My visit to Shakespeare's home

[Below is from my friend Mr. John Adams’s diary, written April 4-10, 1786, when we both visited the home of William Shakespeare. When I arrived, I fell upon the ground and kissed it. Shakespeare must be singled out by one who wishes to learn the full powers of the English language. For seeing the house where he was born, we each paid 1 shilling; and for seeing his tomb, another shilling. I still have the wood chip from what they said was the identical chair in which he usually wrote. If true, like the relics of the saints, it must miraculously reproduce itself.]

Stratford upon Avon is interesting as it is the scene of the birth, death and sepulture of Shakespeare. Three doors from the inn, is the house where he was born, as small and mean, as you can conceive. They shew us an old wooden chair in the chimney corner, where he sat. We cut off a chip according to the custom. A mulberry tree that he planted has been cut down, and is carefully preserved for sale. The house where he died has been taken down and the spot is now only yard or garden. The curse upon him who should remove his bones, which is written on his grave stone, alludes to a pile of some thousands of human bones, which lie exposed in that church.

There is nothing preserved of this great genius which is worth knowing -- nothing which might inform us what education, what company, what accident turned his mind to letters and the drama. His name is not even on his grave stone. An ill sculptured head is set up by his wife, by the side of his grave in the church. But paintings and sculpture would be thrown away upon his fame. His wit, and fancy, his taste and judgment, his knowledge of nature, of life and character, are immortal.