"Our distinguished poet-townsman, Shakespyr, accompanied us on an angling last Thursday, and ye editor returned well-laden with spoils. Two-score trouts and a multitude of dace and chubs were taken. Spending the night at the Rose and Crown, we were hospitably entertained by Jerry Sellars and his estimable lady, who have recently added a buttery to their hostelry, and otherwise adorned the premises. Over our brew in the evening the poet regaled us with reminiscences of life in London, and recited certain passages from his melancholy history of Hamlet, prince of Denmark, the same being a new and full mournful tragedic of mightie excellence."—The Tidings, May 13th, 1600.
In the London News-Letter, September 6th, 1600, there occurred this personal notice: "At the Sweet Briar coffee-house Mr. A. Wilwhite, from Stratford-on-Avon, sojourneth as the guest of William Shack-speyr, player." About the same time Ben Jonson wrote to Dick Craven at Canterbury: "Andrew Wilwhite hath been with us amid great cheer and merriment, the same being that he saith he was the one that discovered our master, Will Shackpur, and that I do for a verity believe, for that Shakspur is vastly beholden unto him, and speaketh of him as he were a twin-brother or one by some great office bounden unto him."
Wilwhite went on Shakespeare's bond in 1604, in certain property transfers involving what was then regarded as a considerable sum of money. The same year an infant Shakespeare was named after Wilwhite, the second daughter in the family having already been christened Elizabeth Wilwhite. From 1605 up to the time of the poet's death, eleven years later, nearly every issue of The Tidings bristled with friendly notices of "our eminent townsman," "our world-famed Shakespeare," and "our immortal poet." Shakespeare lived in Stratford those last years; he was well-to-do; he had prospered, and his last days were passed serenely. The musty files of that rurally candid little paper bear pleasing testimony to the Arcadian simplicity of the noble bard's declining years. They tell us with severe brevity of the trifling duties and recreations that engaged the poet. We learn that "a new and handsome front gate has been put up on the premises of our famous Shakspear"; that "our honored townsman-poet hath graciously contributed three-and-sixpence toward the mending of the town pump"; that "a gloom hath been cast over the entire community by the bone-felon upon Mr. Shaikspur's left thumb"; that "our immortal Shakespeere hath well discharged the onerous offices of road-overseer for the year past"; that "our sweete friend, Will Shakespear, will go fishing for trouts to-morrow with his good gossip, Ben Jonson, that hath come to be his guest a little season"; that "Master W. Shackspur hath a barrow that upon the slaughtering did weigh 400 weight"; that "the laylocks in the Shaxpur yard being now in bloom filleth the air with delectable smells, whereby the poet is mightily joyed in that he did plant and nurture the same," etc., etc.
"Sweet were those declining years," writes the essayist; "sweet in their homely moderate delights, sweet in their wholesome employments, sweet in their peacefulness and repose. But sweeter and holier yet were they in the loyalty of a friendship that, covering a long period of endeavor, of struggle and adversity, survived to illumine and to glorify, as it has been a quenchless flame, the evening of the poet's life. An o'erturned stone, upon which the ivy seeks to hide the ravages which time has made, marks the spot where Wilwhite sleeps the last gracious sleep of humanity. Now and again wayfarers, straying thence, wonder whose dust it is that mingles with the warmth of Mother Earth beneath that broken tablet. And while they wonder there amid the hush, which only the music of the birds profanes, and with the fragrance of wild flowers all around, love is fulfilled and loyalty perfected; for beyond the compass of years they that wrought together and were true abide in sweet companionship eternally."
EUGENE FIELD.
May 20th, 1891.
The review of Miss Abbott's fictitious autobiography needs no further introduction, save the statement that the only parts of it that are based on fact are those which refer to the high esteem in which its subject—or shall I say its victim?—was held by Field and the names and relations of the parties mentioned. If the reader cares to compare some of the phrases used in this autobiography with others quoted from the proceedings in the Vermont litigation in the early chapters of this book, he will find striking evidence of the persistence of literary expression in the Field family:
REVIEW OF THE MEMOIRS OF MISS EMMA ABBOTT.
The advance sheets of Miss Abbott's biography have been sent to us by the publishers. This volume, consisting of 868 pages, is entitled, "Ten Years a Song Bird: Memoirs of a Busy Life, by Emma Abbott." It will be put upon the market in time to catch what is called the holiday trade, and we hope it will have that enormous sale to which its merits entitle it. It is altogether a charming book—it reads like a woman's letters, so full is it of confidence couched in the artless, easy, unpretentious language of femininity. The style is so unconscious that at times it really seems as if, attired in wrapper and slippers, the fair narrator were lolling back in an easy-chair talking these interesting things into your friendly ear.
Miss Abbott is a lady for whom we have had for a number of years—ever since her debut as a public singer—the highest esteem. She is one of the most conscientious of women in her private walk, conscientious in every relationship and duty and practice that go to make the sum of her daily life. This conscientiousness, involving patience, humility, perseverance, and integrity, has been, we think, the real secret of her success. And no one who has watched her steady rise from poverty to affluence, and from obscurity to fame, will deny the proposition that the woman is genuinely successful; and successful, too, in the best sense, and by hard American methods. However, it shall be our attempt not to suffer our warm personal regard for this admirable lady to color too highly our professional estimate of the literary work now before us.
Although the "Memoirs of a Busy Life" purports to be a review merely of the period of Miss Abbott's career as a prima donna, there are three prefatory chapters wherein are detailed quite elaborately the incidents of her girl-life and of her early struggles. This we view with particular approval, the more in especial because, since Miss Abbott's achievement of fame, a number of hitherto obscure localities have claimed distinction as being the place of her birth. Miss Abbott records this historical fact: "It was on the first day of June, 1858, the month of flowers, of song and of bridals, in the then quiet hamlet of Peoria, whose shores are laved by the waters of the peaceful Illinois river and whose sun-kissed hills melt away into the clouds—it was then and there that I was ushered into life." The old family nurse, one Barbara Deacon (for whom the grateful cantatrice has abundantly provided), recalls that at the very moment of the infant's birth a strangely beautiful bird fluttered down from a pear-tree, alighting upon the window-sill, and caroled forth a wondrous song, hearing which the infant (mirabile dictu!) turned over in its crib and accompanied the winged songster's melody with an accurate second alto. This incident Miss Abbott repeats as one of the many legends bearing upon her infancy; but, with that admirable practical sense so truly characteristic of her, she adds: "Of course I repose no confidence in this story—I have always taken this bird's tale cum grano salis."