daughter, and her husband, John Hall. Part of the epitaph to Susanna was wantonly obliterated nearly a century ago, but it was carefully restored by a Committee of the Shakespearean Club, in 1834.

On the north side of the east window is the monument of John Combe, Esq., (executed also by Gerrard Johnson), who died on the 10th of July, 1614. John Combe resided at Welcombe, and is said to have been the personal friend of Shakespeare.

In 1851 a subscription was commenced by the Rev. H. Harding, the then Vicar, for the restoration of the east window, by whose exertions it was partially filled with stained glass, designed and executed by Mr. Holland, of Warwick. The present incumbent, the Rev. Granville Granville, having completed what was so ably commenced by his predecessor, at once set on foot a subscription for the removal of the magnificent organ from its position in the west, to the north transept, thus developing the beautiful proportions of the nave; and has since, by his untiring zeal, seconded by the indefatigable exertions and liberal purse of Mr. John Baldwin, of Luddington, succeeded in filling the west window also. A portion of this window is dedicated to the late Rev. Richard Morris, Vicar of Eatington, a native of Stratford-on-Avon, and a most zealous supporter of every good institution connected with the town, having for its object, the welfare of the inhabitants generally.

ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE,

AT

SHOTTERY.

Crossing the fields to the west of Stratford, by a well-frequented footpath, a pleasant walk of a mile brings us to the little hamlet of Shottery. Rural and secluded it once was, with its green lane, picturesque timber-ribbed, thatched cottages, babbling rush-fringed brook, and wooden bridge. A recent new house and abominable row, (in modern utilitarian style), have somewhat disfigured it, and the old timber bridge is exchanged for a worse-that is, artistically. But the scene of the youthful Shakespeare's love-suit, and the residence of the rustic beauty, Anne Hathaway, whose wiles ensnared him, still remain-altered, of course, in some degree. The house is of timber and brick, in two storeys, with thatched roof, and appears like two joined together, the lowest division being the longest. It is built upon a foundation of squared slabs of lias shale, and is now subdivided into three tenements. Raised above the surrounding level, and having in the front

a rudely-paved terrace, to which there is an ascent by steps, it must originally have been a good farm house, fit for the residence of a substantial yeoman of the olden time.

On looking up at the central chimney, the letters I. H., and date 1697, stand unpleasantly prominent; but only record the reparation of the house and chimney by John Hathaway, at that date.

1

i

Within the dwelling, divided as it is, the old kitchen yet shows traces of the "good old times," in its rude stone floor, low ceiling, heavy beams, and portions of the oaken wainscot with which its rough plastering was formerly covered. Then there is the wide fireplace, with its cozy chimney corners and supporting beams, where the wood fires must have often crackled and blazed on the ample hearth. On the opposite side of the passage is the parlour, also ceiled with strong beams of timber, and a huge fire place with recesses on either side. Initials of the Hathaways, who long continued to reside here, appear on the bacon cupboard, on the left of the fireplace, and on an old table; but they are of a later period than Shakespeare's visitations. In the room above the parlour, an old carved bedstead, of the Elizabethan period, is still shown, handed down as a heirloom with the house, it is stated; and this may probably be the case. There is also an old chest, with some homespun linen preserved in it, marked E. H.

Mr. James Bruton, the eminent author and singer of songs and ballads, a " Warwickshire Lad," and one

justly proud of the distinction, presented the compiler with the following verses, written in Anne Hathaway's garden, September 18th, 1853.

I wandered by the hedge-row way,
O'er meadow, brook, and stile,
From Stratford town one sabbath day,
To Shottery-a mile!

I thought, whilst pacing its green sod,
It was the same that Shakespeare trod,
And such a wild thrill o'er me came
That shook to trembling all my frame.

Three quaint old houses mark'd the spot,
Just from the road-side way,

I found the middle one, the cot
Of Will's Anne Hathaway.

Two crumbling roots of oak trees stand
Outside the door, for seats they're planned,
I thought, if they could speak, how they
Might tell what they'd heard Shakespeare say.

I hasten'd up the creaking stair,
Anne's sleeping room to view;

I saw the oak carv'd bedstead there,
Her home-spun linen, too.

The huge wall-beams scarce touch'd by time,
That held thee, Shakespeare, in thy prime,
Seem'd grasping, with their giant thews,
A relic which they ne'er would lose.

Where Anne and Willie sat,

In summer evenings, fair and cool,

In fond and loving, chat.

The well I drank from, and it seem'd

As deep, bright, pure, its water gleam'd,
Like his own mind of fadeless youth,
A well of everlasting truth.

It was a fair September day
I pac'd the garden round,
But saw no flower in all my way
On tree, or bush, or ground;
Yes, one Sweet William* did I trace,

But one, the last of all his race.

So Shakespeare, thou, when all are gone,

The world's Sweet William shalt bloom on!

* A singular fact.