e hall had
disappeared; for I had hoped to meet with the stately elbow-chair of
carved oak, in which the country Squire of former days was wont to sway
the scepter of empire over his rural domains; and in which might be
presumed the redoubted Sir Thomas sat enthroned in awful state, when the
recreant Shakespeare was brought before him. As I like to deck out
pictures for my entertainment, I pleased myself with the idea that this
very hall had been the scene of the unlucky bard's examination on the
morning after his captivity in the lodge. I fancied to myself the rural
potentate, surrounded by his body-guard of butler, pages, and the
blue-coated serving-men with their badges; while the luckless culprit was
brought in, forlorn and chapfallen, in the custody of game-keepers,
huntsmen, and whippers-in, and followed by a rabble rout of country
clowns. I fancied bright faces of curious housemaids peeping from the
half-opened doors; while from the gallery the fair daughters of the Knight
leaned gracefully forward, eying the youthful prisoner with that pity
"that dwells in womanhood." Who would have thought that this poor varlet,
thus trembling before the brief authority of a country Squire, and the
sport of rustic boors, was soon to become the delight of princes; the
theme of all tongues and ages; the dictator to the human mind; and was to
confer immortality on his oppressor by a caricature and a lampoon!

I now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall. My mind had become so
completely possest by the imaginary scenes and characters connected with
it, that I seemed to be actually living among them. Everything brought
them as it were before my eyes; and as the door of the dining-room opened,
I almost expected to hear the feeble voice of Master Silence quavering
forth his favorite ditty:

"Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all,
And welcome merry Shrove-tide!"

On returning to my inn, I could not but reflect on the singular gift of my
poet; to be able thus to spread the magic of his mind over the very face
of nature; to give to things and places a charm and character not their
own, and to turn this "working-day world" into a perfect fairy land. He is
indeed the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but
upon the imagination and the heart. Under the wizard influence of
Shakespeare I had been walking all day in complete delusion. I had
surveyed the landscape through the prism of poetry, which tinged every
obj