the uncommon mildness of the season, were exposed to its utmost fury. Thousands of them perished in the snow both there and on the Scottish hills, and many a poor shepherd when courageously venturing forth to rescue them from destruction perished in the same treacherous snow-drifts where his stray flock had been overwhelmed before.

No post reached the neighbouring market town, and scarcely any one ventured across the threshold of Derley Manor. Under these circumstances the happy circle assembled in the library on the second evening, well pleased to resume the intellectual rivalry which had already beguiled away an evening with so much pleasure to all. Some little discussion took place as to the choice of a successor to their Queen, an act which was entered upon with very grave earnestness by the younger members of the company, and afforded considerable merriment to their seniors. The decision, however, was at length referred to Mrs. Howard, who expressed her opinion that the selection of a successor should be left entirely to Queen Caroline, with only this proviso, that she should be bound to make choice of a King, so that all might have a chance of attaining to the honours of their evening assemblies. This decision was received with shouts of applause by the

younger folks; and amid much merriment, occasioned by the difficulty which Queen Caroline professed to feel in fixing on her successor, she at length stept into the middle of the circle, and gracefully taking the crown of holly from her own head, placed it on that of her cousin, Alfred Dudley, a young gentleman nearly of her own age, who had been her guide and companion in their previous rambles through the parks of Ampthill and Woburn, and the neighbouring country.

King Alfred the Second, as one of his younger subjects merrily hailed him, was welcomed on his accession with fully as much appearance of heartfelt joy and mirthful acclamation as awaits the most popular descendants of the great English lawgiver. He was escorted to his throne, and inaugurated with the most ceremonial pomp; and the younger part of the assembly seemed so greatly delighted with this introductory part of the evening's proceedings that the new monarch found some difficulty in restoring order and obedience. Silence, however, being at length secured the King of the evening began the business of his reign by engaging their attention to the following remarks on the

FAVOURITE SCENES OF

Shakspere, Ben Jonson, and Drummond

OF HAWTHORNDEN.

It is a strange circumstance in the biographical reminiscences of the great men of England, that of Shakspere, the greatest among them as a poet, we know almost nothing. The most diligent and enthusiastic research has failed to elicit other than the most scanty, and sometimes contradictory, information regarding him. Something, however, has been accomplished of late years by the earnest enthusiasm of his biographers, and far more than could have been anticipated after so long a period of unobservant silence had intervened.

for

But it is not expected of me that I should discuss

you this evening, with a late zealous biographer, whether a gallant ancestor of the poet shook his spear on the field of Bosworth in 1485; or whether even "John Shakspere, of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of Warwick, gentleman," the father of our

poet, was clerk enough to sign his own name, or had only a mark to himself "like an honest plain-dealing man." Our consideration is of the haunts of him of whom his brother poet and friend, Ben Jonson, wrote in playful dalliance with his name:

"He seems to 'shake a lance,'

As brandished at the eyes of ignorance."

Stratford-on-Avon, the home of Shakspere's youth and mature age, the scene of his early love, and of his purest young fancies, has attracted thousands in every age, as pilgrims to the spot rendered sacred as the birthplace and the grave of one of the world's most gifted sons. The locality is not marked by bold or stern and rugged features, as the poet's teachers; yet it is one of many beauties, such as adorn the sweet rural landscapes of England's hills and dales. "The soft flowing Avon " winds its silver stream placidly through the fertile district rich with the promised harvest, or sweetly scented with the broad fields of violets, that are there cultivated as an article of commerce. Yet his own Avon abounded with more poetic beauties than those that spoke only of a promised harvest and a well-stored barn-yard. Quiet hamlets are sheltered amid its wooded parks in spots of singular

beauty. The free footpath winds along the reedy banks of the river, and leads off by stile or wicket into many a rambling walk, inviting the musing wanderer to follow on the track. The shady woods, too, have their solitary nooks for sweet retirement; while the village-green then lay open with its maypole for the first garland of summer, and its youths and maid ens, a far nobler study for him even than the beauties of inanimate nature. Stratford had its historic associations, too, for the gratification of the young poet's fancy and the formation of his mind. All around him there were scenes where great deeds had been enacted, and great men had lived and died. Within his wider range lay the fine old historic towns of Warwick and Coventry, with the grim dungeon and towers of the feudal fortress, and magnificent churches scarcely surpassed elsewhere in England. There, too, lay the monastic remains of Evesham, and the stately pile of Kenilworth, then no wild ruin, but a sumptuous palace, where one of the wealthiest of England's nobles dwelt in state, amid his hosts of retainers, a sovereign in his own domain.

Stratford, too, had its own home attractions, and its occasional share in the wonders of the time. Its fine old church, where Shakspere lies amid his kindred,