The most favorite object of curiosity, however, is Shakspeare's
chair. It stands in the chimney nook of a small gloomy chamber, just
behind what was his father's shop. Here he may many a time have sat
when a boy, watching the slowly revolving spit with all the longing of
an urchin; or of an evening, listening to the cronies and gossips of
Stratford, dealing forth church-yard tales and legendary anecdotes
of the troublesome times of England. In this chair it is the custom of
every one that visits the house to sit: whether this be done with
the hope of imbibing any of the inspiration of the bard I am at a loss
to say, I merely mention the fact; and mine hostess privately
assured me, that, though built of solid oak, such was the fervent zeal
of devotees, that the chair had to be new-bottomed at least once in
three years. It is worthy of notice also, in the history of this
extraordinary chair, that it partakes something of the volatile nature
of the Santa Casa of Loretto, or the flying chair of the Arabian
enchanter; for though sold some few years since to a northern
princess, yet, strange to tell, it has found its way back again to the
old chimney corner.
I am always of easy faith in such matters, and am ever willing to be
deceived, where the deceit is pleasant and costs nothing.
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