Baron Rothschild, and was informed that I
might have one higher up for half a guinea;
consented to this, and had a momentary
impression that I must be very rich; and that
hitherto I had been regulating my expenditure
on a scale altogether unbefitting my means.
Could not rest for refreshment or anything,
until I had seen the House; so immediately
sallied out in search of it, trying to forget the
yellow caravan and the Scotch giant. Did not
like to inquire my way to the House; felt that
I ought to be drawn to it by an influence; and
that "it would show a want of delicacy and
veneration to ask any one to show it me, as if
it were a bank or a post-office, or something of
that sort. Stratford was not so large a town
but that I might easily find the shrine which
was its pride and glory, its sacred place. The
paths worn with pilgrims' feet should direct me
to it. I assure you I had got over the Scotch
giant, and was fully primed with the right feeling.
I have the bump of veneration strongly developed.
Vestiges of antiquity, relics of great men, places
with classic associations interest and move me
deeply. I never pass through Temple Bar
and take a walk down Fleet-street without
thinking of Johnson and Goldsmith, and picturing
them in my mind's eye. I had long looked
forward to this day; long promised myself a
visit to Stratford; many a time and oft had
visited it in imagination, and realised all the
sensations which its associations are calculated
to inspire. And I was prepared to realise all
these feelings now with tenfold intensity. But
I could not find the House, and was obliged to
ask my way to it after all. It is a fact, that the
person to whom I applied for guidance looked
puzzled, and turned first this way and then
that, and at last confessed that he "really
didn't know where the House was situated."
He was apparently an intelligent man, in the
cattle-dealing line, I fancy; but he had an
excuse for his ignorance in so insignificant a
matter—he had been only a fortnight in
Stratford!

"Down there, sir, on the right-hand side of
the way," said a native. I was thankful for the
first part of the direction, but I did not want
him to tell me on which side of the way; I
wanted to find that out for myself, and I
escaped hastily, lest the native should spoil
my pleasure by pointing at the house with
a showman's finger, and saying, " That's it!"
I knew now that I was coming to it, and that a
few more paces would bring me to it. I was
approaching with all reverence, and with a
feeling that the thrill was about to rise, when
the sky was suddenly illuminated by a flash of
bright light, accompanied by a peculiar rushing
noise in the air. I was not left for a single
moment in doubt as to the cause. I looked up,
and saw that it was a rocket. They were
letting off fireworks in the neighbouring meadow!
A few more steps and I was in front of the
House, and I saw it for the first time by the light
of fireworks! The thrill did not rise. By the
garish light of red and blue and green fires I
saw a house which had been restored out of all
its antiquity, which was trim, and neat, and
angular, and varnished, and which, when the
rockets exploded and rained down their spray
of coloured fires, and the people shouted in the
meadow, recalled a vision of Vauxhall. The
general tea-garden aspect of the house was
disappointing enough, out with the accompaniment
of fireworks the effect was shockingly
depressing. There was so much of the tea-
garden about the place, that I should not have
been at all surprised if some one had appeared
at the window, sung a comic song, and asked
conundrums. Indeed, on returning presently
through the deserted street—there was not a
soul in it besides myself on this evening of the
Tercentenary—I heard the sound of minstrelsy
proceeding from a public-house, and, looking
through the window, I beheld a busker in the
costume of the music-hall Irishman, dancing a
jig and singing Limerick Races, while the
townsmen of Shakespeare sat around and drank
beer, and smoked pipes, and did homage to the
Bard!

I knew that I should never feel the thrill
after this. The restorer and the fireworks had
done for me. So I went in for the display of
fireworks pure and simple, and thought it, per
se, not so very bad.

A few flags fluttering about the pretty little
town, but no commotion until after the fireworks,
when a dense crowd of yokels breaks
into the streets, like an inundation of muddy
water. Heedless, blundering yokels, with
tremendous feet, who run against you, and stamp
upon you, and scent the air with fustian and
corduroy. Away they go, following the band,
and when the band has blown itself out they
disperse themselves among the little taverns,
which seem to be in the proportion of one to
three of the houses, and the streets are quiet
and deserted again.

Revisited the House on Sunday morning,
hoping to see it under more favourable
circumstances. Well, there were no fireworks, and the
new beams and laths let into the house did not
look so varnished and glittering by daylight.
Peeped in at one of the windows, never
imagining that I would be admitted on that day,
when a person immediately ran out and pounced
upon me. Would I walk up? but first my six-
pence. I paid my sixpence and walked up; but
here again my pleasure was marred. The work
of renovation had not been extended to the
natal chamber, and I could well believe that no
alteration had been made in it since
Shakespeare's time; but it was occupied by two huge
Warwickshire policemen in full uniform, whose
presence was suggestive of a murder, or a
robbery, or something of a similar nature requiring
the superintendence of the authorities. I could
have been much impressed by those old worm-
eaten boards, which Shakespeare's feet had trod,
but who could adore a sacred spot with two
policemen standing at his elbow, irreverently
lounging against the walls, and blowing their
noses like thunder in great sheets of red calico?