ed"; but I kinder changed the
subject. As much store as I set by Arvilly's cast-iron principles,
somehow I couldn't bear the thought of having Shakespeare canvassed.

All the rooms are named after Shakespeare's plays, painted over the
doors in black letters. We slept in "All's Well That Ends Well"--a
good name--and we slept peaceful, thinkin' likely that it would turn
out so. Miss Meechim had the "Merry Wives of Windsor." She wanted to
change with Arvilly, who had "Love's Labor's Lost," but Arvilly
wouldn't budge.

Miss Meechim told me in confidence that if Shakespeare could have had
the benefit of her advice he would probable have called it "The
Unfortunate Wives of Windsor." "And then," sez she, "I could have
occupied it with more pleasure." But I didn't much think that he would
have changed his plans or poetry if she had been on the spot.

The next morning early we set out for Shakespeare's cottage, described
so often, saw the room in which the great poet was born, and wuz told
that nothing had been changed there since he lay in his cradle, which
we could believe as we looked about us on the low walls, the diamond
panes of the windows and the quaint old furniture. The cottage is now
used for Shakespeare's relics, some of which looked as if they might
be real, and some as if they wuz made day before yesterday. We visited
the church where he wuz baptized and saw on one of the pews the metal
plate on which is engraved the name of the poet's father.

And, thinkin' that a visit to Shakespeare's home wouldn't be complete
without seeing the place where his heart journeyed whilst his life wuz
young and full of hope and joy, we drove out to Shottery, to the
little farmhouse where his sweetheart, Ann Hathaway, lived.

It is a quaint little cottage, and after going through it we drank a
glass of water drawn up by a well sweep from the very same old well
from which Shakespeare drank so many times. As I stood there I saw in
fancy the rosy, dimpled Ann handing the crystal water to the boy,
Will, who mebby whispered to her as he took the glass sweet words, all
rhyming with youth and joy and love.

And the same blue sky bent above us; birds wheeled and sung over our
heads, descendants, mebby, of the birds that sung to them that day. I
had sights of emotions--sights of 'em--and so I did in the cottage as
I sot on the old, old settle in the corner of the fireplace, whose age
nobdy could dispute, as its stiff old joints are stren