dants, as he
was taking the air in one of the walks of the grounds, and afterwards
wheeled about in a garden chair.

The family has thrice died out in the direct line, and been obliged to
resuscitate through collateral branches; but it seems the blood holds
good notwithstanding. As to honors there is scarcely a possible
distinction in the state or army that has not at one time or other been
the property of this family.

Under the shade of these lofty cedars they have sprung and fallen, an
hereditary line of princes. One cannot but feel, in looking on these
majestic trees, with the battlements, turrets, and towers of the old
castle every where surrounding him, and the magnificent parks and lawns
opening through dreamy vistas of trees into what seems immeasurable
distance, the force of the soliloquy which Shakspeare puts into the
mouth of the dying old king maker, as he lies breathing out his soul in
the dust and blood of the battle field:--

"Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the rampant lion slept;
Whose top branch overpeered Jove's spreading tree,
And kept low shrubs from, winter's powerful wind.
These eyes, that now are dimmed with death's black veil,
Have been as piercing as the midday sun
To search, the secret treasons of the world:
The wrinkles in my brow, now filled with blood,
Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres;
For who lived king but I could dig his grave?
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow?
Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood!
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forsake me; and of all my lands
Is nothing left me but my body's length!
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
And live we how we can, yet die we must."

During Shakspeare's life Warwick was in the possession of Greville, the
friend of Sir Philip Sidney, and patron of arts and letters. It is not,
therefore, improbable that Shakspeare might, in his times, often have
been admitted to wander through the magnificent grounds, and it is more
than probable that the sight of these majestic cedars might have
suggested the noble image in this soliloquy. It is only about eight
miles from Stratford, within the fair limits of a comfortable pedestrian
excursion, and certainly could not but have been an object of deep
interest to such a mind as his.

I have described the grounds first, but, in fact, w