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"Is it Shakspeare?" enquired the Stranger, in a tremulous tone.

""Tis none but he," returned Jonson; "a kind youth, and a clever. He lacks the ancient tongues though; and he doth take most irreverent liberties with the wise rules of the Stagyrite yet he knows in some sort to tickle the popular ear; and crowds will go to see his representation of a Shipwreck, although it be upon the coast of Bohemia, who do not comprehend a single one of the classical allusions in my Poetaster."

"Nay, nay, Ben," said a keen-eyed, goodlooking stripling by his side; "thy Poetaster hath it's praise, but match it not with the immortal works of my Godfather."

"I cry you mercy, young Master Davenant!" said Jonson; "I knew not that thy quick ears were so close to my hasty tongue. But William, friend, have a care in future, when thou speakest of Master Shakspeare, that thou take not the name of God in vain."

Jonson had now turned the laugh against his defender, who was supposed by many to be connected with Davenant much more closely than by the sponsorial tie.

"But ne'er mind, Master Shak

speare," said Jonson,

"the lad is a proper person;

and hath more wit in his pate than was ever inherited from an Oxford tapster. But tell me, my heart of Warwickshire, when am I to carry thy little Judith to the baptismal font?"

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Right speedily, Ben," answered Shakspeare; " and then we shall see what rare present thou wilt bestow upon her."

"It shall be something," returned Jonson, "which it is fitting for a Poet and a Scholar to give; one who hath the tongues, and is skilled in the lore of ancient Greece and Rome."

"Give her some latten spoons," added Shakspeare;" and then, Ben, thou can'st translate them."

"A murrain upon thy word-torturing wit, Willy," replied Jonson; "thou perverter of language, and destroyer of the simplicity of syllables! But a truce to these wit-combats, as Master Fuller calleth them, and let us have a Catch. Here is Master Stephen Dowland just entering the room; and, by my faith! Master Matthew Locke with him. A Song, Master Locke! a Song, and that right speedily!"

Locke, however, had no sooner joined the party than he engaged in close conversation with Shakspeare, without paying any attention to the call of the Chairman. They were conversing upon a subject deeply interesting not only to themselves,

but to all posterity, for it was on the time and manner of bringing out at the Globe Theatre, a Tragedy, which the latter had written, and parts of which the former had set to Music, under the title of " Macbeth."

"He heeds me not, Master Dowland," said Jonson; "he and that Warwickshire carle are plotting some mischief, for their heads have never been under the same roof for the last six months, without coming into close contact."

(Left unfinished.)

THE TREKSCHUIT.

IT was in the Autumn of the year 1824, on my return to England from a tour along the Rhine, that I found myself for the second time in the city of Ghent; and it was not without a feeling of very considerable interest and pleasure, that I revisited Flanders. I had seen most of the finest towns of Germany and France; but in picturesque and antique beauty, they were none of them to be compared with Antwerp; Brussels, the old part of the town; Malines; Bruges; and, above all, Ghent. The magnificent and venerable Cathedrals; the stately streets lined with Palaces, once the residences of the nobility of Flanders and Burgundy; although now, alas! let out into tenements, and the ground floors occupied by petty tradesmen ; the Museums so richly adorned with the works of native Artists; and the sad and melancholy solitude of those once thickly populated thoroughfares, which nevertheless, retained, I thought, a solemn beauty about them; made a deep impression on

my mind. I will, however, deal candidly with my Readers; and confess to them, that ideas of a grosser, and less intellectual, character, mingled with my reveries, as I approached Ghent. I had been riding all day; it was long after sunset; and I thought of the Hotel des Pays Bas, and of the good cheer with which M. Doublet, the worthy Host, used to spread his table at the patriarchal Supper hour of nine. Although the viands were always excellent, and the wines of the most tempting quality, M. Doublet's hours at first puzzled me not a little. Dinner at one, and Supper at nine, were such plebeian meals, that I should have blushed to the very throat, had certain of my acquaintances detected me in the commission of such enormities. However, I recollected that if I chose to christen the first repast, Luncheon, and the second, Dinner, I should be sufficiently near to the hours set apart for such affairs in London; where, as is well known, it is the height of fashion to go without Dinner, and take a hot Supper.

I arrived in Ghent just in time to allow my physical organs to participate in the meal, with which I had been for some time past regaling my fancy. I sat down amidst a party of ten or twelve, and was received with that courtesy and cordiality, which, whatever John Bull may think of his own

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