down to the present day. It will be in two parts; the interim when
people thought me dead, marking their separation. I was not dead; I
slept a dreamless sleep. Presently I shall sleep again; as men say,
die; then doubtless wake again. Life and death are but sleeping and
waking on a larger scale. Our little life is rounded with a sleep. It
is the swing of the pendulum, the revolution of the orb. Yes, I am
writing my autobiography. So little is known of the private history of
Shakespeare, conceive the boon it will be to mankind. I shall leave
the manuscripts to my executors, for them to publish after I have lain
down to my next long rest. Of special value will be the chapters
telling how I wrote the plays, settling disputed readings, closing all
controversy upon the sanity of Hamlet, and divulging the true
personality of Mr. W.H.'

He came into my room for a little visit before going to bed. There,
candle in hand, he gazed long and earnestly into my chimney-glass.

'Yes,' he sighed at last, 'it is solely in the quantity of my hair
that the resemblance fails.'

I understood now why he trained it back and plastered it down over his
scalp, as he did; at a rough glance, you might have got the impression
that the crown of his head was bald. I suppose he is the only man in
two hemispheres who finds the opposite condition a matter of regret.




FLOWER O' THE QUINCE