At old Hathaway's re-appearance amongst the circle, all were set to work to clear up the apartment, put it to rights, and prepare for the breakfast it was customary to partake of before the company finally broke up. The first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to appear as they departed. The snow-storm had cleared up, the diamond panes of the windows were fretted with frozen crystals, and as old Hathaway threw open the door and looked forth, the trees in the orchard were heaving with congealed snow, the ground was covered with the same white sheet, icicles hung in clusters from the roofs of the outhouses, and all around was softened and rounded by one white feathery crust. In short, it was one of those delicious winter mornings so often seen after a driving dreary and tempestuous night,——a morning in which the old world look of the buildings and barns around, seen in the clear wintry air, and the while flaky look of the country, gives so delightful an aspect to a rural hamlet.
Old Hyems seems then to smile as benignantly as he can,——to have smoothed the icy furrows of his brow, and consented to give to human mortals a slight respite, ere he fetches from the frozen bosom of the north more cutting blasts and angry winds.
"Then icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick, the shepherd, blows his nail,
Then Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail.
When blood is nipp'd, and ways are foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot."
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SUITOR.
The confession of the dying priest will doubtless recall to our readers the state of England at this period. Matters indeed were fast hastening towards that great event of Elizabeth's reign, which, for its mighty import, and the magnificence of its preparation, is, perhaps, without a parallel in the history of the country. The minds of men indeed were at this time fully impressed with the certainty of some great and terrible convulsion being at hand. It seemed that a fearful storm was surely and slowly gathering above their heads, and which, sooner or later, was to burst upon the land like some torrent breaking bounds. There was no occasion for men to ask each other from whence this ruin was to come. The great enemy of the country,—the haughty, vindictive, and cruel foe of England at this period, was the iron-hearted bigot of Spain: and upon Spain were the eyes of all men turned with apprehension. 'Twas the general theme of conversation, the all-absorbing topic of the day; and torture, murder, and every sort of evil that fiends could inflict upon the inhabitants of a conquered country was to be expected, should a successful invasion take place. Yes; Spain was then the bugbear of nearly every Englishman's fire-side. One or two startling events, however, which made men "whisper one another in the ear," were to take place, ere this grand convulsion shook the nation; and yet, amidst the anxieties consequent upon such a state of things, it is curious how mankind continue the even tenor of their lives.
The twelfth-tide revel at Shottery had introduced young Shakespeare to some new acquaintance in that place. Amidst the youths he had met there, he found one or two lads of spirit; and, as he bent his steps across the fields towards the village, he would fain have persuaded himself that it was to renew his acquaintance with them that he had set forth. Ere he had reached the village, however, he felt obliged to confess that the real desire of his heart was neither for the companionship of the lads of the village, nor to learn tidings of the wounded priest, but really and truly to see again and hold converse with the handsome Anne.
"Oh heaven, were man but constant
He were perfect. That one error
Fills him with faults."
Mortals indeed are prone to error; and he whom we reverence as the greatest of men, was no more secure from the failings the flesh in heir to than his fellows. In truth, the youthful Shakespeare was again in love.