dual-souled boy. The green lanes were haunted by memories of
broken-hearted lovers: Earl Percy, mourning for the fair and fickle
Anne; Essex, calling vainly for the royal ring that was to have saved
him; Leicester, the Lucky, a more contented ghost, returning in
pleasing reminiscence to the scenes of his earthly triumphs,
comfortably oblivious of his earthly crimes. What boy would not have
found inspiration in gazing at the massive walls, locked and barred
against him though they were, within which the immortal Robinson
Crusoe sprang into being and found that island of enchantment, the
favorite resort of the juvenile imagination in all the generations
since?

At Stoke-Newington the introspective boy found little to win him from
that self-analysis which later enabled him to mystify a world that
rarely pauses to take heed of the ancient exhortation, "Know thyself."
In the depths of his own being he found the story of "William Wilson,"
with its atmosphere of weird romance and its heart of solemn truth.

Incidentally, he uplifted the reputation of the American boy, so far as
regarded Stoke-Newington's opinion, by assuring his mates when they
marvelled over his athletic triumphs and feats of skill that all the
boys in America could do those things.

At the end of the year in which the family returned from
Stoke-Newington Mr. Allan moved into a plain little cottage a story and
a half high, with five rooms on the ground floor, at the corner of Clay
and Fifth Streets. Here they lived until, in 1825, Mr. Allan inherited
a considerable amount of money and bought a handsome brick residence at
the corner of Main and Fifth Streets, since known as the Allan House.
With the exception of two very short intervals, from June of this year