I was determined to get into the church, though it was so early; and, accordingly, after a little trouble, I found out the sexton, a fine old fellow, with a Saxon name, who was munching his breakfast in a large old-fashioned room with latticed casements, half kitchen and half parlour.  But he was too busy with his meal to be disturbed; and accordingly he sent his wife with me to open the church, and I believe our footsteps were the first which had that morning disturbed the holy silence of the place.  The building is very fine, and even stately; but the interest connected with Shakspeare absorbs all other feelings, and monopolizes one’s admiration.  I stood under his monument, on the very stone of his grave. * * *

Ibid.

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

“I am but a Gatherer and disposer of other men’s stuff.”—­Wotton.

* * * * *

LORD RUSSEL.

When my Lord Russel was on the scaffold, and preparing to be beheaded, he took his watch out of his pocket and gave it to Dr. Burnet, who assisted his devotions, with this observation:  “My time-piece may be of service to you:  I have no further occasion for it.  My thoughts are fixed on eternity.”

* * * * *

EPITAPH ON A SCOLD.

  Here lies my wife; and heaven knows,
  Not less for mine than her repose!

* * * * *

ON A MAN WHOSE NAME WAS PENNY.

  Reader, if in cash thou art in want of any,
  Dig four feet deep and thou shalt find A PENNY.

* * * * *

DRAMATIC SKETCH OF A THIN MAN.

A long lean man, with all his limbs rambling—­no way to reduce him to compass, unless you could double him like a pocket rule—­with his arms spread, he’d lie on the bed of Ware like a cross on a Good Friday bun—­standing still, he is a pilaster without a base—­he appears rolled out or run up against a wall—­so thin that his front face is but the moiety of a profile—­if he stands cross-legged, he looks like a Caduceus, and put him in a fencing attitude, you would take him for a piece of chevaux-de-frise—­to make any use of him, it must be as a spontoon or a fishing-rod—­when his wife’s by, he follows like a note of admiration—­see them together, one’s a mast and the other all hulk—­she’s a dome, and he’s built together like a glass-house—­when they part, you wonder to see the steeple separate from the chancel, and were they to embrace, he must hang round her neck like a skein of thread on a lace-maker’s bolster—­to sing her praise, you should choose a rondeau; and to celebrate him, you must write all Alexandrines.—­Sheridan’s MSS. in Moore’s Life of him.