CHAPTER XXII. 



AN UNDISCOVERED ISLAND. 



Come unto these yellow sands, 



And then take hands ; 



Curtsied when you have, and kiss d 



The wild waves whist, 



Foot it featly here and there ; 



And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 



ONE winter evening, some time after the mem 

 orable year of our first visit to the Forest of Arden, 

 Rosalind and I were planning a return to that en 

 chanting place, and in the glow of the fire on the 

 hearth were picturing to ourselves the delights that 

 would be ours again, when the clang of the knocker 

 suddenly recalled us from our dreams. Hospitably 

 inclined, as I trust and believe we are, at that 

 moment an interruption seemed like an intrusion. 

 But our momentary annoyance was speedily dis 

 pelled when the library door opened, and, with the 

 freedom which belongs to old friendship, the Poet 

 entered unannounced. No one could have been 

 more welcome on that wintry night than this genial 

 and human soul, bound to us by many ties of 



