Summary

Portrait of Elihu Burritt Elihu Burritt Walks in the Black Country and its Green Border-Land… (1868)

But being born in a particular place is more a matter of accident than of personal option. No one chooses his own birthplace, and the sheer fact that he there made his entrée into the world, is, after all, a rather negative distinction to those who boast of it. But quiet little Stratford-upon-Avon can say far more than this. Shakespeare was not only born here, but he spent his last days and died here.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Elihu Burritt Elihu Burritt Walks in the Black Country and its Green Border-Land… (1868)

Well is it for him, perhaps, that we of to-day cannot get nearer to him than the gentle horizon of this intervening century. It is a seamless mantle that Providence has wrapped around the stature of his life, in which no envious Casca can ever make a rent to get at the frailties or small actions of a great master. No man ever lived more hermetically in his writings than Shakespeare. His personal being is as completely shut up and embodied in them as Homer's is in his grand epics. Will the life that breathes in them prove immortal? Three centuries are not immortality.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Elihu Burritt Elihu Burritt Walks in the Black Country and its Green Border-Land… (1868)

But the memory of Shakespeare covers with its disk the whole life and being and history, ancient and modern, of Stratford-upon-Avon. There is nothing seen or felt before or behind it but William Shakespeare. In no quarter of the globe, since he was laid to his last sleep by the sunny side of the peaceful river, has the name of the little town been mentioned without suggesting and meaning him. Many a populous city is proud of the smallest segment of a great man's glory.
Source: Wikisource

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