"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 2677, 5 July 1905, Page 67

"ALIEN'S" LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

(Specially written for the Witness Ladies' Page.)

THE MAY FESTIVAL.

The earth is in the full % glory of her floral robes ; trees, fields, woodland slopes,

and hillsides have donned a raiment of flowers, the delicate blue of wild hyacinths is .splashed among the yellow of cowslips and daffodils, and the white-fleeced lambs ure happy in their frolic among buttercups and daisies, and even in the busy haunts of men the influence of the golden sunlight is felt. It is just such a May as the poet of poets rejoiced in, and the month of Shakespeare's festival is rich in the colour and music of an English spring.

It is a .healthy sign of the times that the

effort has been made to rescue from ob- - iivion all that was brightest and best among the manners and customs of our ancestors in- -the commemoration of the anniversaries of our national celebrities. Object lessons such as, these are of incalculable value to the coming race. They bring before us, and emphasise all that is most worth the remembrance in our

nation's story, and pre-eminently among the literary names in the long list of English geniuses stands that of the man wfiose words, wittingly or unwittingly, are on every tongue.

"Much as Shakespeare enriched our language, it is strange that so little of his actual penmanship survives — a few signatures, and no more. Uut Shakespeare's noble thoughts ar-e engraved not only on the language, but on the (hearts of a :great race — a method more imperishable than even Egyptian hekoglyphics carved in granite or 'letters of time-defying brass. Cut Shakespeare out of the language, and what remains but mutilation? It would be like the stained glass window hi Canterbury Cathedral broken out by Cromwellian fanatics, leaving but the jagged borders knitted -together by plain unpictured panes, with here and there a little medallion, an oasis of beautiful colours in a blank wilderness of transparency. The land is full of Shakespeare just now, and people are discussing him as he has never been discussed al any one time before. F-i'oni the desires of all sorts and conditions of <his ■modern lovers, expressed

on platform and in the press, a fitting

monument will arise in London'to the peerless poet who spent so much 'of his time within its then somewhat circumscribed space, and gave it of his best. The meretricious statue in Leicester square, the gift of a Stock Exchange speculator, and the much-jeered-at .group in Park lane, where Shakespeare stands .in somewhat melancholy companionship with Milton and CJiaucer, amid the damp surroundings of

a limp -fountain, are but reflections upon public taste and spirit. But in the silence and peace and solemnity of the old Abbey of Westminster, in the -transept by common consent called "Poet's Corner," his memory is enslirined in the national Valhalla. If not ambitious the statue is pleas-

ing. Garbed in the costume of the period, the figure of the poet leans gracefully upon a pedestal bearing the medallion portraits : of the monarchs whose reigns he lived in, j and upon » "Scroll the -majestic words: — j Ye cloud-capped towers, ye gorgeous palaces, ye solemn temples — yea, the great globe itself, and all which it inherit, shall dissolve and, like the boundless fabric of a vision, leave not a wrack behind.

Near by is the tomb of Chauoer, or, rather, what successive ages of vandalism

have -left us of the once beautiful work in Purbeek marble. • Gower, the poet, who divides honours with Uftaucer in fathering itrnglish poetry, lies buried amid Shakespearean surroundings in another part of the town, which, is coming in for its share of worshipful attention. Shakespeare's statue has received kindlier treatment than his eminent predecessor. All around stand the records of 4he history he invested with such incomparable charm. But these . records want a little more careful reading than the prinlecLpage. Their meaning does not -lie ..on -the -surface, for in them repose a great part of the souls of men. Men who wrought strenuously for right in obedience to theJDivoae command which they felt within them, rather than heard. And as we stand here, with gaze wandering through a maze of graceful clustered columns and carving arches, interlacing one another like the petrification of a giant fern forest, our eye nests upon the beam that bears the helmet, sword, and shield of the proud Lancastrian King Henry V, tEe conqueror of that stricken field, and as a natural sequence follows that scene which Shakespeare has made so real — the mediaeval chamber where the dying monarch lies, and sees his youthful heir creeping in by stealth to try on the crown that will soon be his, an honour for whioh 'be is impatient, unheeding the statement that "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." 'And all around, with their carved features turned to the mysterious East, lie the effigies of England's monarchs who have entered into their rest. Such mementoes are the records of great lives, heroic deeds, and 'high aims. A feature presents itself as one looks up to the flat surface between the 'arches. AH but a tiny space, which three Dutch tiles would cover, has been filled by diaper work, wrought by the hands of some hunible lay brother of the old monastic foundation, perchance by one in holy orders, who sought relaxation from the offices of the Church by carving the everlasting stone on which he has recorded his art and patient devotion. No name reveals -this artistic stonemason, who so many centuries ago wielded gavel and chisel to such effect upon the solid walls of the church which was likewise his home and world. The carven atone tells its .own .story to those who care i tg respnstruct the, lives p.f t&.ose x tael

evidence of whose existence is manifest. No barter was there, no price asked, no time measurement entered the labourer's plan. The willing hands carved for the "Love of God and the Church," doing to the utmost in the days that were theirs. Each harmonious, square expressed by its difference in pattern to its neighbouring stone a pious thought, and then thought and action ceased. The Master Craftsman desired 'the presence of the dexterous fingers elsewhere, aud that little space was left blank for ever.

On the adjacent wall is a carving exhibiting a more aggressive form of piety — the ei-pression of a later age and i.he assertion of pride .of place, which is here carried even over the threshold of the tomb ; the pride that apes humility in the unctuous epitaph. But ruthless hands have hacked away the beautiful work tf an earlier age to make room for the "counterfeit presentiij©nt'' of the funereal urn of a pagan race. No humility here, indeed. An anachronism at best in a Christian temple, and likewise a pretence, as it does not contain any ashes. But as one casts their eyes down from this blatant record of nonentity to a small diamond-shaped stone at one's feet, it U to read tire terse inscription, "0 rare Ben Jonson," himself one of England's sweetest 'singers, and who met and' welcomed the young Shabespear° to London. No superabundant weight of- stone dopresses the dust long since mingled with the sandy soil on -which Westminster Abbey, the stone volume of England's story, stands.

The stream which once parted Alney Island (now known as Westminster) from tho mainland has long since dried up ; in it the old monks of Westminster whipped for the fupply of fish for the refectory table.

From Shakespeare's tomb at Westminster to the church that comes next it in size in this huge metropolis is but a little, distance. Just at the foot, on the south side of London bridge, stands an edifice which, though lacking the crowded memories kept alive by the larger fane, records its vicissitudes and enfolds a great deal of the history that has been made in its vicinity. This old church stands at the foot of what for centuries was London's only bridge, and at the commencement of the old Roman road to the coast, and the tidie oi London life has never ceased to ebb and flow past it. Chaucer's Canterbury pilgrims set out from the old inn opposite; Henry V marched out of London for tho field of Agincourt at the head of his archers, and sv/ept past it on his victorious leturn. Here re a veritable Poet's Corner, tco, and within a stone's throw of the bear garden where bear-baiting took place in Tudor times and Shakespeare's. The Globe ' Theatre came a little later to neighbour it. Often must the bells have fallen upon the poet's «ar, and its outline against the evening sky must have been familiar as he pulled his boat from Bankside to moor it under the old bridge, with its jumble of lunges, in one of which lived a pretty Jewish maiden whose dark eyes had captivated t3uj young poet.

Inside one of the hallowed walls of the church one of Shakespeare's brothers was laid to rest, and Fletcher, who trod the boards of the old Globe, bears him company. This year will see the old church raised to the dignity of a cathedral, with a bishop of its own to rule over tho new uiooese of Sonthwark. How all-embracing the bonds and links of these old foundations are -with the English-speaking race is instanced in the fact that John Harvard, the founder o f the famous American University named' after him, was born in Southwaik an-l christened in this old churcih of Shakespeare's haunts. The chiefs of the American Embassy are placing a sflained. glass -window to his memory. The church has not always born© its present name of St. Saviour's. The earliest on record was the priory church of St. Mary Overy, or Overie, said to be a contraction of "over the rie," that is, over the river from the St. Paul's or city side. After a reconstruction in 1212 it became known as St. Mary Magdalene, to be renamed by its present title on the dispersal of the black canons by Henry VI II. A tradition connects it closely with London bridge, the first old timber structure being .erected, by the priests to replace the older ferry.

These old haunts of Shakespeare are attracting just row the special notice of th"* visitor to England, and if we do not possess the magic carpet of the Arabian Nights, we at least have a very good substitute in the modern forms of transport, which have been thei means of conveying to the bard's birthplace over 50 different nationalities during the past year.

Stratford-on-Avon, with its rural quiet and peaceful scenes, is worthy of a visit, apart from its associations. Leaving the interesting spots lying within a radius of a mile, and wending a way through one of the prettiest walks in the district to the little rickety old village of Wilmcote, inirnortalised by Shakespeare, ho having honoured it alone among Warwickshire villages by mentioning it by name. The distance, some five miles, which separates it fioni the birthplace removes it from tho great stream of pilgrims. The old farmhouse of the Ardens, his mother's old tome, is actually standing Uiere still, and forms a lender link with th.c trains and pastoral life of sweet Will Shakespeare.

Urgent to school two urchins sent, Tlie truant played, and fishing went; One caught it hot, his pants were thin ; One caught a cold, for he fell in ; The cold grew worse, and caused alarm, Till some kind neighbours brought a charm. A charm it proved that did endure, They called it Woods' Ueeat PErPBBMINT