first himself, and asked me if I
had heard of the circumstances that led to the death of Edith and her
lover. I replied that I had heard all from Charles' mother.

"And who do you think that Edith and Charles turned out to be?" he
asked. "Why, lineal descendants of the great bard of Avon," he said.

"Is it indeed so?" said I.

"Yes," he replied; "after the death of my poor Edith I was curious to
know something about her real mother. I made inquiries into her
pedigree, and the report I heard from more than one quarter was--well,
it is a long story; and, at some future time, when we are not likely to
be interrupted, I may relate it to you. Suffice it to say, that the
descent of Charles and Edith may be distinctly traced from our great
Bard, William Shakespeare."

"Strange," I observed. "It is not impossible that some of the great
poet's genius might have run in the veins of Charles. He always
impressed me as a young man of great intellect. He might have been
something had he lived."

"Oh, yes," replied my friend; "I am certain of it. He was a very
promising young man; and there was Edith, as full of genius as she could
be, poor child. I tell you, doctor, it was marvellous what that girl had
in her."

"Oh, I believe it," I said. "There was something extremely intelligent
in her expression, if I may use the word; perhaps I ought to say,
intellectual and poetical. Well, genius, though seldom inherited from
father to son, rarely dies out of the family altogether, but often,
after lying dormant for generations, breaks out again in some form or
another, like certain diseases."

"Yes, doctor," said my friend; "I have observed the fact myself, and how
seldom do we find genius unaccompanied with disease. Do you know,
doctor, I often thank Heaven that I am no genius?"

[Illustration]

CHAPTER III.

CONTAINING MR. PARNASSUS'S POEM, THE GLACIER KING.

At the conclusion of Dr. Bleedem's narrative he was highly complimented
by his audience, and various were the comments upon his recital. The
chairman declared himself unable to decide as to which of the two
stories related that evening was the more marvellous.

The host of the "Headless Lady" vowed he had never heard such a tale in
all his life before, though he knew a good story or two himself. Mr.
Oldstone proposed the health of the doctor, which was drunk accordingly,
amid cheers. He responded to it in a short speech, when the old Dutch
clock in the corner s