"Neither would I think of changing, father," returned the son, "did I think that, by remaining in the law, I could help you or advance myself. But believe me, so opposite is the dull routine of the desk, so abhorrent to my soul is the craft of a lawyer, that rather than follow such a calling I would take the sword my grandsire won at Bosworth, and seek a livelihood in any place where men cut throats in the way of profession. Those were sad times, father, but they were stirring times, those days of York and Lancaster, when—
"Trenching war channell'd our fields,
And bruised our flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces."
As the youth uttered this with something of a theatrical air, and giving the words great force by his utterance, his father looked at him with considerable curiosity. "Now, by my halidame," he said, "I cannot half fathom thee, William. Truly thou art a riddle to make out. Seeming fit for nothing, and yet good at all things. I would I knew, in good sooth, what to put thee to."
The lad smiled. "Nay," he said, "I must not be undutiful towards one so good. I will then continue to try and please this godless lawyer till something better turns up. And now I must tell thee I have made a friend of one well known to thee, and who is willing to serve us in requital for some little service he hath received at my hands."
"Of whom dost thou speak, William?" inquired the father.
"Of Sir Hugh Clopton," returned the youth.
"Nay, and thou hast made friends of Sir Hugh and his family," said John Shakespeare, "thou hast done thyself good service, and, mayhap, he may advance thee in life: though what he will find thee fit for, William, I wot not."
"Truly, father," said William, "I confess myself but a tattered prodigal, only fitted to eat draff and husks. Nevertheless, an thou wilt but admit me, I would fain join these hungry varlets at their evening meal, and beg a blessing of my honoured mother, whose sweet face I have scarce looked at these two days past."
"Well, come thy ways in, thou scoffer," said John Shakespeare, good-naturedly. "I defy the evil one to be angry with such a madcap as thou art."
So saying, Master John Shakespeare turned and entered the house, his eldest son following with all his little brothers and sisters clinging to him—one upon his back, another in his arms, and the remainder pulling at the skirts of his coarse gray doublet.
To picture the private hours of the great is a difficult, as well as a thankless, task we opine, since oft-times more is expected than is in reality to be found; and our readers will scarce be contented to find the youthful Shakespeare—in all the freedom, amiability, and kindness of his disposition—the great, the illustrious, the unmatchable—the mere playmate of his little brothers and sisters, and, whilst sitting beneath the huge chimney in that small dark room, as he watches the preparation for the evening meal, engaged in a joyous game of romps.
Yet such is the case. The gentle William, despite the greatness of his spirit and the waywardness of his disposition, which seems inclined to settle to nothing, is the darling of that home circle, the joy of his brothers and sisters, and, when at home, entering into all their little amusements and pastimes with heart and hand—nay, their nurse when sick, and even assisting his mother oft-times in her little attentions towards them—ere he himself, in all "the unyoked humour of his idleness," sallies out to join his youthful associates of the town.
Our readers will, therefore, not be surprised to find that great mind, which in a single line could send a thrill through the soul of his readers, intent upon an infantine game in the "ingle neuk."
The pecuniary difficulties John Shakespeare had hinted at to his son were consequent upon his having maintained a somewhat "more swelling port than his faint means would grant continuance." No man in Stratford was better thought of or more respected than neighbour Shakespeare. There was something about him so well bred and so superior to his station in life, that he bore with him a degree of influence seldom granted except to rank and fortune.
The chief magistrate of the body corporate of Stratford was in the early charters called the high bailiff. This office Master John Shakespeare had filled some few years previous to the date of our story, and the execution of such office had led him into expenses which he had since in vain tried to abridge. "To some men, their virtues stand them but as enemies," and thus the good and companionable qualities of Master Shakespeare, notwithstanding his domestic habits, were so greatly esteemed that his hospitality was taxed accordingly, and his hearth seldom unhonoured by guests after business hours. Nay, at no hour was the little back parlour of his house entirely free from the gossiping neighbour who came down to talk over the politics of the town, or discuss the latest floating rumour of the stirring events of Elizabeth's reign.
Newspaper intelligence, we have said, there was none at this period, and, in the absence of such a vehicle for information, men's mouths were filled with any stirring tidings, and they donned their castors and hurried about in a country town, stuffing each other's ears with false reports, and frightening the place from its propriety when any event of particular import happened.
"From Rumour's tongues
They brought smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs."
"Heard ye the news, neighbour Shakespeare?" said Master Doubletongue the mercer, entering the small parlour we have attempted to describe, and joining the family circle. "Heard ye the news to-night?"
"Good or bad be it?" said John Shakespeare smiling, "it would have been curious news an it had travelled hither before you brought it, neighbour Doubletongue. Come, sit, man, sit, fill your cup and give us your news. What! hath Dame Illwill been brought to bed of twins, or how goes the story?"
"Nay, neighbour," returned Doubletongue, who was one of the veriest scandal-mongers in Stratford, "Dame Illwill hath not produced twins, neither do I think she will produce the half of twins. By the same token, I heard the Leech say, 'twas after all but a dropsy that had caused all this scandal in her disfavour. But body o'me, heard ye not the news just now brought to town?"
"That Dame Illwill's affair is likely to end in a bottle of smoke? why, man, thou hast just told us as much."
"Ah," said Doubletongue, taking off his cap like one who found he had in him wherewithal to interest his auditor, "then I see you have not heard the news. Ergo, the news is mine to give."
"Then I take it, neighbour," said John Shakespeare, "there are but two ways, either to give or to retain it. Come, another cup will perhaps help its deliverance."
"Nay," said Doubletongue, who but half relished the lack of excitement his intended communication seemed to make, "you will scarce keep the native colour in your cheek, neighbour, when I do tell ye what's afloat to-night. The affair, then, gossips, is thus——"
"Whose affair?" interrupted John Shakespeare, "not the one you just now spoke of?"
"Did I hint anything?" inquired Doubletongue.
"About a certain female you did," said John Shakespeare.
"Of illustrious rank?" said Doubletongue. "Why, then you have heard?"
"We have heard what you have just told us," said John Shakespeare.
"The news?"
"The news."
"What! of Queen Elizabeth?"
"Nay, Heaven forbid we should sit to hear such words uttered about our gracious Queen," said John Shakespeare with much solemnity. "'Tis even dangerous to breathe such a scandal in such a quarter."
"Then of whom were we speaking?" said Doubletongue. "I gave no news. I have none to give out concerning our gracious——"
"Of Dame Illwill, I thought you spoke?" said John Shakespeare.
"Dame Illwill," said Doubletongue, contemptuously, "who cares about Dame Illwill? and who, think ye, neighbour, would trouble themselves to stab her?"
"Stab