I was detained at Stratford nearly two hours, and endeavoured to see
whatever I could, in so short a time, relative to Shakspeare. The clean,
quiet, _uncommercial_ appearance of the town pleased me; but I was
interested beyond expression on seeing the great poet's house. When I
entered the untenanted room where he first drew the breath of this
world, I took off my hat with, I hope, an unaffected sentiment of
homage. The walls and ceiling of this chamber are covered with names and
votive inscriptions, among which I saw the signatures of Sir Walter
Scott, Mr. Lockhaft, Washington Irving, and many others familiar to me,
foreigners as well as English. I did not sign _my_ name, for I felt
that it had no right in such a place; but I brought away a minute relic,
in the shape of a bit of rotten wood, pinched from the beam that
supports the chimney.
From the birth-place of the illustrious man, I found my way to his
corpse-place; and never had I beheld so beautiful and venerable a
church, or so tranquil and lovely a spot. The approach to the edifice,
which is situated at some distance from the town, upon the banks of the
fresh and murmuring Avon, is through an avenue of lime-trees, the
branches of which are interlaced _archwise_, as Lord Bacon would
say, so as to form a green canopy of some length. The scenery is not
what is called _romantic_, but soft and quiet, and calculated,
above all things, to surround the tomb of the genial poet of human
nature.
I was determined to get into the church, though it was so early; and,
accordingly, after a little trouble, I found out the sexton, a fine old
fellow, with a Saxon name, who was munching his breakfast in a large
old-fashioned room with latticed casements, half kitchen and half
parlour. But he was too busy with his meal to be disturbed; and
accordingly he sent his wife with me to open the church, and I believe
our footsteps were the first which had that morning disturbed the holy
silence of the place. The building is very fine, and even stately; but
the interest connected with Shakspeare absorbs all other feelings, and
monopolizes one's admiration. I stood under his monument, on the very
stone of his grave. * * *
_Ibid._
* * * * *