ; 
 but tliey so api-roved what he had done, and 
 were so favorahly iin|)re'!-ssd with his mar- 
 vellous knowledge of all that n Lited to tijeir 
 art, ihiit one and all decided the patient 
 could not be in better luinds, and thereujon 
 left lii'ui to his entire care. 
 
 Of a surely, he could not have been bet- 
 ter provided for. 'ilie youn^r physiciar! 
 acted a.-; though he had in his power not only 
 the existence of an individual, bi.t the fame 
 ot a nation ; nay, the very glory and boast 
 of humamind. Another could nut have had 
 that stake in liis preservation he had ; he 
 must iuive experienced the conmion effects 
 of prolonged watchfulness, over-anxiety, 
 absence of necessary rest and food, and c(jn- 
 tinual strain upon the mind when taxing 
 all iis powers upon an issue that looked to 
 trciuble upon a hair; but he who |)rcsided 
 over that sick chaiiibtr appeared to ciaim 
 immunity from the pains and penalties fol- 
 k)wing a deviation trom natural habits — he 
 lo.-t all sense of self — moved, breathed, lived, 
 only in tlie contest he was carrying on. He 
 watched every symptom, considered every 
 remedy, traced every effect to its cause, 
 brougnt the experience of the sages of his 
 craft to act in alliance with the result of his 
 own observations, and maintained what 
 seemed a hopeless struggle, inch by inch — 
 in sooth, not giving up so much as a hairV 
 breadtli till the conviction forced itself upon 
 him that it might be recovered at a future 
 time. 
 
 'rhouuli amiable and gentle as a woman, 
 it was marvellous to note how entirely he pui 
 on the despot, when his patient's s.dety 
 seemed to demand it of him. He wou;d 
 have no intrusion into the sick-rooin — not 
 even from the best and dearest of his frienis 
 — shutting his heart as closely against the 
 pleadings of the fond Susanna, save when 
 the occasion better warranted her appear- 
 ance there, as against the arguments of the 
 faithful Simon, who tried many a master- 
 stroke of policy in vain to plant himself with- 
 in its hallowed walls. He would have help 
 from none at such times, save only from an 
 ancumt dame he had hired as a niirs;\ 
 whose watchfulness, devotion, and freedom 
 from weariness, tliirst, or hunger, rivalled 
 liis own. She was truly a mo-l venerable 
 object. Her form looked much too feeble 
 for the proper fulfilment of the labor she 
 had undertaken ; but the stiange brilliancy 
 of her eyes gave evidence of a vigorous 
 spirit, such as the most youthful i'rame rare- 
 ly possesses. By such attendants was the 
 8ick HUin, during the critical time li.s disor- 
 
 der maintained the ascendant, nursed and 
 tended ; and in this period, his loving 
 friends were fain to content themselves with 
 such intellisionce of his condition as they 
 could by chance obtain from them, or fioin 
 some in the house, who were enabled, at 
 rare intervals, to hold with them a brief 
 communication. 
 
 Every \^h.•re throughout the neighbor- 
 hood the inquiry was, '• How fareth Master 
 Siiakspetire ? '' and one and all were as in- 
 tere.-tt'd in him as though he was of their 
 tle&lt and blood. Jn some, the knowledge 
 of his danger wrought strange etf'ects. 
 Tommy Hart and his merry bedfellow not 
 only lost tiiat ready pleasantry which had 
 made them a proverb throughout Stratford, 
 but wore there features in so sad a fashion, 
 (h'.Mr most familiar gossips hardly knew 
 them. Young Qiiiney and his wife had 
 taken up their abode at New Place, and it 
 was no small diliicully to say which was the 
 most disconsolate of the two. Both Judith 
 and Susanna were however fain to repress 
 tiieir own sorrows whilst endeavoring to 
 comfort their mother, whose grief touched 
 ail hearts. , 
 
 Sir George Carew came frequently to 
 Stratford, as though with a view to console 
 the fauiily to whom he was so greatly at- 
 tached, but it was easy to see he needed con- 
 .--olat.on as much as any. The strangest 
 eff' cts Wire observable in Jonas Tietupe, 
 who grew as serious asaPuritun, when he 
 first he ird that Master Shakspeare kept his 
 chamber ; but when it was bruited he was 
 liouily expected to give up the jihost, he shut 
 iiim.-elf up in his cottage, adowing none to 
 have sight or speech of liiin, and, as it was 
 verily believed, took no heed of himself 
 whatever. 
 
 But in all conditions, age or sex, the 
 same spirit prevailed — for the patient had 
 won all hearts ; the poor by his charities — 
 .he rich by his excellences — children by his 
 graciousness — women by his courtesies, and 
 men of every sort by his interest in their 
 pursuits and apparent knowledge of every 
 Jiing that related to them ; and there was 
 scarcely a minute of the day in which some 
 t'ervent prayer was not put up to the thresh- 
 old of th ! Most High, tor his restoration to 
 health, and to the society of his so numerous 
 lovers. 
 
 These prayi^rs were heard, and answered. 
 As soon as it became known, as it shortly 
 did, that a change for the better had taken 
 place in the object of their constant good 
 wislies, then was there a change for the l)et- 
 ter ill ihj aspjct of the whole town. Tom- 
 my Halt took his helpmate by the iiand, and 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 217 
 
 repaired to tlie now tn-Mrincholy-'ooldn'T 
 h;ib t;ition of their good oossi|). the woman's 
 taili r, where they made siicli an (H'.tcry, 
 siioiitiiig- the good new-, that presently the 
 door WHS thrown open, and out bounded the 
 rejoicinfT Jonas with a summerset that 
 pitched his friend on liis buciv in the middle 
 of the road, wiiich he not attending to, flew 
 down tlie street, to the huge asUmisliment 
 of his honest neiglibors, whirhng round 
 and r^und, now on liis hands and now on 
 his feet, aftT the old fasiiion, followed by a 
 pack of little dogs in fidl chase, evid^nitly, 
 by their frisking and barking, as well pleased 
 as their master. 
 
 Dr. il.ill had won a famous victory over 
 Death : and it was soon seen '^'"«' deadly 
 had heen the struggle betwef . .nem. Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare was reduced to a very skele- 
 ton. The cf);nmanding figure that had so 
 well filled the justice-chair could not be re- 
 cognised in the wasted iorni that leant on the 
 arm of his physician as lie shufflnl across 
 the chamber. His voice also had under- 
 gone a like alteration, it having become fee- 
 ble and s!u-ill as that of a man at a great 
 age. The change struck the sick man as 
 powerfully as it had others, but a gleaiu of 
 Ins customary facetious grace broke i'rom 
 him at the time. 
 
 " ()" my life, doctor," said he, pointing to 
 his ho-e, that were now much too large, 
 they being in bags, as it were, from his 
 knees to Jiis slippers, "if I might have my 
 v.'ill, I woidd fain leave the world better 
 supported than 1 am in this sorry plight." 
 
 "Thou shalt have thy will, dear heart !" 
 e.xclaimed a familiar voice near him. The 
 sick man turned round, bat saw only his old 
 nurse making a posset for him. He seemed 
 to marvel a little, but in a moment con- 
 tinued to jest on his condition, as he proceed- 
 ed in his walk. 
 
 '■ iMethinks Death has spared me," con- 
 tinuetl he ; " because he began to bo asham- 
 ed of taking such poor prey, so, out of pity, 
 and, doubtless, not without .some contempt, 
 he allows me to find rest for my bones on 
 the earth, instead of under it. I'fiith, he 
 hath left ine nnich to thank his worship for : 
 item, a voice as pleasant to hear as the tun- 
 ing of a viol-de-gamba ; item, a pair of 
 sticks by way of legs; two of a like pattern 
 for arms; item, a quantity of ribs — might 
 make pegs to hang caps on at small cost ; 
 and item, a skull that needs no polishing to 
 grace an anchorite's cell for the nonce." 
 
 This pitiful state of things, however, 
 gradually disappeared, to the huge conten- 
 tation of his friends, under careful i\ursing. 
 Among the most powerful agents that min- 
 
 istered to his recovery, was the general de- 
 sire to assist in some v/ay or othi.u' in mak- 
 ing it as speedy as possible. With this 
 f .eling, all sorts of things were daily sent 
 that mig t tempt his palate, .or strengthen 
 his frame, and Simon and Lannce had a 
 sutliciency of work in taking in the delicate 
 chickens and dainty capons, and exquisite 
 sweetbreads, and scores of other tempting 
 things that daily came to the door with the 
 kindest in.jiiiries and heartiest best wishes of 
 their several donors. 
 
 Now, L lunce, of all things, loved to liear 
 himself talk, and, of all subjects, loved most 
 to talk of himself, and rarely did he fail, 
 when he tljought he could secure a listener, 
 of endeavoring to impress upon him a duo 
 sense of all the terrible dangers he had beea 
 in, and of the wonderful courage with 
 which he had borne himself when sailing 
 with that valiant commanderCaptain Harry 
 Daring in the Spanish Main. Had he spok- 
 en so bravely in Golden Lane, he would 
 have been soon silenced ; but Tabitha 
 'I'hatchpole's apprentice and Master Shak- 
 speare's man were exceeding dill'rent per- 
 sonages, and, therefore, he I'ancied he might 
 readily become a hero at Stratford. 
 
 This, however, he found moro difficult 
 than he had calculated on, and Biagging 
 Laimce became as familiar in thai good 
 town, as Ragged Launce had been there in 
 tioie.s past, or as Lazy Laiuice had been in 
 his well-remembered attic in Golden Lane. 
 It was only when he could get liold of some 
 credulous good soid, too simple to doubt, 
 that he was ever listened to with any sort of 
 patience or respect, and among the bearers 
 of the ditf'-rent gifts thai came to his mas- 
 ter's dwelling he found many such. 
 
 It was rare to see with what skill he led 
 the inqiiirer after the health of Master 
 Shakspeare, with a little loss of time as 
 might be, right to the deck of the good ship, 
 " The Little Wolf," and this having attain- 
 ed, how rapidly he led her into the terri- 
 blest battles, mutinies, storms, and ship- 
 wrecks, in all of which he made himself 
 out, if not exactly the captain of the ship, 
 at least, a person to whom the command 
 might liave been given with great advan- 
 tage to all concerned. But, enough of this 
 braggart. Nevertheless, a little more will 
 finish his Iiistory. His big words imposed 
 upon l*eg of the Twiggen Bottle, who 
 overlooked his mean estate, in favor of his 
 being a hero — a character she nuich affect- 
 ed — but on the wedding-night he showed 
 himself such a craven to one of her former 
 lovers who was present, and made a butt of 
 him, thatshe drubbed iiim in the bridal cham- 
 
218 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 ber so that lie did not, fjcl himself comfort- 
 able for a week ;ificr. 
 
 Ail this time the sick mnn was mending 
 rapidly, so that he rccc ived visitors as usu- 
 al, and the ciiimney-nook in the hall was 
 again tl;e comfoitible resting-place of the 
 favored few, who W(?re wont to assemble 
 there ; an J the jest and the tale went round 
 as briskly as of eld. Sometimes an ac- 
 quiiintance or two woulJ join the circle 
 w th news of what strange tilings were do- 
 ing in Loudon or elsewhere, and often was 
 there much to marvel at, often much to la- 
 ment, and almost as frequently much to 
 doubt. 
 
 The news least liked and most talked of 
 was the mysterious death of that darling of 
 the nation, Prince Henry. Various were 
 the rumors afloat concerning the cause of 
 this sudden and fatal sickness ; some talk- 
 ed conlidently of poison ; and the bolder 
 sort plainly alluded to the king as having 
 been jealous of the general favor in which 
 his admirable young son was held by the 
 people; and, if not instigating, certainly 
 having a guilty knowledge of the deed. But 
 these horrible surmises were not canvassed 
 at New Place. Master Shakspeare was 
 deeply moved at learning of so truly nation- 
 al a loss. He knew it to be a loss never to 
 be r.' paired. 
 
 He had news also of more than one 
 friend, for whom he cherished the liveliest 
 remembrances. There were divers his good 
 gossips and fellows at the globe, of whom 
 and from whom he had occasional intelli- 
 gence. Of worthy Master Allen, too, 
 still the most thriving of players, and the 
 most honest of men, where among his bears, 
 or his nobler animals, he had especial ad- 
 vices. And a like sort of familiar know- 
 lege he had of the city came to him from 
 the court, where he was well pleased to 
 hear his much-loved scholar, the Earl of 
 Pembroke, was rapidly advancing into fa- 
 vor. But there was one to whom his best 
 feelings clung with the like fixedness the 
 devotee regards the emblem of his faith, and 
 never did a thought rise in that direction 
 that was not made yokefellow with a bless- 
 ing. Need it be said that this was the no- 
 ble lady, from whom he had separated him- 
 self so completely — as it seemed — yet with 
 whom, v\hile he lived, he would be joined 
 in ro common bonds. 
 
 It was while gradually recovering his 
 health that he became aware of the attach- 
 ment existing betwixt his admirable young 
 physician and his most estimable gentle 
 daughter. At this he was especially [)leas- 
 ed. There was no man living he should 
 
 so soon have wished for a son. He felt he 
 owed him no trifling amount of obligation, 
 in the first place for the excessive devotion 
 he had shown for him during more than 
 one critical period of his lite; and in the 
 next his high talents in art and his thorough 
 amiableness of disposition pointed him out 
 as likely to make happy his exctllent Su- 
 sanna. He was rarely pleased that they 
 should have come to so good an understand- 
 ing — albeit he more than once formd him- 
 self comparing in some astonishment the 
 stately creature that had no long time be- 
 fore received so comilacently the adulation 
 of the gayest and noblest of the gayest 
 court in Europe, with the quiet blushing 
 maid fixing her heart and mind upon the 
 thoughtful aspect and unassuming bearing 
 of the young physician. 
 
 All this time these two were enjoying a 
 species of happiness peculiarly their own. 
 It looked as though the deep trouble they 
 had endured had given them a keener rel- 
 ish tor the exquisite rare pleasure that 
 seemed in store for them. Quiet, grave 
 and unimpassioned, as both had ap[,eared, 
 they entered into the condition of lovers 
 with a depth and intensity of feeling less 
 ex|)erienced hearts could have no know- 
 ledge of. Each seemed to have dispersed 
 from around the other the cloud which 
 had thrown into blackest shadow all 
 the fairest hopes and dreams of life. And, 
 with a delicate sympathy in the other's past 
 sufferings, each strove to show a brimming 
 measure of that felicity they had previously 
 looked for in vain. 
 
 Whilst his patient demanded his utmost 
 vigilance, Dr. Hall would be nothing but 
 the attentive physician ; but, when it be- 
 came evident he might be left to the care of 
 others, he put on the devoted lover with no 
 less singleness of purpose. Many were the 
 pleasant walks he and his fair mistress had 
 through the shady lanes, or the fields of 
 waving corn, and long and earnest the dis- 
 course which then and there passed betwixt 
 them. Now came the reign of arms inter- 
 linked, clasped hands, and waists encircled, 
 low-breathtnl aspirations, blushing replies, 
 an over-brimming joyou.-^ness in the present, 
 and daintily conceited plans for the future. 
 For our young physician this period 
 brought a harvest of sweet thoughts, of 
 such abundance withal, he who reaped it 
 could scarce conceal his astonishment at 
 its excess. It looked as though the goodly 
 qualities of the soil, during the time their 
 development had been checked, had been 
 accimiulating, and now thru.';t themselves 
 forth in produce of the rarest excellence 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 219 
 
 and the most man-elloiis abundance. His 
 mind, purified in the furnace in which it 
 had been cast, seeuied peculiarly sensitive 
 to ail the subduing impressions of the affec- 
 tions. It was no longer the feverish 
 dreams of youth, prematurely created by the 
 villanous artirices of a scheming adventu- 
 ress ; it was the natural operation of the 
 most admiralile grace, and tlie most perfect 
 excellence, on a nature pecuharly disposed 
 to cultivate their exquisite influence. It 
 was an intelligent mind strongly reflected 
 upon by mind of a like sagacity, and one 
 heart operating upon another, the feelings 
 whereof were of the same ennobhng nature. 
 
 When he considered his good fortune in 
 attaching to himself a creature so excel- 
 lently gifted, the miseries of former years 
 faded as a snow-flake in the sunbeam. Un- 
 der her fair sovereignty, he felt raised to 
 the proudest estimation ; his reserve did not 
 entirely leave him ; he vvas still grave, re- 
 flective, an! retiring — but this was consti- 
 tutional. There wure times however wlien, 
 led along by the stirring spirit of her covet- 
 able society, he seemed to break down all 
 the restraints of habit, and his voice became 
 animated by the eloquence of his own 
 thoughts; he spoke, looked, and moved, as 
 a being gifted with all the flner prop^Tties 
 of manaooi — m mhood in its worth, its 
 grace, its nobleness, and its purity. 
 
 And our gentle Susanna, was she not 
 moved by a similar agency ? Did not th^ 
 bread of tier kindly heart she had cast up- 
 on the waters, return to her after many 
 days ? Did not her mind, so long thrust in- 
 to shadow, beam out as a cynosure in tiie 
 deep night, making her fair neiuhborhood 
 an atmosphere of light and beaity ? To 
 this no more need be said than that she 
 was absolutely and perfectly happy ; happy 
 in her own tho.iiihts, and in tae tlioughtsof 
 those nearest and dearest to her ; happy in 
 her choice, haj)py in her hopes, happy in 
 her dreams, happy in the present, and ex- 
 quisitely happy in the future. Day after 
 day passed by, and, the more intimately 
 she becaaie acquainted with the virtues of 
 the man whose flner qualities she had per- 
 ceived and done justice to in her earliest 
 acquaintance with him, the more did she 
 congratulate herself on finding, whatever 
 storm might come, she had so famous an 
 anchor to trust to. 
 
 Thus tiiis estimable pair, in the days of 
 their honeyed courtship, seemed to live in 
 and for o ich other ; their rambles became 
 longer, their attachment to each other's so- 
 ciety more intense. Their senses seemed 
 to beco.ne more exquisitely alive to the at- 
 
 tractions of external nature. The flowers, 
 the sunshine, the shady lane, the green re- 
 treat, the intelligent aspect of the mute 
 stars, and the murmuring music of the gen- 
 tle river, w'ere to tliem features of a land- 
 scape of such ravishing beauty, that its on- 
 ly type could have been fousid in that un- 
 rivalled landscape in wliich the first lovers 
 experienced a happiness direct from Hea- 
 ven. 
 
 It shortly became publicly known that 
 they were betrothed — in sooih, some who 
 pretended to be better informed than their 
 njighbor.-, went so far as to say they 
 knew the very day they were to be mar- 
 ried ; but it was every where understood 
 that, in a short time, tliere would be a fam- 
 ous wedding, and they were so well liked 
 that no allusion was ever made to the 
 match without its being l'ollowe<i by a bless- 
 ing. In honest truth, the approaching 
 event was so universally known, and the 
 persons so intimately connected with it so 
 greatly respected, that did any of th(nr well- 
 wishers get sight of the hippy pair in one 
 of their rambles, he would make a circuit 
 so as to avoid disturbing their privacy. 
 
 The ceremony so much talked of awaited 
 only the complete recovery of Master 
 Sliakspeare ; but he seemed in no hurry to 
 bring it about. For this thjre were 
 divers reasons — first, he saw that they 
 were happy, and much of his happine-s de- 
 pending ou seeing theirs, he was desirous 
 this golden state of things should continue 
 as long as possible. Next, he liked not 
 parting with them; they had become, 
 through the influence of their own virtues, 
 the chief objects of his regard, and he could 
 not readily bring himself to loos3 either. 
 The matter was ultimately settled to the 
 satisfaction of all parties, they agreeing to 
 remain under his roof as long as might be 
 agreeable to him. 
 
 He frequently held long and interesting 
 consultations with his fast friend, Sir 
 George Carew, who took a warui interest 
 in their expected nuptials ; and there could 
 be no manner of doubt he intended perform- 
 ing some liberal act of kindness ; doing 
 something for his fair favorite on this par- 
 ticular occasion. 
 
 There was one person, however, who re- 
 garded the approaching union vvith ill-con- 
 cealed ill feeling — this vvas no other than 
 Sir Hugh Clopion, by this time transformed 
 into a court-gallant of the first prct.nsions. 
 Possibly the praise of the gentle Susanna, 
 so (requently heard from liis guardian. Sir 
 George Carew, influenced him but lidle — 
 I poisibly the interest shown by all the com- 
 
220 
 
 THE SECRET PAS>S10N. 
 
 muiiity in her happiness he regarded with 
 a like indiltc'renc-y ; but he liUud not tliat 
 some one Siiould coine and hrar away from 
 him wliat he seemed to think could easily 
 have been his own. He held loiiji' and se- 
 rious dfbutcs witli liimself as to the line of 
 conduct he should pursue, and ultimately 
 he came to the wise determination of hon- 
 oring the subjt'ct of his thoughts with a 
 visit. 
 
 Takinp- marvellous pains tliat every ar- 
 ticle of las toilet should be impressed into 
 his servile in some such a manner as to 
 assist in producing the desired imj;ression, 
 and, alter carefully examining the result, 
 and, sat. sl'ying himself that tiicre could be 
 no doubt of his pirH'ct success in the ex- 
 periment lie was about to make, he ordered 
 his horse, and look the road from Clopton 
 to Stratford. When he arrived at New j 
 Place, Susanna was in attendance upon i 
 her father in liis chamber. She did net 
 hear the name of Sir Hugh Clopton with- 
 out some emotion ; but it passed away as 
 rapidly as it went, and the expression by 
 which it was lollowed was of a much le.-s 
 pleasant ciiaracter. 
 
 " Speed thee, wench!" cried her father 
 merrily, " tSir Hugh asketh for thee. 
 Doubtless he is come to offer his congratu- 
 lations, like a couneous gentleman. Hie 
 thee to the bliie-rooui, then, at once, and 
 jirytliee use hi.n in thy inost gracious fash- 
 ion." 
 
 Susanna made a most gracious reply in 
 the same spirit as she tri()ped out of tlip 
 chambjr, b.it she was far iro n being indif- 
 ferent as she seemed. She would have 
 avoided the interview, had it been possible, 
 without creatinsir comment, but she nerved 
 herself with a woman's proudest spirit to 
 appear in it as became her hither's daugh- 
 ter. On her entrance, she found the young 
 knigbt, ex imining, with much intentness, 
 as it seemed, the pattern of the siege of 
 Troy on the arras — albeit, he was giving 
 his entire thoughts to the consideration of 
 what he should say, and how he should 
 say the business he had come upon. 
 
 " God save you, Sir Hugh !" exclaimed 
 the damsel courteously. '• My father bids 
 me express his acknowh dgments for the 
 honor you have done him in visiting his 
 poor dwelling. He trusts all are well at 
 Ch)pton." 
 
 'I'here was a dignity as well as an indif- 
 ferency in this t^^peech that was far from 
 setting tlie young knigbt at his ease. He 
 replied in th ■ be-t courtier fishion, touch- 
 ing his pr(jfouiid respect for Master Shak- 
 speare, and gave his assurance that at 
 
 I Clopton every one had the good fortune to 
 be m excellent health. Heieujion he en- 
 deavored to get a point towards bis errand, 
 j but he was stopped by an earnest inquiry 
 of his kinsfolk. Having inloriiied his cuin- 
 pHuion that Sir George Carew and his es- 
 timable lady were gone to Kenilworth, he 
 once more strove to bring tlie di>course to- 
 wards liim.self and his intentions ; but, at 
 his hrst step, he was interrupted liy a string 
 of questions as to divers persons and scenes 
 in and about the neighborhood of the 
 family mansion ; and, as soon as these 
 were roj lied to, there came a long cate- 
 chism respecting his ancestors, their char- 
 acter and monuments. Thus it continued 
 for a period much beyond what was given 
 to a visit of compliment. 
 
 Sir Hugh Clopton was getting more and 
 more discomposed. He was wondiously 
 anxious to address himselt at once to the 
 object he had in hand, but he knew not how 
 to commence such a business. He felt a 
 strnnge av\kwardness in the first step, 
 which seemed to throw a terrible stumbling- 
 block in his way; and, when he called to 
 mind liow studiously of late she had avoid- 
 ed him, and that, when thrown in his com- 
 pany, with what ceremonious resi.ect .-he 
 liad behaved herself towartis him, his chance 
 of a favorable hearing appeared to become 
 more desperate every minute. The fair 
 Susanna all tliis while looked as though 
 she had met this monstrous tine gentleman 
 for the first time, to whom she accorded 
 the graceful courtesy of a genllewoiiian, 
 out of respect for his excellent worlhy kins- 
 man, her sworn servant, Sir George Carew. 
 
 "Perchance, you are off to some hunting 
 party or another ?" said she. at last, " and 1 
 am, out of all doubt, much to blame for 
 keeping you from such delectuble sport; so 
 I will at once take my leave of you, thank- 
 ing you, in the name of my most dear father, 
 for your courteous visit." 
 
 " Nay, I pray you, Mi.stress Susanna, 
 leave me not in this way !" exclaimed the 
 young knight, the hue gentleman evidently 
 breaking down under a pressure of natural 
 feelings. " 1 have much to say to you ! — I 
 have much to implore of you ! In an evil 
 hour ' 
 
 '• Ah ! [ had neiirly forgotten," said she, 
 suddenly stopping in the slight advance she 
 had made towards the door. H(^r aspect 
 became a slight degree more serious, yet 
 there was no sign in it of anger or triinuph. 
 " 1 have also something that ought to he 
 said, it cannot but be known t'l you. Sir 
 Hugh, that it is my estimable fither's j)lea- 
 sure I should be married next St. Georjre's 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 221 
 
 day to a worthy gentleman, his friand, one 
 Master Doctor Hall ; a physician of much 
 siiill ill his art, and of as iiouorable a niture 
 as man ever possessed. I trust, Sir Hugh, 
 you wid do us the honor to grace tliat occa- 
 sion with your company. Among your 
 well-wishers, Sir Hugh, ever count on my- 
 self as belonging to tha sincerest. Be as- 
 sured th it I entjitain a firm hope that you 
 wi 1 speedily cast aside as weeds that ill-be- 
 come a soil of much natural goodness, the 
 follies of a thoughtless youth ; and if I could 
 see you diveste<d of every such unworthi- 
 ness, securing yourself the respect which 
 hath ever b^en so intimately attached to 
 your honorable name, and united with some 
 noble lady who would do credit to your 
 judgment, believe me, Sir Hugh, it would 
 be such inlinite satisfaction to me as my 
 poor words cnunot express. Fare you weil. 
 Sir H ugh, and much happiness attend you !" 
 
 Methinks it need hardly be said that, by 
 such a speech so delivered, " the monstrous 
 fine gentleman" was completely silenced: 
 and before he could recover from the stun- 
 ning blow, that gentle and graceful rebuke 
 gave to his vanity, he found his fair compa- 
 nion had lett the chamber. He was not 
 long in doing the same, but as he rode back 
 to Clopton he thought over every word of 
 those golden sentences he had just heard, 
 and in so proper a mood, that from that time 
 forth he became so swayed by their spirit as 
 to cast from him all discreditable tendencies 
 and foolish humors, and take upon himself 
 the nobler characteristics of an honorable 
 gentleman. 
 
 Now that it had become well known 
 throughout Stratford and its neighborh.ood, 
 Mistress Susanna Shakspeare was to be 
 married at such a date to that famous phy- 
 sician., Master Doctor Hall, there was a 
 wonderful deal of rejoicing in all quarters. 
 Of all places in the world, be sure the mat- 
 ter was properly discussed in Tommy Hart's 
 kitchen — in south, there had been divers 
 consultations on this particular subject, in 
 which, besides Tommy and his helpmate, 
 Jonas Tietape and young Quiney labored 
 wit'i exceeding earnestness. 
 
 They sometimes obtained the assistance 
 of vSimon Stockfish, who seemed as though 
 capable of speaking on no other points than 
 the nobleness of the master he now possess- 
 ed, and the v/orthiness of the one he had 
 once served. It used, however, to take him 
 a monstrous time to make up his mind to 
 place himself where so many questions were 
 sure to be put to him ; but having satisfied 
 himself tliat it would be politic not to answer 
 correctly more tlian one in ten, he occasion- 
 
 1 ally made his appearance in the hatter's 
 1 chimney-corner. 
 
 Concerning the marriage, they were all 
 agreed thit it was what was most to be de- 
 sired ; for both the young phy.-ician and his 
 fair mistress were sucu especial favorites, 
 that nothing could seem so appropriate as 
 their union; but this auspicious event they 
 seemed called upon to di tinguisn in some 
 remarkable manner, and they considered 
 long and earnestly amongst themselves how 
 this was to be done. 
 
 When Jonas Tietape could be drawn 
 from his vagaries, he was lorccd to give in 
 his opinion to the common stock, which he 
 did after his fashion, whereupon inucli de- 
 bating followed, of which the object was to 
 mark the day appointed for the wedding 
 with appropriate revels. Every pleasant 
 pastime was learnedly discussed, and the 
 best ways of having them with due efFoct 
 set forth in the goodaest manner possible. 
 
 As the appointed day approached the 
 ever-honored tir^-t of May so closely, it was 
 at last decided that May Games should be 
 performed with all due solemnity — unusual 
 care being taken that every ciiaracter there- 
 in should rind the very fittest representative 
 — besides which, provision shoiJd be made 
 for minstrelsy; the resources of the town 
 consisting only of one bagpipe, a blind 
 harper, and a lame fiddler, it was resolved 
 that the neighboring villages and towns 
 should be called upun to assist with whate- 
 ver of a musical sort they had at their com- 
 mandment. As llie decisions of this coun- 
 cil, though net expressed with so much dig- 
 nity as those of the High Bailiff and hi, co- 
 adjutors, were scarcely less influential, 
 there could he no fear that the eventful day 
 would pass by unnoticed. 
 
 Scarce had the sun rose on the memora- 
 ble morning of the twenty-third of April, 
 when the bells began a nitrry peal, which 
 called up all who were not getting them- 
 selves ready to play their part in the day's 
 revels. In every part of merry Stratford — • 
 and well did it deserve that name — there 
 was rare bustling about, and running hither 
 and thither, and such a prodigality of jests 
 expended as might have sulhced the small 
 wits of the court from then till doomsday ; 
 and yet have had abundance to spare. 
 
 The first commencement of the day's 
 sports was seen in the bringing in of the 
 tall tree that had been cut down for a May- 
 pole, and the setting it up in a fair, open 
 space, where its fine colors and finer gar- 
 lands and streamers could be seen to some 
 advantage. Rare was the display of rib- 
 bons and other finery in the youths and 
 
222 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 maidens who assisted in the dance round the 
 lofty maypole, that followed its first pJant- 
 ino-, but tiieir univers.il mirth and well-dis- 
 poserines.s luado them still more attractive. 
 
 It was while this pleasant sport was going 
 on in lull force, that those whom it mo.-t 
 concerned were preparing for the grand 
 proceedings of the day. With no slight sa- 
 tisfaction tli'7 hailed the arrival of the hour 
 that was to realise their most cherished 
 wishes. In especial, the feelings of Master 
 Shakspeare were of the most intense grati- 
 fication. He liad long studied the character 
 of his young friend, and had perceived in 
 him, under liis manifold coverings of shy- 
 ness and reserve, a nature replete witii ho- 
 norable feelings, virtuous resolves, and 
 manly sentiments. He saw it was scarce 
 possible for him to find any man to whom 
 he could coniide his excellent Susanna, with 
 so perJ'ect a confidence in her future hapi)i- 
 ness. Nothing delighted him so much as 
 the evidences he had met with of their at- 
 tachment to each other, and so great was 
 his content in their marriage, that it is not 
 going too fir to affirm that on this particu- 
 lar morning he was infinitely the most plea- 
 sant-humored of the three. Though it could 
 scarcely be said he had recovered his wonted 
 strength and appearance, he was sufficient- 
 ly full of iiealtii and spirits to enjoy himself 
 as absolutely as man could on so choice an 
 occasion. 
 
 As for the happy lovers, sedate tliough 
 they looked, and, as some thought, more 
 grave than such a time warranted, they had 
 as full Ik arts as they couid well liave, and 
 minds brimming with the same overflowing 
 measure. In brief, they were as absolutely 
 happy as pogr humanity hath any chance 
 to be. Perhaps they had tlie more enjoy- 
 ment from having known feelings of so 
 very op[)osite a sort. They took tlieir places 
 in the procession, and performed their parts 
 in the cerensony, that joined their destinies 
 together mdissolubly, with a total abandon- 
 ment of all things whatsoever but their own 
 infinite contentation. 
 
 They became spectators of the pleasant 
 labors of their numerous friends, to do honor 
 to the day graced by an event so welcome 
 to them, with senses too much engrossed by 
 theirown happiness to be as mindful of them 
 as they deserved. But this was unobserved 
 by the principal actors therein, who were in 
 such famous good humor with their elforts, 
 they sei nied as though celebriting their 
 own particular happiness, rather than the 
 happiness of the two young persons who 
 could iiiirdly be regarded as belonging to 
 their circle. 
 
 On this memorable day it was well said 
 of many that never had Jonas Tietapc made 
 so worshipful a drag n ; nor Tommy Hart 
 rode so capering a hobby horse ; never 
 had young Quiney played so right reverend 
 a Friar Tuck ; nor the young miller ap- 
 peared to such rare advantage as Robin 
 Hood ; nor was there ever so choice a mor- 
 rice; in brief, it was well said of the wiser 
 sort, that there had not been in the remem- 
 brance of any Stratford man a day of such 
 entire pleasantness as that which had been 
 appointed for the marriage of Master Doctor 
 Hall and Mistress Susanna Shakspeare. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 That blast that nijjjicd thy youth will ruin 
 
 thee ; 
 That hand that shook the branch will quickly 
 
 strike the tree. 
 
 QUARLES. 
 
 Egyptians, dare ye think yotir highest pyra- 
 mids, 
 Built to out-dare the sun, as you suppose. 
 Where your luiworthy kings lie raked in ashes, 
 Are monuments fit lor Inni ? No, brood of 
 
 Mylus, 
 Nothing can cover his high fame but Heaven, 
 No pyramids set otf his memories. 
 But the eternal substance of his greatness, 
 To wliich I leave him. 
 
 BkAUMONT and FLETCHEn. 
 
 " Nay, as I live ! By all that's rare, 'tis 
 Ben himself!" exclaimed Master Shaks- 
 peare, with as huge astonishment as plea- 
 sure, as about a year after the events men- 
 tioned in the last chapter, Simon Stockfish 
 ushered into his book-room one on whom 
 he had exerted much exquisite policy, in 
 vain, to discover who the stout, biuti" free- 
 spoken stranger was, or what his business. 
 
 " r faith, if it be not the great Ben him- 
 self," replied the other joyously, " 'tis so 
 fine a copy, it may pass for the original 
 among the best judges." 
 
 The stranger was no other than Benja- 
 min Jonson, of whom the understanding 
 reader hath already some acquaintance. He 
 was looking more like a hearty yeoman 
 than a London playwright, having under his 
 belt a waist of no ordinary breadth ; but the 
 excess of revenue necessary for its sub?is- 
 tence seemed to have kept the outer cover- 
 ings of his person of less richness than he 
 might have aimed at. 
 
 He had had a longjourney, out of all doubt, 
 and possibly he had clad himself more 
 roughly than was usual with him ; but in 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 223 
 
 whatever fashion he was clad, he received 
 a most warm anJ absoiuti welcome. Ha 
 was soon made to feel liimself at liome ; a 
 state of fueling by the way, in which he 
 could enter with even much loss encourage- 
 ment than he now received. His friend 
 played the host towards him with equal 
 kindnes? and courte-y, partly because, pat- 
 ting some faults out of sight, he liked his 
 society and admired his talents, and in a 
 great measure because his arrival seemed 
 to proinise news of many of liis friends of 
 whom he had been a considerable time with- 
 out intelligence. 
 
 A substantial meal, the principal feature 
 of which was a goodly sirloin, was placed 
 before him on the very whitest napery, 
 flanked with a richly chased silver tankard 
 containing excellent Canary. Ben care- 
 fully tucked a napkin within his falling 
 bands, and began an attack on the viands 
 with all the vigor of an old campaigner. 
 Master Shakspeare sat at a little distance 
 from him. in no small measure pleased at the 
 evident enjoyment his I'riend took in his 
 labor ; occisionall\^ rising to place at his 
 commandaient something he thought would 
 add to his satisfaction, or laughing at the 
 jests in which his guest indulged, w.tli a 
 heartiness that shewed how completely he 
 understood and appreciated their liumor, 
 and when an occasion served, relating one 
 from hiS own prodigal resources that so di- 
 verted the hungry traveller, that he was 
 nigh being choked in the excess of his 
 miith. 
 
 The satisfaction of these two old friends 
 in meeting alter so long a separation was 
 of the very heartiest sort. Anecdotes fol- 
 lowed on the heels of each other ; and jest 
 succ39ded jest with a prodigality that was 
 truly marvellous. Some remark on a play 
 would bring forth an account of some 
 player, that both had known — and then 
 came a goodly history of all the ups and 
 downs, the whims and vagaries, the strange 
 sayings, the odd ways, the singular ideas, 
 the wild adventures of divers of their ac- 
 quaintance, connected in some way or other 
 with the stage. In a little while, the men- 
 tion of something done at court would pro- 
 duce a whole chapter of amusing gossip, 
 respecting the different personages therein 
 to be found. It was as good as a gallery, 
 they ware so hit off to the very life ; for if 
 one was at a loss for any part of the picture, 
 it was sure to be happily tinished from the ' 
 experience of the other. 
 
 " And so Raleigh is still a prisoner," ob- \ 
 served Master Shakspeare. 
 
 " More shame to those who made him i 
 
 one!" was the inflignant reply. "'Sdeath! 
 my blood boils, when I think of this noble 
 gentleman, cooped up in stone walls to gra- 
 tify the mean revenge of that poor Scotch 
 animal, who hates this noble gentleman for 
 towering so high above him. Nevertheless 
 as J can fully testify, he keepeth up his 
 great spirit. 1 managed to get admission 
 to him in the Tower, and there I paid him 
 a visit, which I shall not very readily forget. 
 Never saw 1 a man so truly a philosopher, 
 or one while possessed of such a high Ro- 
 man soul, with such store of learning at his 
 commandment, as was only owned by the 
 most famous worthies of Greece." 
 
 " You saw him then; how fareth he in 
 this imprisonment?" 
 
 " Only so far the worse, as the blade left 
 to rust in the scabbard. There was with 
 him a marvellous deep and learned man, 
 my Lord of Northumberland, with whom he 
 pursueth all manner of strange studies in 
 chemistry ; my assured friend. Master Ser- 
 geant Hoskins, an excellent, poet, 'I'homas 
 Harlot, an estimable philosopher, ai'd a cer- 
 tain parson, Mastjr Doctor Burrell, a most 
 ripe scholar ; and amongst these, I had such 
 discousse, as 1 could have found, methinks, 
 in no other place in the whole world. Such 
 famous speeches, worthy to be called ora- 
 tions ; such protonnd knowledge ; such 
 deep and comprehe-nsive learning ; such 
 marvellous wisdom, it hath never been my 
 lot to listen to. VVe had, as well as the 
 Greek and Roman, fragments of Hebrew 
 sages, and snatches of the lore of Arabian 
 poets and philosophers, that made the wis- 
 dom of the western world appear as very 
 foolishness." 
 
 " Of a truth, I envy you that visit — me- 
 thinks 'twas as rare a treat as man could 
 wish for." 
 
 " Ay, was it. Will. But there was one 
 bitter reflection that robbed it of the better 
 part of its sweetness. Who could think 
 unmoved, of such choice spirits made to be^ 
 partakers of a dungeon, who should have 
 had the first place of honor nearest the 
 throne, whilst such honorable places were 
 tilled by the vilest scum and dregs of hu- 
 manity, svho would have but disgraced the 
 prison they deserved ?" 
 
 "A lamentable truth! But, think you 
 not Sir Walter will be given his freedom ?" 
 
 " Never ! His fame as a hero galls one 
 who is a noted coward ; his reputation as a 
 scholar hurts his vanity who hath scarcely 
 the knowledge of a pedagogue ; and his 
 worth, as a man, confounds him who, even 
 in his vices, is ever grovelling and contemp- 
 tible. What sympathy can a feeble, vain- 
 
224 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 glorious, mud-witteJ, bosottod wrotch have 
 for one who is at once gallant, high-spirited, 
 learned, and virtuous ? — Tlie syinpatliy of 
 the wolf for tlie deer — of tlie mouse for thj 
 lion — of the owl for tho linnet, i tell thee, 
 Will, he hates the noble R.ileigh, and will 
 not rest till he h;is his blood — which he will 
 at last take, on some frivolous pretence that 
 will damn him to all posterity." 
 
 "Raleigh hath lost a powerful friend in 
 Prince Henry — had he lived mich longer. 
 I think he would have got Sir Walter his 
 liberty." 
 
 " At least, he would have tried — but, now 
 that sweet youth is dead, Raleigh hath lost 
 his only safeguard against the murder 
 which hath been so long meditated. But 
 it is useless lamenting," added Ben Jonson, 
 as he raised a full cup of wine to his lips. 
 " We are powerless to serve him ; but we 
 can have at least the comfort of drinking 
 confusion to his enemies, which I now do 
 with all my heart — more especially refer- 
 ring to one who is a hypocrite in religion, 
 a pretender to learning, a bad husbatid, a 
 vile lather, a false iriend, a dishonor to his 
 lineage, and a disgrace to his country." 
 
 Thereupon Ben quaffed off his glass with 
 the satisfaction of one convinced he hath 
 done virtuously. If thus indignant of the 
 undeserved treatment of so great and good 
 a man as Sir Walter Raleigh, how would 
 he have expressed himself, a few years later, 
 when that noble gentleman, alter venturing 
 witii great risk to his newly-discovered 
 country of Guiana, in hope of satisfying the 
 cupidity of his royal jailor, who hankered 
 alter a gold mine there existing, on his re- 
 turn was infamously brought to the block 
 and made the victim to his cowardice ! 
 
 "But I Vv^ill tell you a stranger matter," 
 said Bsn, ri'plcnishin;^ his empty platter. 
 " Ned Alien liath grown as serious as an 
 undertaker's dog. His talk is of nothing 
 but building hospitals, or colleges for de- 
 cayed folk. He is determined to set up for 
 a Samaritan, and will take care there shall 
 be plenty of oil and wine provided for such 
 wayfarers as may chance to fall among 
 thieves and get spoiled. None can doubt 
 his heart to bo of tlie best, but his speech 
 hath become the strangest medley spoken 
 by human tongue. If he talk of the Fathers, 
 you would be rarely puzzled with the bear- 
 garden eulogiuin directed towards them — 
 instead of St. Chrysostom, you will hear 
 him speak of St. Bruno. Polycarp will 
 have to give way to Ponto — and Taurus 
 will take the place of Thomas Ajuinas." 
 
 " This is a new humor," said Master 
 Shakspeare, laiighing heartily. " I have 
 
 marked myself a singular confusion in hia 
 speech : but then it has been between the 
 iieroes of his bear-garden and those of his 
 playhouse." 
 
 " Pfaitli, Will, such confusion is none so 
 extraordinary on an occasion," added the 
 other, with a sly humor working in his 
 eyes. "I have known as many wcd-playod 
 brutes as brutal players, ere now." 
 
 " Pryliiee tell me wh.it fortune y(ju have 
 had of late with your excellent writings." 
 
 " Fortune, the jade!" exclaimed he, in a 
 more serious tone — " She go hang ! She 
 hath been a damnable stepdame to m:; as 
 ever worthy heart was plagued withal. 
 Could it ever be believed that one who h ith 
 writ the best comedies, all as well Havo ed 
 with the true attic salt as Aristophanes had 
 writ them in his best days, is forced aside 
 to make room for some unlearned ass, who 
 hath no more art than wit ? There is my 
 ' Volpone,' now : with no ill-judged pride 
 did I dedicate such a masterpiece to the 
 two learned universities. I will swear it 
 is a very phoenix among plays — that its 
 like hath not been seen in England, nor 
 never will. Yet I kmiw of a soitof fellows, 
 with scarce brains enough to hatch a bal- 
 lad, who have thrust their crude inventions 
 before it, and, by means of some tickling 
 sauce for the palate of the vulgar, have got 
 them to be preferred. Let them lick their 
 chaps over this savory garbage, say I. Jf 
 they can stomach such trash, I would have 
 them feed till they burst. 'J'hey are not tit 
 to have the choice fare I set before them. It 
 is the nature of such hogs to wallow in the 
 refuse and tilth a better taste would scorn." 
 
 Ben was intent on displaying his weak 
 point; but his friend, who knew how much 
 of worth there was in him, despite his over- 
 appreciation of himself and his contemptu- 
 ous regard of the pretensions of others, tried 
 to change the conversation. This, however, 
 was no such easy matter, and he found 
 himself obliged to listen to much disparaging 
 rem irks on many writers he knew and hon- 
 ored. At last, the meal having been linish- 
 ed and the flask emptied, the last draught 
 drew him into a passing commendation of 
 the wine : thereupon his host availed him- 
 self of this, and they were presently in ear- 
 nest discourse of the wines of the ancients, 
 on which subject Ben poured forth a Hood 
 of learning as inspiring as his theme. 
 
 Whilst Simon Stockfish cleared away tho 
 things and brought a fresh supply of the 
 wine Ben had so commended. Master 
 Shakspeare informed his visitor he had 
 come at a rare time, for to-morrow was 
 tho customary day of tlie Stratford revels. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 225 
 
 Ben Jonson seemed much taken with this, 
 and vowed he had never been in such gocd 
 fortune as to have hit upon so excellent a 
 time for his visit. He promised he would 
 play no igiioble part amongst the revellers. 
 At this his friend made known to him what 
 strange characters were some he was like- ' 
 ly to meet; and he found such entertain- 
 ment in the description he heard of Jonus 
 Tietape, Young Quiney, and Tommy Hart, 
 that, at his earnest request, they were sent 
 for to afford him present amusement. They 
 came — and, of a surety, they made a night 
 of it. I 
 
 Ben shook his fat sides most lustily at 
 the humors of the woman's tailor, and the 
 sport afforded that night made tiie walls of 
 New Place resound again. Their host took 
 an occasion to leave them when their mirih 
 was getting furious, but he found it a diffi- 
 cult matter to get to sleep for the shouting 
 of ridiculous catches and roaring songs 
 they chose to indulge in. This sort of up- 
 roar wonderfully disturbed the sense of pro- 
 priety of Simon Stocklish ; and, learning 
 his master had gone to bed, he cudgelled 
 his brains, with small profit, to hit upon some 
 rare stroke ot policy by means of which he 
 might be rid of it presently. This he knew | 
 could only be done by the dispersion of 
 those who were the busiest peace-breakers, 
 and he found he had a difficult task to effect 
 this with perfect security to himself and 
 credit to his master — two points of equal i 
 importance with him. 
 
 L'ttle did these choice spirits imagine, 
 whilst so absolutely giving themselves up 
 to jollity, what throes they were causing 
 the grave serving-man, whose lack of 
 speech afforded a copious source of speech 
 in them. Ben Jonson had got them to re- 
 hearse before him certain speeches they 
 were to deliver in a magnificent play, styled 
 the Siege of Troy^ made by the schoolmas- 
 ter, destined to be the chief attraction in the 
 Stratford revels of the morrow. He was 
 leaning back in his chair, hardly able to 
 see out of his eyes, his mirth did so puff up 
 his cheeks, with his arm resting on the table, 
 on which stood lights, cups, tankards, and 
 curious shaped bottles, and the other lying 
 across the arm of his chair with an empty 
 glass in his hand. His three associate's 
 stood in choice attitudes in the open space 
 before him and the wall ; and, as Jonas 
 Tietape was refiresenting Hector, armed 
 with a pot-lid by way of shield, and a spit 
 for spear ; Tommy Hart Agamemnon, with 
 a besom handle ; and Young Quiney 
 Achilles, with a rolling-pin— eacli with bare 
 arms, spouting the most terrible fustian ever 
 15 
 
 heard, there was sufficient cause for his 
 appearing so famously amused. It so 
 chanced as Jonas was delivering himself of 
 some most hectoring lines, in rushed Simon 
 Stockfish, his leaden visage a most moving 
 picture of horror and alarm. 
 
 '' How now, knave ?" cried Master Jon- 
 son ; " how darest thou intrude thyself, un- 
 announced, upon such heroes as these ?" 
 
 " Speak — answer, slave ! or Trojan 
 ghosts shall keep thee company," shouted 
 the assumed Hector, stalking up to him 
 with stately steps. 
 
 " Death dogs thy steps, presumptuous 
 varlet !" cried Tommy Hart, strutting for- 
 ward with Agamemnon strides. * 
 
 "Nay, good sirs! I pray you, worthy 
 Jonas ! excellent gossip Tommy !" exclaim- 
 ed the alarmed serving-man, turning im- 
 ploringly from one to the other, '• I did not 
 venture without strong warrant, be assured." 
 " Speak, caitiff! or thy recreant life 
 shall be the forfeit," cried Ben Jonson. 
 
 " Excellent valiant sirs," hurriedly ex- 
 claimed Simon, not without same apprehen- 
 sion, " some one hath just brought me word 
 that worthy Jonas Tietape's house hath ta- 
 ken fire." 
 
 Scarce had the words been spoke, when 
 the three players dropped their several wea- 
 pons, and rushed out of the chamber. In- 
 dependently of their consideration for the 
 dogs and other animals, they knew full well 
 that most of the properties necessary for the 
 performance of their famous play were 
 there housed ; and they at once made off, in 
 a horrible flight, to endeavor to save them 
 from the devouring flames, leaving Simon 
 Stockfish, for once in his life, highly grati- 
 fied at the success of his profound policy. 
 
 The earliest risers the next morning 
 looked at the gloomy sky with huge mis- 
 giving ; but, much to their content, as the 
 day grew older, the heavy clouds dispersed, 
 and the visiters were ushered inlo Stratford 
 with a burst of sunshine, that made the gay 
 scene tnat presented itself before them a 
 thousand times more cheerful. Again com- 
 menced the Stratford revels in all their 
 several varieties, and again a glorious ca- 
 valcade filed through the streets, wherein 
 Master Shakspeare was the particular grace 
 and ornament to thousands upon thousands 
 of admiring spectators. This time he rode 
 alone; for the gentle Susanna, now Mas- 
 ter Doctor Hairs excellent fair helpmate, 
 was with her friends, riding amongst the 
 gentlewomen who had joined the procession. 
 
 With the gentlemen rode Master Benja- 
 min Jonson, wonderfully taken with all he 
 saw and heard, especially with the various 
 
226 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 sports which he did commend right liberal- 
 ly. His perfect restoration to health made 
 Master Shakspeare appear in sucn good 
 case as grcat;y delighted his innumerable 
 admirers; and, possibly, the greatdanger he 
 had been in appeared greatly to increase the 
 claim on their admiration liis own talents 
 had secured. 
 
 The great business of the day proceeded 
 admirably ; but the grand, unrivalled spec- 
 tacle of a classical play appeared to take 
 the spectators by storm. The Siege of 
 Troy was looked upon by many as a super- 
 Imman effort of human intellect ; and the 
 wooden horse, supposed to have done such 
 rare service, the invention of Jonas Tietape 
 and young Quiney, for the safety o which 
 the three friends had made such famous use 
 of their legs the previous night, was the 
 source of the most absolute wonder and ad- 
 miration. Certainly, Master Shakspeare 
 did marvel in no small measure, but he 
 found it horribly difficult to maintain his 
 gravity whilst glancing at his friend, whose 
 ludicrous aspect during the performance it 
 looked impossible to stand against. 
 
 But all things have an end ; and, though 
 the Siege of Troy was unconscionably long, 
 it did at last reach its conclusion — with no 
 slight regret, by the way, to much the grea- 
 ter part of the spectators, who seemed hard- 
 ly to know of which they should most ap- 
 prove, the Greeks or tlie Trojans. Never- 
 theless, the reader must submit to be hur- 
 ried from this and many other delectable 
 sights that were attracting delighted crowds 
 on that notable holiday, and be set at once 
 before the choicest sight, which was a 
 grand banquet, given by the high bailift'and 
 corporation in honor of the guest, to whose 
 fair name the proceedings of the day in- 
 tended to do some sufficient honor. 
 
 Certes, this banquet was marvellously 
 imposing, and in consequence of Master 
 Siiakspeare's recent recovery from his dan 
 gerous sickness, a greater number of 
 guests assembled than the Guildhall had 
 ever contained before. There was a most 
 imposing array of flowers, and laurels, and 
 no lack of plate or napery. The high bai- 
 liff" sat at the head of the room, with Mas- 
 ter Shakspeare cm his right, and Sir George 
 Carew on his Iclt; and down along table, 
 having a cross one at the bottom, sat not 
 only all the notables of those parts, with the 
 more respectable sort of burgesses of Sirat- 
 ford, but many persons of so;ne distinction, 
 fast friends of Master ShaKsjjeare, who had 
 hurried to Stratford once more to renew 
 their acquaintance with one with v/hom ac- 
 quaintance was a distinction. 
 
 Nothing can be said here particularizing 
 the viands, or describing their number and 
 qualities. It is sufficient here to state that 
 the tables might have groaned with their 
 weight and number. Everything connected 
 with the feast was of the choicest sort, and 
 amongst the company there existed one 
 ennobling spirit of homage to the object of 
 their sympathy and goodfellowship. They 
 were wonderfully enlivened by the company 
 of Ben Jonson, who was in a rare mood for 
 the display of his choice, facetious talent. 
 In this he was well seconded by Sir George 
 Carew, whose exceeding courteousness, 
 and aifable pleasant grace won the hearts 
 of all. It was when the wine-flasks had 
 commenced doing their inspiring office, that 
 the attention of the whole of that gallant 
 company was attracted towards Sir George, 
 by his rising from his seat with an evident 
 desire in him to address them. A respec- 
 table silence quickly ensued. 
 
 " It hath been said," he observed, after a 
 brief preamble touching his pleasure at 
 meeting so numerous and brave an assem- 
 bly, '■ that a famous monarch, of times 
 passed, ofTered a most tempting reward to 
 any one who would invent for him a new 
 pleasure. Certes, had he lived in these 
 days, he would not have had long to wait 
 for what he so required, and methinks it be- 
 hoveth us, with whom so much of a very 
 exquisite sort have been made lamiliar, to 
 be no less liberal. We, too, should offer a 
 higher appreciation for the delights that 
 have been so bountifully afforded us, for 
 they are altogether of a nobler kind than 
 such as might have been created for the en- 
 tertainment of a jaded voluptuary. Our new 
 enjoyments are drawn from that better part 
 of us that constitutes our intelligence, acting 
 in unison with those tine sympatliies that do 
 serve to bind us indissolubly to all human 
 things. But, as cannot be unknown to you, 
 we have a source of pride as well as of 
 pleasure in the creator of these exquisite 
 sweet enjoyments. He is one of ourselves. 
 He is our neighbor — our companion — our 
 friend. He is that incomparably sweet gen- 
 tleman so well known amongst us all — he 
 is our townsman and friend — William Shak- 
 speare !" 
 
 Every one had listened with a most 
 pleased attentiveness to the flowing sylla- 
 bles of the old courtier. As his meaning 
 began to break upon them, every eye flashed 
 with eloquent deliglit ; and when the object 
 of his eulogium was betrayed by the men- 
 tion of his name, there came forth such a 
 hearty burst of applause as stopped his 
 speech for some few moments. 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 227 
 
 " Of his excellence in the art he pro- 
 fesses," continued the speaker, " there hath 
 already been ample testimony. He hath )b- 
 tained such repute, and such gain in its 
 exercise, as hath never been possessed by 
 by any in the same art. Bat it is with no 
 small gratification I find myself enabled, 
 from personal knowledge, to advance, that ; 
 his worth as a man keepeth such fair pace ; 
 Avith his merit as though they were twin- 
 born. I feel assured those who know him 
 will agree with me in the opinion that in him I 
 the gilts of the heart are not less powferful 
 than those of the mind. Such is sweet 
 Willie Shakspeare — our Shakspeare, of 
 Stratford upon Avon." 
 
 Again a burst of loud applause broke 
 forth from the company, testifying their ac- 
 knowledgments of the propriety of this 
 praise. 
 
 " Filled with these impressions," he add- 
 ed, " I must needs say I look for your com- 
 plete contentation to a proposition I have risen 
 to submit to you. In this most honorable of 
 days — for such surely it should be styled, 
 having given birth to two such distinguish- 
 ed characters as Shakspeare and St. George 
 — we have been employed in various devi- 
 ces for showing how gratefully we look upon 
 it for having bestowed upon us our rare 
 townsman and friend — let us crown our pro- 
 per task with drinking, in full glasses, of 
 the choicest wine before us, in this sort — 
 Here's to thee, sweet Willie Shakspeare, 
 and numberless happy returns to thee of 
 this golden day !" 
 
 At the conclusion of this goodly speech 
 such acclamaiions arose, as made a very 
 tempest, at it were, throughout that cham- 
 ber. Scarcely had it subsided, when Mas- 
 ter Benjamin Jonson sprang to his feet, and 
 began a comment on what had so moved the 
 company. He was unknown to nearly all, 
 but his powerful manner of speaking, and 
 an air of free and jovial humor with him, 
 got him abundance of listeners. His pre- 
 face of his disadvantages in being a stranger 
 to the friends of one whom he had ever re- 
 garded as the best and noblest of men, it is 
 unnecessary to repeat, nor is there need he 
 should be followed in the prodigality of quo- 
 tations from Greek and Roman authors with 
 which he chose to lard his discourse. Me- 
 thinks it will be best to give no more than 
 this, the marrow of what he said : 
 
 " We are told, my masters, in a certain 
 classic author of my acquaintance, that 
 there were great men before Agamemnon, 
 but, before the Agamemnon of our Iliad, 
 there were no great men ; in brief, so far 
 from it, all who were his predecessors in 
 
 the marvellous talent which hath raised hira 
 to so proud an eminence, were but as dwarfs 
 compared with him. His greatness smacked 
 of those days of which it was said — there 
 were giants. To what hath been already 
 advanced by one so admirably qualified by 
 his scholarship, by his far distant travels, 
 and by his long intimacy with the object of 
 his well deserved praise, to speak on such a 
 subject and fully and entirely to the purpose, 
 I can make no addition worthy of note. It 
 hath not been my good fortune, like him, to 
 have lived amongst you, nevertheless, I have 
 had many opportunities of studying the fair 
 page he hath so admirably got by heart. I 
 have known him to whom I allude and 
 loved him long, honored his genius beyond 
 that of any living or dead, and regarded his 
 worth with a kind of reverence. 1 cannot, 
 therefore, be expected to be backward when 
 a way of honoring, what I honor so exceed- 
 ingly, is under discussion. I must needs, 
 at such a call as we have just heard, be 
 the first to answer : therefore do I now re- 
 peat, with all earnestness of soul, ' Here's 
 to thee, sweet Willie Shakspeare. and num- 
 berless happv returns to thee of this golden 
 day !' " 
 
 Amid a storm of plaudits, no less loud 
 than followed the former speech. Master 
 Shakspeare was seen to rise from his seat. 
 He looked admirably, with health in his 
 cheek, and pleasure in his eye, and vigor in 
 every manly limb, and, as he directed hia 
 gaze down the line of friendly faces turned 
 towards him with looks of mingled rever- 
 ence and affection, his gaze seemed to 
 brighten with the purest happiness, and his 
 form to dilate, as it were, with the most e.x- 
 alted pride. He began to speak, at first de- 
 liberately, with words of ordinary accepta- 
 tion, as he mentioned the honor that had 
 been done him, and his unworthiness to ex- 
 press the grateful sense of it he entertained ; 
 but, when he advanced more into the sub- 
 ject, he got free of the spirit of form and 
 ceremony that he had been struggling with. 
 He spoke of his early years, and showed 
 how much he was indebted to Stratford for 
 whatever had given him the means of taking 
 the place amongst them he sought ; and, 
 knowing and feeling his obligations, it 
 could not be surprising that he liad chosen 
 it as the spot in which he desired to live 
 out the remainder of his days. 
 
 " A few years only have passed," said 
 he, " since I traversed foreign lauds, where 
 my eyes were witnesses to many strange 
 and wonderful things. I stood were fire and 
 ashes have burned and buried two largo and 
 noble cities, yet, with many such marvellous 
 
228 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 inattors about me, I thought of Stratford. 
 I behild tho yellow Tiber flowing in the 
 lionored neighborhood of ancient Rome ; I 
 floated on the dark lagunes of once trium- 
 pliant Venice ; and I gazed in transport on 
 the blue waters of the Auriatic Sea; but 
 they wore to me as though they never were, 
 when 1 thought of the less imposing beau- 
 ties of our exquisite Avon. 
 
 '• And since I have returned to them, what 
 a balm hath visited me in their looks ! — 
 river, wood, and sky ; the green lane, the 
 flowery heath, the corn-field, the orchard, 
 and the grove, have come upon me like the 
 faces of ministering angels seen in dreams, 
 giving assurance of health's comfort, and 
 the soul's repose, never to be gainsaid. With 
 these have been associated many a gallant 
 spirit, overflowing with generous sympathy 
 — many a tender heart prodigal of its sweet- 
 est solace — much admiration, some rever- 
 ence, and more good-will. It cannot, there- 
 fore, be thought surprising I should gather 
 matter of inflnite contentation in finding my 
 ark at rest in so admirable a spot. 
 
 '• I have to thank you for your good wish- 
 es. When a boy, 1 remember me well, in 
 the prospective my young ambition stirred 
 my fancy with, 1 saw in the remotest dis- 
 tance some such proud scene as the present. 
 Its happy accomplishment looks as if Des- 
 tiny haih done for me all that had been 
 promised, and that I must prepare me for a 
 change where alteration is unknown. — 
 Should it so chance that I live not to see 
 another anniversary of the day you have so 
 greatly glorified, accept, I beseech you, my 
 gratefid thanks for this bountiful proof of 
 your desire for my honor and well-biing, 
 and be assured I feel both proud and happy 
 in your favorable opinion, which it hath been 
 as much my wish to possess, as it shall be 
 my duty to retain." 
 
 The applause which here followed, and 
 tlie various enthusiastic commendations 
 from other quarters, mu.st be left to the un- 
 derstanding reader. The scone was a proud 
 one, and none regarded it with feelings of 
 Buch exquisite gratification as the afFection- 
 tile Susanna and her loving husband, who 
 looked on the pleased triumphant features of 
 their honored parent with feelings of ming- 
 led reverence and affection. The reader, 
 however, must be content he should leave 
 the place where his hero received those 
 Well-merited honors, and accompany him 
 back to his own dwelling. Before retiring 
 to his chamber, he took a light, and appear- 
 ed to feel a singidar ])leasure in going over 
 tho few pictures, examining some of the rare 
 Looks, and one or two of the best examples 
 
 of antique furniture. He seemed to dwell 
 upon them with a more than ordinary earn- 
 estness. 
 
 Anon he drew himself away from them, 
 and, having entered his own chamber, sat 
 himself down by the open casement, and, 
 resting his head upon his hand, leaned (.ut, 
 gazing upon the blossoming orchard, the 
 pastures, and hedge- rows, and all the fea- 
 tures of a lovely landscape then spread out 
 before him, over which the moon, riding 
 high and clear, occasionally obscured by 
 quick-passing clouds, appeared to bathe ev- 
 ery object in an atmosphere of supernatural 
 beauty. His tuoughts seemed spiritualized 
 by the touching aspect of the scene he 
 looked on. 
 
 Not very far removed from the moon's 
 orbit, he observed a star with an exceeding 
 bright and strange brilliancy. While he 
 gazed, there suddenly entered into his mind 
 the conviction that the soul of his lone-la- 
 mented Hamnet inhabited its precincts. 
 Master Shakspeare lived again in the past 
 — a holy and a tranquillizing spirit seemed 
 to take possession of him, that brought him, 
 as it were, into immediate communion with 
 the immortal nature of that glorious boy of 
 whom he had been so proud, and whose pre- 
 mature divorce from his embraces he had 
 lamented, with more than a lover's constan- 
 cy in a first and only passion. His soul 
 was subdued by the force of early memories 
 — affections, aspirations, anticipations, once 
 so devoutly cherished, he clung to as doth a 
 drowning wretch to the tangled weed upon 
 the perilous shore whereon he hath suffered 
 shipwreck. Yet in all this abandonment to 
 so ancient a sorrow, there came a sense of 
 present relief beaming like a Pharos through 
 the gloom of a troubled night upon the 
 ocean, that did calm his perturbed spirit 
 most admirably. 
 
 He turned i'mm the casement, and in a 
 few minutes was resting his honored head 
 upon his pillow. He shortly fell into alight 
 slumber, half-waking and half-dreaming, in 
 which indistinct images of things presented 
 themselves, mixing the past, the present, 
 and the future in strange confusion. At 
 one time his thoughts wore the rosy hues of 
 his early life, and the visions that had filled 
 his solitude with ftiiry shapes and heavenly 
 scenes came to him, as doth the sudden res- 
 toration of sight to one who hath been blind 
 many years. Anon rose forms of a more 
 endearing loveliness, every limb and feature 
 teeming with feminine truth and passionate 
 devotedness ; the last bearing the likeness 
 of the noble lady whose rare qualities of 
 heart and mind had held his senses in 
 
THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 229 
 
 such strict yet honorable subserviency. 
 Then came memorials of triumphs accom- 
 plished, of honor won, of supremacy ac- 
 knowledged — a most imposing retinue : am) 
 at last all seemed to mingle into one — a 
 golden mist penetrating and obscuring all, 
 so that he could get but obscure snatches 
 of what had awlaiie since appeared so dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 One of the very last objects that present- 
 ed itself was a face that rapidly changed 
 fiom a feminine aspect of iuimortal beauty 
 to an old crone, which was presently suc- 
 ceeded by a lovely smiling youth, in a beck- 
 oning attitude ; but hardly had he recog- 
 nized its fomiliar shape, when a black cloud 
 surrounded its outline, and it began percep- 
 tibly to fade away. 
 
 At this period he became aware of a 
 strange sensation, like a small flame creep- 
 ing up his extremities. The cloud grew 
 blacker round the indistinct image of the 
 intelligent aspect he had loved with such 
 entirenes-s. The flame crept up above his 
 knees. Tiie cloud encompassed the tigure 
 of the child, passing over it like a thick tilm, 
 and gathered round the dreamer's head in a 
 heavy voluttie. The flame crept up his 
 legs to his body. The inky cloud passed 
 over the exquisitely-smiling aspect, and be- 
 came as a pall before the dreamer's eyes. 
 The flame crept up to his heart, at the same 
 moment that a darkness enveloped him too 
 black for a ray of light ever again to pene- 
 trate. 
 
 All the revellers were fast locked in their 
 first sleep, and the whole town seemed to 
 slumber no less profoundly, so tranquil was 
 its aspec^in the calm moonlight ; but if any 
 where there existed a perfect repose, surely 
 it was in a certain part of the meadows bor- 
 dering on the river. The Avon, of a surety, 
 still pursued its course, but it was as with 
 a lethargy that threatened to check its ca- 
 reer. The mill had stopped, and the mill- 
 stream was therefore dumb. For a marvel, 
 neither beast nor fowl gave evidence of ex- 
 istence. The moon shone clear and cold, 
 in a sky traversed with quick, gloomy clouds, 
 now giving the river an aspect of molten 
 silver, and making visible the farms, the 
 mill, the straggling town, and the towering 
 church ; anon, leaving all in impenetrable 
 darkness. 
 
 Suddenly there arose a low wail ; it was 
 not easy to pronounce its cause, for it par- 
 took of the moan of the wind among the 
 trees, and the just audible diapason of the 
 church-organ beard afar off. It gathered 
 force and character every moment and 
 
 grew into a solemn chant, or lament, so 
 touching, so subduing, it might have passed 
 for a Miserere, sung by a company of spec- 
 tral monks in some ruined abbey. 
 
 At this time, there might be seen innu- 
 merable specks high in the atmosphere. 
 These presently grew upon the eye till they 
 took the shape of figures of e.xtraordinary 
 smallness, each clad in a cloak of inky 
 blackness ; and as they all came in a body 
 towards the meadows, it might readily be 
 known that they sang in solenui chorus the 
 following words : 
 
 THE FAIRY REQUIEM. 
 
 Fair courtiers of the fields and woods. 
 
 Rare minstrels of the skies. 
 Put oli' gay vests and flaunting hoods, 
 
 Attempt grave harmonies. 
 The funeral cloak, the church-yard chant, 
 Comprise whatever ye most want. 
 
 Ye lillies pure, and sweet jonquils, 
 Lone violet, queenly rose. 
 
 Ye pansies, kingcuj^s, datfodils. 
 Forswear your gallant shows ; 
 
 Ye marigolds, so proudly dress'd, 
 
 A darker suit becomes ye best. 
 
 And all things that are fair and good. 
 Your bravest shapes give o'er; 
 
 The darling of your brotherhood 
 Belongs to )'ou no inore. 
 
 .Mourn ! mourn ! for such another one 
 
 Shall ne'er be found beneath the sun. 
 
 The earth hath lost its fairest grace, 
 Gift ne'er to be supplied. 
 
 And fails to be a fitting place 
 For fairy forms to hide. 
 
 Here, losing all we might befriend. 
 
 Our pleasant rule is at an end. 
 
 Farewell, then, each loved bud and flow'r ; 
 
 Farewell the verdant mead. 
 The fragrant air, the secret bow'r. 
 
 Soft fern and towering reed. 
 Bearing, in solemn rite we come. 
 Our honored Shakspeare to his Home. 
 
 As the innumerable multitude approached, 
 the attentive spectator could not fail of ob- 
 serving that, in the midst, was a sort of cir- 
 cle, at the head of which two figures might 
 have been noticed, so far like the rest in 
 wearing black cloaks, but differing from 
 them in this important matter — each wore 
 
230 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 on its head what looked to be a golden 
 crown. In the centre, thus surrounded, it 
 was difficult to make out what had a place 
 — it bore the appearance of a thin, gray 
 film, having much the resemblance — though 
 too indistinct to pronounce decidedly — of a 
 human figure and countenance, floating up- 
 on the air. Afterwards came a countless 
 crowd of the small figures, in tlieir inky 
 
 garments, and the doleful wail of their nu- 
 merous voices sounded like a funeral dinre. 
 Presently a huge mass of clouds came 
 upon the moon, and when she emerged 
 from behind this black shield, the same deep 
 stillness reigned that had a moment since 
 wrapped the whole neighborhood as closely 
 as if the place formed a sepulchre in the 
 midst of a mighty desert. 
 
 HERE ENDETH THE STORY OF 
 
 THE SECRET PASSION. 
 
 Note. — This pleasant task is ended. This labor of love hath been brought to a conclusion. 
 There now only remaineth one thing to be done ere the courteous reader, and the doubtless 
 too-ambitious author, who hath so long and largely demanded his attention, part — of a surety 
 never to meet again in such honorable company. He cannot close an acquaintance carried 
 over so many pages, without expressing a hope that, notwithstanding manifold defects, for 
 which he prayeth a gracious indulgence, his excellent worthy friend has received some plea- 
 sure at this picture of an age that in its many golden features has not been equalled in latter 
 times, and this portrait of greatness never excelled in any. To those of his readers, slowly and 
 heedfuUy descending the hill of life, he desireth such absolute perfect ease at the end of the 
 journey, as tired traveller never had glimpse of, with many inestimable memories with which 
 to rejoice such as they leave behind ; and to those who are but climbers iii the same path — to 
 the exquisite fair creatuJe who hath carried her generous sympathies through all the varying 
 scenes here set down, he wishes the fullest measure of content in her ati'ections her prodigal 
 young heart can sigh for : whilst to the young gay gallant, glowing with all life's richest 
 impulses, he wishes numberless opportunities for noble adventure, and much comfort with 
 his lady. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 fiDec'SruD 
 23XNov'561S 
 
 NOV 16 1335 
 JUL lU 1959 
 
 LD 21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 
 
Mia9f>780 
 
 
 ;^t£r^i^^ 
 
 
 
A:j 
 
 >^i 
 
 'T^'^^ 
 
 
 /► . 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 Xi V 
 
 v-v-.v^U 
 
 -'-V-^ >tA ^