"The man is gone suddenly as he came," said he, "and we are not wise to remain longer in this place. Come," he continued, as Walter remained looking in the direction his sometime friend had taken, "let us on, and endeavour to catch our horses. We may be met again in this dark pass, and, by my fay, it is not every night in the week a man meets with a—let me see—How called ye this friend in need?"
"Shakespeare," said Arderne, whilst he still lingered in the hope of catching another glimpse of his deliverer—"William Shakespeare."
"Ah, Shakespeare!" said the blunt Fluellyn, sheathing his rapier. "Truly so; but come on, a' God's name, I say; for 'tis not every wood at midnight that can produce a Shakespeare."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
OLD LONDON.
Our scene shifts now from the pleasant fields and sylvan retreats in which we have so long lingered, and changes to the great metropolis of England—London, in the olden time—a vastly different place, as our readers are doubtless well aware, both in size and aspect, from the same metropolis of the present day; since three parts of that which is now crowded with houses, intersected with streets and squares, and crammed with an overwhelming population, was then the haunt of the deer, the form of the hare, the park, the thicket, and the chace.
It is curious to imagine the appearance of this metropolis in Elizabeth's day. Its peculiar houses, with their sloping roofs and beetling stories, its narrow thoroughfares, and the variety of antique buildings, which still remained to tell the tale of former reigns, altogether producing a picturesque and beautiful effect, such as our readers have doubtless often dwelt on with pleasure in the old paintings of the time. Added also to the peculiar architectural beauty of that day, many of the better sort of edifices being detached, surrounded with tall trees, and standing within the rounding of their own gardens, presented a delicious and bowery appearance ere the very interior of the city was reached. The silver Thames, too, at this period, still flowed for the most part through green banks, until its tide passed the dark gates of the Tower, when for a small space the buildings were reared one upon another, as if they had apparently been thrust forward from the more crowded parts, and only hindered from toppling into the stream by the piles and heavy timbers of the crushed-up cabins underneath.
Thus the whole together, seen from the water, with their diamond-paned bay-windows encroaching over the stream, looked like the bulk-heads of innumerable vessels crammed and cast in confusion along the margin of the river.
After passing this crowded mass, however, and which, in Elizabeth's reign, stretched out for a short distance, the eye of the passenger was again relieved by edifices both of a noble appearance, and by no means stinted to space, the banks even at this part of the river occasionally displaying a verdant appearance, and such buildings standing in their own proper grounds. For instance, the very important hostel of the Three Cranes, with its porch, its huge chimneys, and its ample rooms, was reared upon the grassy bank, its deep bay-windows looking out upon the stream. The frowning towers and dark water-gate of Barnard's Castle next appeared. Then came the ominous-looking tower of Bridewell. A few strokes of the oar, and the pleasant gardens of the White Friars met the eye. Then came the Temple Gardens, and after them the pile of buildings, with battlement and strong tower, called the Sanoye; after that, amongst many other important edifices, were to be seen the castellated towers of Duresme Place, York Place, the Courts, the Starre Chamber, Westminster Hall, with a sort of pier running out from the open court in front, and the Parliament House; then came the huge Abbey of Westminster, not as now, choked up by encroaching squalor, but standing in its magnificence in the midst of verdant meadows; and lastly came the Queen's Bridge.