be heard above the other; "I want no such person. I seek one William Shakspeare, a convicted deerstealer, who married John Hathaway's daughter."

At this the lame one cast an exceeding long face, rubbed his knuckles against his eyes, and turned away very pitifully; and the others did just the

same.

"What hath become of him, I say?" cried the knight, more imperatively, not exactly knowing what to make of these demonstrations.

"An' it please your worship," cried freckled face, blubbering as if his heart was a breaking, "no man can help it. I would he had lived longer, perchance he might have been all the older for it.”.

"Is he dead indeed, now fellow?" enquired the old knight, looking somewhat confounded at this unexpected news.

"An' it please you, I heard he made so fine an end, it was better than a sermon at fast days," observed another, as woeful as his companion.

"Who's that laughing?" exclaimed Sir Thomas, very sharply; "there's some one behind the rick. Bring him here! Body o' me, I'll teach the unmannerly knave better behaviour." The constables hurried behind the rick, but not the slightest sign of any one was there. This put his worship into a rage. He had certainly heard somebody, and felt a monstrous inclination to punish a person guilty of treating him with so little respect. One

of the men thought it was an owl, another took it to be a bat, and a third assured his worship it was only the old sow, who, on an occasion, could grunt in a way marvellous like unto laughing. The justice did not appear to be perfectly satisfied with these explanations; but, after questioning the men some short time longer, and getting from them no greater intelligence, he found himself forced to turn away no wiser than he came. Threatening them all with the terriblest punishments, if he discovered they had told him falsely, the old knight retraced his steps, resolving to see his intelligencer again, and examine him strictly on the correctness of his information, of the which he now entertained some doubts.

"Take heed of the dog, an' it please your worship,” cried one of the hay-makers, doubtless with most benevolent intentions; but unfortunately, he gave the caution a moment too late, for as the justice was picking his way carefully along, a dog rushed out of a kennel close upon him, and gave him so smart a bite in the leg, that he roared again. The youthful Shakspeare peeped from his hiding place at hearing this noise, and had the satisfaction of seeing the old knight hopping along the yard at the top of his speed, furiously pursued by a flock of noisy geese and turkeys, who seemed quite as much inclined for a bite of his legs as the dog had been. His little army did not make their retreat in a

much more orderly manner, for the house-dog flew at them as they passed his kennel, and the turkeys and geese pursued them when they crossed the yard. His worship was more hurt by the shouts of laughter which followed his undignified exit, than he had been by the bite he had received, but oh more unpalatable than all!-as he was returning home in a most horrible humour, what should he hear, but a parcel of little children singing the offensive ballad writ upon him, as loud as they could bawl it. His wrath was too great for utterance. He felt he could have hanged every little rogue of them all; but resolved to go to town, and complain to the privy council how infamously he had been used.

After well abusing the constables, and every one else that came within his reach, he sought the unhappy Mabel, and poured out the remainder of his rage upon her; swearing she should marry his friend's servant and no other, and bidding her prepare herself for doing so within a month at least, as he was determined it should then take place. The poor foundling too well knew the character of her companion to attempt to parley with him on the subject. It was manifest her villainous persecutors would not let her rest whilst there remained the slightest chance of their getting her into their power; and having the positive and unsuspicious knight, and his most obedient lady to assist them,

they fully persuaded themselves their success was certain. The only bar seemed be lie in the disinclination of her affianced husband to be an agent in the business; but at last, the bribes he was offered appeared to stifle his conscience, and he promised to carry on the matter to its conclusion.

CHAPTER XIII.

Not a word spake he more than was nede,
And that was said in forme and reverence,
And short and quike, and full of high sentence.
Souning in moral vertue was his speche,
And gladly wold he learn, and gladly teche.

There is no man

Whose wisdom can
Reforme a wylfull wyffe,

But only God,

Who made the rod,

For our unthryfty liffe,

Kath. What our destinies

CHAUCER.

OLD SONG.

Have ruled out in their books we must not search,

But kneel to.

War. Then to fear when hope is fruitless,

Were to be desperately miserable;

Which poverty our greatness does not dream of,

And, much more, scorns to stoop to; some few minutes
Remain yet, let's be thrifty in our hopes.

TIME passed on, and in husband was made a father.

FORD.

due time the young This occurrence gave

his feelings a new impulse. A youth of nineteen, possessed of such deep sympathies, and so ready to indulge them on all natural objects as was the youthful Shakspeare, on such an occasion must needs experience a most choice and exquisite grati