up a massive flight of stairs, into a large and lofty chamber hung with arras, and situated immediately over the withdrawing-room.

Hither, in a few moments after Montchensey had wished his guest a good night, came the servant of the latter to unpack his master's wardrobe; but with a face so pale and troubled, and with such evident marks of trepidation in it, that Shakspeare, after gazing upon him for an instant or two, as the poor fellow stood trembling with a taper in his hand, called out, "In the name of wonder, John, what is the matter, for thou seemest to have lost the few senses which nature had been kind enough to spare thee?"

"Lord help me, Sir," he answered, looking around him with dismay, "Peter has been telling me such strange stories about this old house, that I am almost afraid to see my shadow in it. I had as lief a hundred times be fired at by those ill-looking fellows that bide in yonder rocks, than be way-laid by these same sprites and goblins, that can glide through a chink, and whisk through a key-hole. Do you know, Sir," he continued, getting up close to his master's

side, and speaking in an under tone, as if fearful of being overheard, "that this very wing in which we now stand, or at least a part on't, as they tell me, which runs backward by the side of an old court yonder, has been shut up, God knows how long, haunted, as they say, by the ghost of a former lady of the Hall, who came by her death in a way too horrible to tell. Just as the clock strikes twelve, Sir-"

Prythee no more of thy nonsense,” cried the bard, somewhat impatiently, "but make haste and put those things into the chest. Thou hast scarcely been more than two hours in the place, and thy head has been filled with all this trumpery!" "Please your honour, Sir, Peter declares "Peter is an ass, and thou art little better," retorted his master, half smiling and half angry; "go, get go, get thee gone, and try, if thou canst, to forget these idle stories."

"So," thought Shakspeare to himself, as his servant very reluctantly quitted the apartment, "if a man now were inclined for the indulgence of the sombre and mysterious, here might he find food for it; for, though I have ridiculed the credulity of this poor fellow, and perhaps

very considerately for his own sake, yet I cannot but acknowledge that, in conjunction with what I have already seen of the character of Montchensey, who seems to labour under the influence of some awful event which has occurred in his family, a tradition of this wild and gloomy cast is but too well calculated to make an impression even upon my own feelings."

It was shortly after these reflections had passed through the mind of Shakspeare, that he sought the blessings of repose; nor were they long denied to one who, though slightly tinctured with the superstition of the times, and therefore not unalloyed with some of the frailties incident to human nature, possessed a heart and intellect, in strength, and worth, and conscious innocence, not yet surpassed by any of the sons of men.

(To be continued.)

No. VIII.

Hear ye, who love to tear oblivion's veil

From the chill tomb,and strew fresh flowers around,
Where ancient sages slumber in the ground,

Come, join with me, and listen to the tale
Which bids neglected worth no more bewail
Her fate obscure.

SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.

THERE is a singular satisfaction in discovering that the place in which you have been many years resident, has, in days long past, given birth to some who have been eminent in their age for philosophy or literature, or arts, and more especially is this the case, if, in the vicissitudes of taste, and the progress of improvement, obscurity should have stolen over their memory and their name; for what can be more delightful than to rekindle a grateful recollection of those to whom their contemporaries have been indebted for hours of elegant amusement, or lessons of persuasive wisdom.

It is with a feeling of this kind that now, whilst the fervid heat of noon disposes to reflection and retirement, I sit down to record what, at this distant period, can be collected of the biography of two once celebrated poets, natives of Hadleigh, in Suffolk, WILLIAm Alabaster, and JOSEPH BEAUMONT; the former highly eminent in his day for the depth of his erudition and the beauty of his latin verses, the latter for his theological attainments, and his vernacular poetry.

WILLIAM ALABASTER was born at Hadleigh, in Suffolk, in 1567. He received the first part of his education at the grammar school of his native town, then in considerable estimation for the talent with which it was conducted.* From

Hadleigh school can also boast the honour of having edu cated that profound and accomplished scholar JOHN OVERALL, who preceded Alabaster by a few years, and went immediately from Hadleigh to St. John's College, Cambridge. He was afterwards chosen fellow of Trinity College, and in 1596 he took his degree of D.D. when he was appointed Regius Professor of Divinity, and Master of Catharine-hall in the same University. He became the successor of Dr. Nowell as Dean of St. Pauls in 1601; and was chosen Prolocutor of the Lower House of Convocation towards the commencement of James's reign. His erudition and piety were rewarded in 1614,