It is always interesting to read of the habitudes of authors—of paper-saving Pope scribbling his "Iliad" on the backs of old correspondence, of Spenser by his fireside in his library at Kilcolman Castle, of Scott among his dogs, of Gibbon biting at the peaches that hung on the trees in his garden at Lausanne, of Schiller declaiming by mountain brook-sides and in forest paths, of Goldsmith in his garrets and his jails. Even of Chaucer, dead and buried before Shakespeare saw the light, we read of his studies at Cambridge, his call to the bar, and his chambers in the Middle Temple. But of William Shakespeare—after ransacking tradition, gossip, and the record—save and except the statement of Ben Jonson how he had heard the actor's anecdote about his never blotting his lines—not a word, not a breath, can be found to connect him with, or surprise him in any agency or employment as to the composition of the plays we insist upon calling his—much less to the possession of a single book! Did William Shakespeare own a library? Had we found this massive draught upon antiquity in the remains of an immortal Milton or a mortal Tupper, or in all the range of letters between, we should not have failed to presume a library. Why should we believe that William Shakespeare needed none?—that, as his pen ran, he never paused to lift volume from the shelf to refresh or verify his marvelously retentive recollection? There was no Astor or Mercantile Library around the corner from the Globe or the Blackfriars, in those days. And, as for his own possessions, he leaves in his Will no hint of book or library, much less of the literature the booksellers had taken the liberty of christening with his name! Where is the scholar who glories not in his scholarship? By universal testimony, the highest pleasure which an author draws from his own completed work, the pride of the poet in his own poem, is their chiefest payment. The simple fact—which stands out so prominently in the life of this man that nobody can gainsay it—that William Shakespeare took neither pride nor pleasure in any of the works which passed current with the rest of the world as his, might well make the most casual student of those days suspicious of a claim that, among his other accomplishments, William Shakespeare was an author at all.

Just here we are referred to a passage in Fuller's "Worthies:"

"Many were the wit combats," says Fuller, "between Shakespeare and Ben Jonson;... I beheld them," etc. But Fuller was only eight years old when Shakespeare died, and possibly spoke from hearsay, as it is hardly probable that an infant of such tender years was permitted to spend his nights in "The Mermaid." Besides, these "wit combats" at "The Mermaid" are now said to be "wet combats," i. e. drinking-bouts, by a long-adopted misprint.

As a matter of fact, unless we are misled by a typographical error in the edition before us, * what Fuller did actually say was, not "wit combats," but "wet combats." But even if they were "wit combats," and not friendly contests at ale-guzzling, like the early tournament at "Piping Pebworth" and "Drunken Bidford," the "wit" could not have been colossal, if we may judge from one example preserved in the Ashmolean manuscripts at Oxford, as stated by Capell. "Ben" (Jonson) and "Bill"' (Shakespeare) propose a joint epitaph.

* The History of the Worthies of England. Endeavored by
Thomas Fuller, D.D. Two volumes. (First printed in 1622.) A
new edition, with a few Explanatory Notes by John Nichols,
F. A.S. London, Edinburgh, and Perth. Printed for F. C. & J.
Rivington and others. The reference to William Shakespeare
is at page 414 of volume II., and is as follows:
"WARWICKSHIRE
"WRITERS SINCE THE REFORMATION.
"William Shakespeare was born at Stratford-on-Avon, in this
county, in whom three eminent Poets may seem in some sort to
be compounded. 1. Martial in the warlike sound of his
surname (whence some may conjecture him of a military
extraction), Hasli-vibrans or Shake-speare. 2. Ovid, the
most naturall and witty of Poets; and hence it was that
Queen Elizabeth, coming into a grammar school, made this
extemporary verse—
"Persius a Crab-Staffe, Bawdy Martial, Ovid a fine Wag.
"3. Plautus who was an exact Commedian, yet never any
Scholar, as one Shakespeare (if alive) would confess
himself. Adde to all these that, though his genius generally
was jocular, and inclining him to festivity, yet he could
(when so disposed) be solemn and serious, as appears by his
Tragedies; so that Heraclitus himself (I mean if secret and
unseen) might afford to smile at his Comedies, they were so
merry; and Democritus scarce forbear to sigh at his
tragedies, they were so mournfull.
"He was an eminent instance of the truth of that Rule, Poeta
non fit sed nascitur, 'One is not made but born a poet.'
Indeed, his learning was very little, so that as Cornish
diamonds are not polished by any lapidary, but are pointed
and smoothed even as they are taken out of the earth, so
nature itself was all the Art which was used upon him. Many
were the wet-combates betwixt him and Ben Jonson; which two
I beheld like a Spanish great gallion and an English man of
war, lesser in bulk but lighter in sailing, could turn with
all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by
the quickness of his wit and invention. He died Anno
Domini... and was buried at Stratford-upon-Avon, the town of
his nativity."

Ben begins:

"Here lies Ben Jonson,

Who was once one—"

Shakespeare concludes:

"That while he lived, was a slow thing,