through his intercourse with his fellows, and not by meditating upon abstractions. The meditation was to apply the experience and raise it into philosophy.

About a mile from the little town of Bidford, on the road to Stratford, was, some twenty years ago, an ancient crab-tree well known to the country round as Shakspere's Crab-tree. The tradition which associates it with the name of Shakspere is, like many other traditions regarding the poet, an attempt to embody the general notion that his social qualities were as remarkable as his genius. In an age when excess of joviality was by some considered almost a virtue, the genial fancy of the dwellers at Stratford may have been pleased to confer upon this crab-tree the honour of sheltering Shakspere from the dews of night, on an occasion when his merrymakings had disqualified him for returning homeward, and he had laid down to sleep under its spreading branches. It is scarcely necessary to enter into an examination of this apocryphal story. But as the crab-tree is associated with Shakspere, it may fitly be made the scene of some of his youthful exercises. He may "cleave the pin” and strike the quintain in the neighbourhood of the crab-tree, as well as sleep heavily beneath its shade. We shall diminish no honest enthusiasm by changing the association. Indeed, although the crab-tree was long ago known by the name of Shakspere's Crab-tree, the tradition that he was amongst a party who had accepted a challenge from the Bidford topers to try which could drink hardest, and there bivouacked after the debauch, is difficult to be traced further than the hearsay evidence of Mr. Samuel Ireland. In the same way, the merry folks of Stratford will tell you to this day that the Falcon inn in that town was the scene of Shakspere's nightly potations, after he had retired from London to his native home; and they will show you the shovel-board at which he delighted to play. Harmless traditions, ye are yet baseless! The Falcon was not an inn at all in Shaksperc's time, but a goodly private dwelling.

About the year 1580 the ancient practice of archery had revived in England. The use of the famous English long-bow had been superseded in war by the arquebuss; but their old diversion of butt-shooting would not readily be abandoned by the bold yeomanry, delighting as they still did in stories of their countrymen's prowess, familiar to them in chronicle and ballad. The "Toxophilus" of Roger Ascham was a book well fitted to be amongst the favourites of our Shakspere; and he would think with that fine old schoolmaster that the book and the bow might well go together.* He might have heard that a wealthy yeoman of Middlesex, John Lyon, who had founded the grammar-school at Harrow, had instituted a prize for archery amongst the scholars. Had not the fame, too, gone forth through the country of the worthy "Show and Shooting by the Duke of Shoreditch, and his Associates the Worshipful Citizens of London," + and of "The Friendly and Frank Fellowship of Prince Arthur's Knights in and about the City of London"? There were men of Stratford who within a year or two had seen the solemn processions of these companies of archers, and their feats in Hogsden Fields; where the wealthy citizens and their ladies sat in their tents most gorgeously dressed, and the winners of the prizes were brought out of the field by torchlight, with drum and trumpet, and volleys of shot, mounted upon great geldings sumptuously trapped with cloths of silver and gold. Had he not himself talked with an ancient squire, who, in the

*"Would to God that all men did bring up their sons, like my worshipful master Sir Henry Wingefield, in the book and the bow."-ASCHAM.

This is the title of a tract published in 1583; but the author says that these mock solemnities had been "greatly revived, and within these five years set forward, at the great cost and charges of sundry chief citizens."

The title of a tract by Richard Mulcaster: 1581.

elder days, at "Mile End Green" had played "Sir Dagonet at Arthur's Show" ?* And did he not know "old Double," who was now dead?" He drew a good bow; and dead!-he shot a fine shoot: * * * Dead!-he would have clapped i' the clout at twelve score; and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see." + Welcome to him,

peace."

then, would be the invitation of the young men of Bidford for a day of archery ; for they received as a truth the maxim of Ascham,-"That still, according to the old wont of England, youth should use it for the most honest pastime in The butts are erected in the open fields after we cross the Ichnield way on the Stratford road. It is an elevated spot, which looks down upon the long pastures which skirt the Avon. These are not the ancient butts of the town, made and kept up according to the statute of Henry VIII.; nor do the young men compel their fathers, according to the same statute, to provide each of them with "a bow and two shafts," until they are of the age of seventeen; but each is willing to obey the statute, having “a bow and four arrows continually for himself." Their butts are mounds of turf, on which is fixed a small piece of circular paper with a pin in the centre. The young poet probably thought of Robin Hood's more picturesque mark :

"On every syde a rose garlonde,

They shot under the lyne.

"Whoso fayleth of the rose garlonde,' sayd Robin,

His takyll he shall tyne.''

At the crab-tree are the young archers to meet at the hour of eight :

"Hold, or cut bowstrings."

The costume of Chaucer's squire's yeoman would be emulated by some of the assembly.

"He was cladde in cote and hode of grene;

A shefe of peacock arwes bright and kene
Under his belt he bare ful thriftily.
Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly:
His arwes drouped not with fetheres lowe.
And in his hond he bare a mighty bowe.

Upon his arme he bare a gaie bracer."

The lots are cast; three archers on either side. The marker takes his place, to "cry aim." Away flies the first arrow-"gone "it is over the butt; a second -"short; " a third-" wide;" a fourth "hits the white,"-" Let him be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam ;"§ a fifth "handles his bow like a crow-keeper." || Lastly comes a youth from Stratford, and he is within an inch of "cleaving the pin." There is a maiden gazing on the sport; she whispers a word in his ear, and “then the very pin of his heart" is "cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft." He recovers his self-possession, whilst he receives his arrow from the marker, humming the while

"The blinded boy, that shoots so trim,

From heaven down did hie;

He drew a dart and shot at him,

In place where he did lie." **

"Henry IV.," Part II., Act III., Scene II. "Midsummer-Night's Dream," Act I., Scene II.

† Ibid.

§"Much Ado about Nothing," Act 1. "Lear." "Romeo and Juliet," Act II. Scene IV. ** Ballad of "King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid."

After repeated contests the match is decided. But there is now to be a trial of greater skill, requiring the strong arm and the accurate eye-the old English practice which won the day at Agincourt. The archers go up into the hills: he who has drawn the first lot suddenly stops; there is a bush upon the rising ground before him, from which hangs some rag, or weasel-skin, or dead crow; away flies the arrow, and the fellows of the archer each shoot from the same spot. This was the roving of the more ancient archery, where the mark was sometimes on high, and sometimes on the ground, and always at variable distances. Over hill and dale go the young men onward in the excitement of their exercise, so lauded by Richard Mulcaster, first Master of Merchant Tailors' School :-" And whereas hunting on foot is much praised, what moving of the body hath the foot-hunter in hills and dales which the roving archer hath not in variety of grounds? Is his natural heat more stirred than the archer's is? Is his appetite better than the archer's?"* This natural premonition sends the party homeward to their noon-tide dinner at the Grange. But as they pass along the low meadows they send up many a "flight," with shout and laughter. An arrow is sometimes lost. But there is one who in after-years recollected his boyish practice under such mishaps :

"In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft

I shot his fellow of the self-same flight

The self-same way, with more advised watch
To find the other forth; and by adventuring both,
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.

* "Positions:" 1581.

I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost: but, if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way

Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both,

Or bring your latter hazard back again,
And thankfully rest debtor for the first."*

Gervase Markham, in his excellent "English Housewife," describes "a humble feast or an ordinary proportion which any good man may keep in his family for the entertainment of his true and worthy friend." We doubt if so luxurious a provision was made in our yeoman's house of the Grange; for Markham's "humble feast" consisted of three courses, the first of which comprised sixteen "dishes of meat that are of substance." Harrison, writing about forty years earlier, makes the yeoman contented with somewhat less abundance: "If they happen to stumble upon a piece of venison, and a cup of wine or very strong beer or ale (which latter they commonly provide against their appointed days), they think their cheer so great, and themselves to have fared so well, as the Lord Mayor of London."+ But, whatever was the plainness or the delicacy of their dishes, there is no doubt of the hearty welcome which awaited all those who had claims to hospitality: "If the friends of the wealthier sort come to their houses from far, they are commonly so welcome till they depart as upon the first day of their coming." Again: "Both the artificer and the husbandman are sufficiently liberal and very friendly at their tables; and when they meet they are so merry without malice, and plain without inward Italian or French craft or subtility, that it would do a man good to be in company among them." §

Shakspere has himself painted, in one of his early plays, the friendly intercourse between the yeomen and their better educated neighbours. To the table where even Goodman Dull was welcome, the schoolmaster gives an invitation to the parson : "I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of mine; where if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the parents of the aforesaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto."|| And it was at this table that the schoolmaster won for himself this great praise: "Your reasons at dinner have been sharp and sententious, pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy." England was at that day not cursed with class and coterie society. The distinctions of rank were sufficiently well defined to enable men to mix freely, as long as they conducted themselves decorously. The barriers of modern society belong to an age of pretension.

There are other sports to be played, and other triumphs to be achieved, before the day closes. In the meadow, at some little distance from the butts, is fixed a machine of singular construction. It is the Quintain. Horsemen are beginning to assemble around it, and are waiting the arrival of the guests from the Grange, who are merry in "an arbour" of mine host's "orchard." But the youths are for more stirring matters; and their horses are ready. To the inexperienced eye the machine which has been erected in the field

"That which here stands up,

Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block." **

It is the wooden figure of a Saracen, sword in hand, grinning hideously upon the assailants who confront him. The horsemen form a lane on either side, whilst one,

"The Merchant of Venice," Act I., Scene 1.
Ibid., p. 168.

"Description of England," 1586, p. 170.
"Love's Labour's Lost," Act IV., Scene II.

§ Ibid.
Ibid., Act v., Scene 1.
**"As You Like It," Act 1., Scene III.

the boldest of challengers, couches his spear and rides violently at the enemy, who appears to stand firm upon his wooden post. The spear strikes the Saracen just on the left shoulder; but the wooden man receives not his wound with patience, for by the action of the blow he swings round upon his pivot, and hits the horseman a formidable thump with his extended sword before the horse has cleared the range of the misbeliever's weapon. Then one chorus of laughter greets the unfortunate rider as he comes dolefully back to the rear. Another and another fail. At last the quintain is struck right in the centre, and the victory is won. The Saracen conquered, a flat board is set up upon the pivot, with a sand-bag at one end, such as Stow has described :-"I have seen a quintain set up on Cornhill, by Leadenhall, where the attendants of the lords of merry disports have run and made great pastime ; for he that hit not the board end of the quintain was laughed to scorn; and he that hit it full, if he rode not the faster, had a sound blow upon his neck with a bag full of sand hanged on the other end."* The merry guests of the Grange enjoy the sport as heartily as Master Laneham, who saw the quintain at Kenilworth: -"The speciality of the sport was to see how some of his slackness had a good bob with the bag; and some for his haste to topple downright, and come tumbling to the post some striving so much at the first setting out, that it seemed a question between the man and the beast, whether the course should be made a horseback or a foot and, put forth with the spurs, then would run his race by us among the thickest of the throng, that down came they together hand over head. * * * By my troth, Master Martin, 't was a goodly pastime." And now they go to supper,