ing, solid but slow in his performances. Shakespeare, with the English man of war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.”

The following anecdote, preserved by Malone, will serve to show the habits of close intimacy in which these great and amiable men lived. In the serious business of life, rivals, and even enemies, are often obliged to associate, but when we find men seeking each other in the season of relaxation, and mingling thoughts in their sportive humors, we may safely pronounce them to be friends. An amicable dispute arose concerning the motto of the Globe Theatre, "Totus mundus agit histrionem," (all the world acts a play); some condemned it as unmeaning, others declared it to be a fine piece of sententious wisdom. Jonson, being asked for his opinion, wrote on a scrap of paper,

"If but stage actors all the world displays,

Where shall we find spectators of their plays?"

Shakespeare smiled, and taking the pen, set down these lines under Ben's couplet :

"I ittle or much of what we see we do,

We're all both actors and spectators too."

All this may be called trifling, but even trifles become interesting when connected with a Jonson and a Shakespeare.

Mr. Gifford has triumphantly proved that the once generally received opinion of Jonson's malignant feelings toward his friend and benefactor is void of the slightest foundation in fact; on the contrary, we are justified in believing that the author of Sejanus was, on all occasions, ready to admit the wonderful merit of his less learned, but more highly-gifted contemporary.

His lines under Shakespeare's effigy breathe the warmest spirit of reverence and love :

"The figure that thou here seest put,

It was for gentle Shakspeare cut;
Wherein the graver had a strife
With nature to outdo the life.

O could he but have drawne his wit
As well in brass as he hath hit

His face, the print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in brass;
But since he cannot, reader, looke
Not on his picture but his booke."

Queen Elizabeth used sometimes to sit behind the scenes, while her favorite plays were performing. One evening, Shakespeare enacted the part of a monarch. (probably, in Henry IV.). The audience knew that her majesty was present. She crossed the stage while Shakespeare was acting, and being loudly greeted by the spectators, courtesied politely to the poet, who took no notice of her condescension. When behind the scenes, she caught his eye and moved again, but still he would not throw off his character to pay her any attention. This made her majesty think of some means to know whether she could induce him to forget the dignity of his character while on the stage. Accordingly, as he was about to make his exit, she stepped before him, dropped her glove, and recrossed the stage, which Shakespeare noticing, took it up with these words, so immediately after finishing his speech that they seemed to belong to it :

"And though now bent on this high embassy,

Yet stoop we to take up our cousin's glove."

He then withdrew from the stage and presented the glove to the queen, who was much pleased with his behavior, and complimented him on its propriety.

One evening, Burbage performed Richard III., and while behind the scenes, Shakespeare overheard him making an assignation with a lady of considerable beauty. Burbage was to knock at her chamber-door; she was to say, "Who comes there?" and on receiving for answer, “'Tis I, Richard the Third," the favored tragedian was to be admitted. Shakespeare instantly determined to keep the appointment himself. Tapping at the lady's door, he made the expected response to her interrogatory, and gained admittance. The poet's eloquence soon converted the fair one's anger into satisfaction. But the real Simon Pure quickly arrived; he rapped loudly, and to the expected query replied, "Tis "Tis I, Richard the Third." "Then," quoth Shakespeare," go thy ways, Burby, for thou knowest that William the Conqueror reigned before Richard the Third."

Rowe says: "The latter part of his life was spent, as all men of good sense would wish theirs may be, in ease, retirement, and the conversation of his friends. His pleasurable wit and good-nature engaged him in the acquaintance and entitled him to the friendship of the gentlemen of the neighborhood," and in the words of Dr. Drake, "he was high in reputation as a poet, favored by the great and accomplished, and beloved by all who knew him." Nothing can be more delightful than to contemplate this wonderful man, in the vigor of his age, and in the full possession of his amazing faculties, retiring from the scene of his wellearned triumphs, to find in the comparative seclusion of his native town that repose and quietude, both in mind and body, which is not to be looked for in the bustle of the world. And if he, whose glory was to fill the universe and whose pursuits (if anything connected

with time can be) were worthy of an immortal soul, could pant for retirement in the meridian of his days, what excuse have they who, in senectitude and feebleness, continue to toil among the molehills of earth for a little perishable gold, for which they have no use when they have obtained it?

Shakespeare retired from the metropolis at a period little past the prime of life. We meet with no hint of any failure in his constitution, and the execution of his will, in "perfect health and memory," on the 25th of March, 1616, warrants no immediate expectation of his decease. The curtain was now to fall, however, on this earthly stage of existence. He died on the 23d of April, the anniversary of his birth, having exactly completed his fifty-second year. On the 25th, two days after his death, his body was laid in its original dust, being buried under the north side of the chancel of the great church of Stratford. A flat stone, protecting all that was perishable of the remains of Shakespeare, bears this inscription:

"Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare

To digg the dust enclosed here:

Bless'd be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones."

The common opinion is that these lines were written by the poet himself, but this notion has, perhaps, originated solely from the use of the word "my" in the closing line. "The imprecation," says Malone, was probably suggested by an apprehension "that our author's remains might share the same fate with those of the rest of his countrymen, and be added to the immense pile of human bones deposited in Stratford charnel-house."

We shall now give a brief abstract of Shakespeare's

will, which is yet extant in the Prerogative Office. It bears date, March 25th, 1616, and commences with the following paragraphs:

"In the name of God, amen. I, William Shakespeare, at Stratford-upon-Avon, in the County of Warwick, gent., in perfect health and memory, (God be praised!) do make and ordain this my last will and testament in manner and form following: that is to say: "First, I commend my soul into the hands of God my Creator, hoping, and assuredly believing, through the only merits of Jesus Christ, my Saviour, to be made partaker of life everlasting; and my body to the earth whereof it is made."

It then proceeds to make the bequests enumerated below:

To his daughter Judith he gave £150 of lawful English money; £100 to be paid in discharge of her marriage portion within one year after his decease, and the remaining £50 upon her giving up to her elder sister, Susanna Hall, all her right in a copyhold tenement and appurtenances, parcel of the Manor of Rowington. To the said Judith he also bequeathed £150 more, if she or any of her issue were living three years from the date of his will; but in the contrary event, then he directed that £100 of the sum should be paid to his niece, Elizabeth Hall, and the proceeds of the £50 to his sister Joan, or Jone, Hart, for life, with residue to her children. He further gave to the said Judith a broad silver-gilt bowl. To his sister Joan, besides the contingent bequest above mentioned, he gave £20 and all his wearing apparel; also the house in Stratford, in which she was to reside for her natural life, under the yearly rent of twelve pence. To her three sons, William Hart, Hart, and Michael Hart, he gave 5.