How
swiftly, how gallantly we sailed, as if borne on by the good spirits,
until we reached an island, where the inhabitants welcomed us and
claimed us as their king and queen. Charles! do you remember all this? But why call up all these reminiscences? They are over now, and passed
as a dream, and this hence-forward must be our life. I know nothing of
your life in the flesh, my spirit lover, or what may be your social
position in this world. No matter, whatever it be, and in spite of
whatever obstacles may raise themselves to our happiness in this vale of
tears, remember that I am ever thine in the spirit,

                                                        "EDITH L----." Having concluded, he folded up the letter, kissed it, and pressed it to
his heart. "And do you remember all the details of that strange adventure alluded
to by Miss Edith, as having happened to you both? Do you remember really
having taken part in this strange romance in another phase of
existence?" I asked. "Certainly I do," he replied; "every particular of it." "Strange!" I muttered, to myself. "Then these _dreams_, as we ordinary
mortals would say, are really to such beings as yourself _facts_--phases
of another existence," I remarked. "Precisely so," said he. "Then your being king of an island was no mere phantasy," said I; "but
as much a fact----"

"As much a fact as that while in the flesh I am a poor devil," he
replied. "Well, I never thought I should have a royal patient," I observed,
smiling. "Ah!" he said, "now do you see the extent of the wrong that you have
done me? You have robbed me of a kingdom in bringing me back to health." "Many a sick monarch would be glad to exchange his kingdom for good
health," I retorted. This was almost my last visit to Charles. I _did_ call again, but it was
long after he had completely recovered. Months passed away, when one day I casually met Charles in the streets. He had quite recovered, and was looking very well. He had much to tell
me, so, as I had a little spare time on hand, we strolled into the park,
and being a hot day, we sat down together beneath the shade of a tree in
a solitary spot. He seemed to have grown more reconciled to humanity,
having now only a dim recollection of the intensity of the joys he used
to experience in his dreams. I touched upon the subject nearest his
heart, and he commenced a recital of all that had happened to him since
we last met. I shall endeavour to give his own words as nearly as
possible. "You will remember, doctor," he began, "that you left me without giving
me the address of Miss L----" (Edith took the surname of my friend the
squire, as if she were his own daughter, her real name being unknown). "I called upon you afterwards on purpose to inquire, and was informed
that you were out of town. I had no one now to apply to for information,
and was in despair. I did not know what to do with myself in town during
the summer, so I thought I would try a little country air. I loitered
about first in one country place, then in another, without any fixed
purpose. I had been reading Shakespeare one day, and upon closing the
book, I resolved I would take a pilgrimage to the birth place of the
great Swan of Avon. "I had never yet visited this retreat, so I started at once, and
determined to put up in the village for some time. With what a thrill of
delight, awe, and enthusiasm I crossed the threshold of that humble
domicile! _His_ foot had once crossed that same spot! Here was the
window that _he_ used to look out of. The identical glass, too, all
carefully preserved by a network of wire. _His_ table and _his_ chair! There was something magical to me in that low-roofed chamber, with its
old-fashioned beams. "This, then, was the birthplace of that giant brain destined to illumine
the world with the rays of his genius! Who knows how many plays had been
conceived and worked out within those four walls? To me, the spot was
hallowed ground. _I_ could not inscribe my name on those sacred panels. It seemed almost sacrilege for me to sit down in his chair, but I did
so; and begged to be left alone for a time, that I might meditate on the
life and genius of the greatest of poets. "It was not without a feeling of regret that I tore myself away from
this hallowed shrine. I wandered through the almost deserted streets,
and read the names over the village shops. 'William Shakespeare' here
caught my eye; 'John Shakespeare' there; descendants, no doubt, of the
great poet. Shakespeare seemed a common name here. I wondered whether
any of them inherited his genius. No matter, it would be something to
say that one was descended from so great a man, without possessing any
further recommendation. I called upon a certain William Shakespeare, and
inquired into his pedigree. He seemed a very ordinary sort of personage. He did not appear to know, nor yet to care much, if he were really
descended from the bard or no. There was no genius about _him_. I called
upon another, and then another, bearing the name of the poet, but could
not discover the slightest spark of the fire that kindled the soul of
the great dramatist in any one of them. I strolled on to the church, and
visited the tomb. A sensation of awe crept over me as I read the simple
couplet engraved over the vault containing the ashes of the bard:

    Blessed be he who spares these stones,
    And cursed be he who moves my bones. "I shuddered to think of the awful consequences that might ensue to the
sacrilegious hand that should dare move his honoured dust. There was his
effigy placed within a niche in the wall of the church, high up above
the heads of the congregation, and gave the idea of being placed in a
sort of pulpit. The bust was but a rude work of art, but it had the
reputation of being the only authentic likeness of the poet; and,
therefore, it was with intense interest that I scanned the features. I
fancied that I could descry, in spite of the rude workmanship of the
stonemason, certain lines about the mouth and eyes that indicated that
droll humour displayed in his comedies. I stood rooted to the spot. "Around me were the tombs of the Lucy family; close to the poet's own
dust the graves of his wife and daughter. But let me hasten to the more
important point in my narrative. "After I left the church I was shown the dead of the Lucy family, and
obtained permission to wander over the grounds. 'In that house,' I said
to myself, 'lives the lineal descendant of that squire before whom the
bard was brought for poaching, and whom afterwards he is supposed to
have caricatured under the title of "Justice Shallow."' "I wandered alone through the forest of Arden, and seemed to imbibe
inspiration from the surrounding scenery. I called up scenes from 'As
you like it,' and other plays. I sat down on the grass in a wooded spot,
and watched the deer. "'Here,' I thought, to myself, 'must be the spot where the melancholy
Jacques moralised on the wounded deer.