_A mother's love and fervent hope Are coined into our horoscope, And to our latest dying breath Her heart and soul are ours to death!_ In his clutched hand he held four gold "sovereigns" that his fond mother had given him at parting to help him in the daily trials of life, when no other friend could be so true and powerful. Gold gilds success. "Here, Jack, keep two of these for yourself, and if I should ever be penniless, and you have gold, I know you will aid me in a pinch. The wine nature of your soul needs no bush." _"We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learned, played, eat together, And wherever we went like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable."_ "William," said I, "memory with her indelible signet shall long imprint this generous act of yours upon my soul, and when hundreds of years have passed, I shall tell of the undying friendship of two bohemians, who, day and night, set their own fashion, created a world of their own, and lived ecstatically, oscillating between the blunders of Bacchus and the vanity of Venus!" William's heart was heavy when turning his back on father, mother, brother, sister, wife and children, at the age of twenty-two. We passed along the Clopton stone bridge, and as we tramped over Primrose Hill looking back at the roofs and spires of Stratford, glinting in the morning light, the Bard uttered this impulsive dash of eloquence: _Farewell, farewell! a sad farewell To glowing scenes of boyhood. Ye rocks, and rills and forests primeval List to my sighing soul, trembling on the tongue To vent its echoes in ambient air. No more shall wild eyed deer, Fretful hares, hawks and hounds Entrance mine ear and vision, Or frantically depart when Stealthy footsteps disturb the lark, Ere Phoebus' golden light Illuminates the dawn. Memory, many hued maiden, Oft in midnight hours Shall picture these eternal hills, And purling streams, rimmed by Vernal meadows; And pillowed even in the lap of misery Fantastic visions of thee Shall lull deepest woe to repose. And banqueting at yon alehouse, Nestling near blooming hedge and snowy Hawthorn, I shall live again In blissful dreams among the enchanting Precincts of the silver, serpentine Avon. To thee I lift my hands in prayer Disappearing, and pinioned with Hope; Daughter of Love and sunrise-- Go forth to multitudinous London, And, "buckle fortune on my back" "To bear her burden," to successful, Lofty heights of mind illimitable._ With this apostrophe, we took a last look at the glinting gables and sparkling spires of Stratford, disappearing over the hill, our steps and faces turned to London town, that seething whirlpool of human woe and pleasure.