As some of my readers are perhaps less fluently acquainted with the Scotch than myself, I take the liberty of translating into English the conversation which ensued. The Spirit began by asking whether I regarded Shakespeare as the greatest poet that ever lived, or as the meanest sweater that ever exploited the gifts of the helpless poor--meaning in this case Francis Bacon. I responded that I did _not_ think Bacon a man of that sort. "Well," continued the Spirit, "do you think that a man who could scarcely write his own name could write _Hamlet_?" "It is a nice point," I said. "Very well," said the Spirit, dancing a series of fantastic Highland flings in the unsubstantial air, and turning a double somersault at the finish; "if, as everybody admits, Bacon was one of the blackest scoundrels that ever lived, his mind could not have conceived the noble philosophy to which his name is attached. And if Shakespeare, as the signature to his will shows, could scarcely write his own name, he could not have written his own _Plays_." "Same again," said I. "Besides which," continued the Spirit, "neither Shakespeare nor Bacon was a Scotsman." "That settles 'em," quoth I. "Now, look at here," continued the Spirit, aggressively shaking his forefinger under my nose; "whoever wrote Shakespeare's _Plays_ must have written Shakespeare's _Sonnets_." "Undoubtedly," said I. "And the _Sonnets_ were dedicated by the publisher to 'W. H.,' who is styled 'the onlie begetter of these ensuing _Sonnets_.'" "Well?" "The publisher must have known who the author was." "Very likely." "And in referring to the '_onlie_ begetter,' he clearly implies that the authorship was claimed by many, and in furnishing no more than the initials of 'the onlie begetter,' he indicates that the real author had reasons for concealing the authorship." "That may be so." "Well, why should a man desire to conceal his authorship of such exquisite sonnets--sonnets of whose surpassing excellence he himself is so convinced that he writes-- So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, --unless the _Sonnets_ contained matter likely to bring him into trouble? For instance, if a man had, in the fervour of his youth, poured out such warm expression of his love as the _Sonnets_ contain, and very earnestly desired, later on in life, to marry another lady, he might be anxious then that the authorship of the _Sonnets_ should be temporarily forgotten. But Bacon never did marry. And Shakespeare married young, and deserted his wife; and she survived his death. Therefore, no such motive for secrecy could have affected Bacon or Shakespeare." At this point of his inductive reasoning, the Spirit paused for effect: he looked for all the world like a picture I had seen in the _Strand Magazine_. "Ah!" I said, "I know you now; you are Sherlock Holmes, the detective."