reflect upon my words, so I thought I would improve the
opportunity, and, if possible, try and make him turn human, so I
observed,

"I shall not be here to-morrow; I am going to visit Miss Edith. Shall I
take her any message?"

"Oh, yes, doctor, certainly, by all means; that is, I'll write. Give me
some paper, pen and ink."

Having handed him these materials, he sat up in bed and penned an
epistle to his lady-love in the flesh, which he sealed and handed to me.

I assured him of its safety in my hands, and took my leave of him for
some days, hoping to find him more reconciled to humanity on my return.

Having given the parents of Charles further instructions with regard to
their son, I took my departure, and shortly afterwards taking the stage,
was _en route_ for my friend's country seat, where I arrived early the
next morning.

"And how is our patient?" I asked, as I shook hands with my friend at
the threshold.

"I fancy she sleeps sounder, doctor," he replied. "We are not so often
disturbed by her talking in her sleep."

"Good," said I; "her nerves will be getting a little stronger. Can I see
her?"

"Oh, yes; walk straight to her room."

As I entered, my patient was sitting up in bed, reading.

"Ah!" said I, after the customary salutations, "we are better this
morning, eh?"

"Oh, doctor, is that you? I am glad you have come."

"What book is that?" I asked, at the same time looking at the title.
"Ah! Shakespeare. That is Charles' favourite author."

"I know it, doctor. Oh, how often have we read it together; but now,
alas!"

"Why alas?" asked I.

"Ah, doctor," she replied, shaking her head slowly, "I never see him
now. You are curing him, and me, too. Of what value to me is a body in
perfect health, when it imprisons within it a wounded soul?"

"Come, let me see if I can't bring some balm to the wounded soul," I
said, producing from my pocket Charles' letter.

"From him?" she exclaimed. "Oh, doctor, I shall be for ever grateful to
you. I dreamt I received a letter from him last night. How is
he--better? Stay, let me read."

She tore open the letter and read in an undertone, just loud enough for
me to hear:

"Angel of my dreams--Charles in the flesh pens thee these poor lines,
greeting. How art thou, now shut from me! The doors of the body have
closed upon my spirit, and I feel that I no more belong to the same
order of beings as a few nights ago. For me now thou may'st wait in vain
in the g