t Paul's Church.

The sacerdotal service began at noon, and Queen Elizabeth rode in a golden
car on a dark purple throne to witness the last rites in honor of her court
favorite.

The bells of London churches, temples, turrets, and towers rang continually
until sundown, filling the air with a universal requiem of grief, while the
black clouds hanging over the metropolis shed showers of tears for the
untimely loss of a patriot and a poet.

William and myself saw the funeral car from the steps of St Paul, and as
the coffin was carried in on the shoulders of eight stalwart soldiers,
dressed in the golden garb of the Horse Battalions, we bowed our heads in
holy adoration to the memory and valor of the sonnet-maker--lost in eternal
sleep.

_"Come, sleep, O sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release--
The indifferent judge between the high and low!"_

How truthful this extract from one of Sidney's sonnets!

He was a synonym of bravery and politeness; for being carried from the
field of battle, thirsty and bleeding, he called for a cup of water, and
just as he was lifting it to his lips a fatally wounded soldier was being
carried by who fixed his longing eyes eagerly on the cup--and instanter,
the gay and gallant Sidney delivered the drink to the poor soldier, saying:
"Thy necessity is greater than mine!"

Noble self-sacrifice, elemental generosity, imperial nature, sublime and
benevolent in thought and act!

On our return to the Devil Tavern for supper we found Manager Burbage, of
Blackfriars, awaiting us. He was in great haste and desired William to look
over a play that had been submitted by Greene and Lodge, who composed it
jointly.

It was a comedy-tragedy, entitled "Looking Glass of London," in three
rambling acts, and while Burbage was disposed to take the play and pay for
it, he desired that Shakspere should give it such ripping corrections as he
thought best.

This was surely showing great confidence in a young actor and author--to
criticise the play of acknowledged dramatists who had been the talk of the
town.

Shakspere modestly remarked: "I fear, sir, your friends, Lodge and Greene,
will not like or tolerate my cutting of their play."

"Care not for their opinion! Do as I say, and have the play ready for
staging Monday afternoon at two o'clock."

"Your command is law, and I obey," said the Bard--and out