"And how would you speak of those in commission with him?" inquired Cramboy, "To begin with Essex, what think you of him?"
"As of one better to be led than to lead. Essex is a brave boy doubtless, and a clever, but then he is rash, headstrong, and unweighing. Curb him never so little and he flings up in your teeth. Give him his head and he knocks out his own brains."
"What of Lords Audley and North?"
"Put into the scale against the other one and their weight will about weigh against his lightness. Ergo, the three together are as naught."
"And how say ye to Sir William Russell?"
"But so so. Marry a good blade and a stout man, a proper fellow of his hands. But for brains the accompt is very minute indeed."
"How of Sir Arthur Basset?"
"As of one fitter to feat in a couranto, at court, than trail a pike in the Low Countries."
"Nay, then, 'tis vain to say more," said Cramboy, "since of the whole five hundred in my Lord of Leicester's troops I dare be sworn, in thy opinion, there is not one fit to wield a rapier or poise a caliver."
"Thou hast again said it, neighbour, and not I," returned Teazle. "Though in sooth, an I had, I had not been far out."
"'Tis well then," said Cramboy, "that in maritime affairs a better selection hath been made. Heard ye, my masters all, that Sir Francis Drake hath been appointed Admiral, with a fleet of twenty sail and two thousand three hundred volunteers, besides seamen to serve in it? They have already sailed for the West Indies against the Spaniards. How like ye that piece of news?"
"That likes me somewhat better," said Teazle, "and I can venture to predict some good to accrue therefrom. Drake is the man to make the settlements smoke for it. He will burn, sack, and destroy all along the Spanish main, whilst the other will but make a sort of harnessed masque through the Low Countries. Such is my poor opinion, and time will prove in how much it is correct. So fill a cup to Sir Francis Drake, another for our gracious Queen, and one more for Stratford town. Huzza! huzza! huzza!"
After this loyal outbreak there was a short pause. This was at last broken by neighbour Dismal, who (albeit he drank his quantum at these meetings) seldom spoke much, and when he did so generally threw a gloom over the whole assemblage. He always had, however, his one say, which was a sort of concentration of the worst piece of news he could collect for the nonce. And as he was a man of undoubted veracity, unless he was pretty well assured of the truth of what he uttered, he never uttered it at all.
This usually gave his one wisdom a most startling air of gloom and horror, and when he rose to speak, or even coughed his preliminary ahem, he was honoured by the most startling silence. On the present occasion he prepared to broach the subject matter with peculiar solemnity, actually rising from his seat, and, as he steadied himself with both hands upon the table, delivering himself, somewhat after the following lively fashion.
"Neighbours all," he said, "I have listened to the discussion of the foregoing matter with considerable interest. Our good neighbour, Teazle, hath handled the subject of the proposed expedition in very able style. He hath been replied to quite as cleverly by my learned and worthy Fellow-townsman, Cramboy. Such discussions are, however, at the present moment, methinks, better left to those whom they most concern, inasmuch as subjects of nearer interest to ourselves, it doth appear to me, more nearly concern ourselves. Neighbours, I know I have been accused of being a kill joy, a melancholy man. Some call me Goodman Death: and the little boys hoot at me, as I walk at night, and say, 'There goeth Goodman Bones.' Nevertheless, I have been merry twice or once ere now. I was merry on the day I married Mistress Dismal, and I was merry the day I buried her. I was also merry when my father died, and left me in possession of his business. But I cannot say I am merry just at this time. Neighbours and jovial friends, I will conclude my speech briefly and heartily. By the same token, I wish you all your healths, and, at the same time, hope we may some of us meet here again next week well and happy. How far we are likely to do so is another matter, and of that you will be better able to judge when I tell you that The Plague is in Stratford-upon-Avon at the present moment!"
CHAPTER X.
THE CHURCHYARD OF STRATFORD-UPON-AVON.
After young Shakespeare had safely deposited Goodman Doubletongue at his own door, and left him in charge of the good housewife, he turned his steps towards the Falcon, with the intent of rejoining his father there, and hearing the news of the town; for the son and sire were upon the delightful terms we sometimes, though not often, may observe between parent and child.
In both the elements of high character were so mixed that there could be no drawback to their love: they were more like companions of the same age than father and son. The same tastes, the same pursuits, the same high spirit and honourable feelings pervaded both.
Certes, the mind of one was of a far more extraordinary character than that of the other, but that in no degree lessened the feeling of respect and love young Shakespeare felt for his father, and that father's example and influence helped to form the man.
Always the creature of impulse, the youth, after conveying Master Doubletongue home, as he neared the Falcon, suddenly resolved to turn his steps in another direction; and, in place of listening, in the hot sanded parlour of the hostel, to the discussions of the Stratford wise-acres, whilst he felt the influence of the balmy breeze of night upon his cheek, he passed the hostel and strolled towards the outskirts of the town. He felt indeed that the hour was more fitted for communion with his own thoughts than listening to the ridiculous dogmas and politics of the goodly fellowship of the Falcon.
Since his visit to Clopton a new scene had opened to him, and his feelings had become somewhat changed. He had beheld, nay, become intimately acquainted with a being of a superior order to any he had yet met with, and in the lovely and amiable Charlotte Clopton he had found that perfect specimen of female excellence which his imagination had, even at this early period of his life, loved to picture. Nay, perhaps, had he not in youth thus beheld some such bright excellence—some such reality of his conceptions—we might have wanted those delineations of grace and purity, those fairest flowers of perfect excellence—the Viola, Miranda, Desdemona, Juliet, and the sweetest Imogene of his maturer years.
To see and to feel the influence of companionship even for a couple of days with the fair Charlotte, so soft in manner, so fair in form and feature, so anxious to express her feelings of gratitude for service rendered, and not to love her, was impossible. And during his visit the bright face of the young lad might have been observed beaming with admiration and affectionate regard upon Charlotte as she sang and accompanied herself upon the spinnet, and which, had it been noticed by her betrothed, might have perhaps caused some sparks of jealousy and uneasiness.
It was lucky, however, in young Shakespeare's case, that the great mind of the youth came to his aid in this situation, and whilst in company with her of whom even a previous glance had called forth his admiration. During his visit he had also comprehended the politics of the family he was introduced amongst. He beheld the thorough gentleman, the confiding honourable old cavalier, the knight sans peur et sans reproche, in Sir Hugh Clopton. He saw the youthful esquire, the lusty bachelor, the free open-hearted, brave, and devoted servant, the lover, whose whole soul and every thought were upon his fair mistress, in Walter Arderne; whilst in that cunningest pattern of excelling nature, the lovely Charlotte, he saw one far removed from his own sphere of life. So much so, indeed, that "it were