He fell into a profound melancholy. His mind was now as calm and settled about its own attitude as ever it had been by the quiet banks of the Avon, under the pious shadows of Trinity Church, that sheltered Shakespeare's ashes. But out there, below where he stood, were men now sleeping who would wake in awhile, and devote their day to the services of Doubt, of Unbelief. These men were worse than the cynics, or the scoffers, or the sceptics. They could not be accused of passion or violence: they carried the manners of sincerity and impartiality; they advocated no code of their own; they simply tried to destroy yours; or, worse still, they did not assail your beliefs, but furnished you with weapons against all you held highest, noblest, holiest. It was worse than sad to think of these men. He would think no more of them now. He would take off his boots, and coat, and waistcoat, and try if he could not get a little sleep. He lay down, and in a few minutes the substantial things of the room faded from his gaze, and a period of unconsciousness followed. Then he opened his eyes again. He found himself in a skiff blown by the winds over the tawny waters of the German Ocean towards the shores of Britain. The skiff was in deadly peril, for the waves were high. She had no sail to steady her. Any moment a broken wave might swamp her. At his feet lay a bundle of skins on the bottom of the boat, and he knew under those skins lay a woman, the woman destined to be the first to land in England. But where was the man? Where was the mate of this woman? Osborne did not know, but he felt sure the man would appear in due time. For days and nights that skiff pitched about the German Ocean. It did not encounter disaster or reach security. At last, one evening, as it grew dusk, and he was well-nigh spent, he saw the mouth of a great river, and steered the skiff in. What a difference between this river and the river of his vision! They were not the same, and yet they were. The waters and the shores of that river had shown no trace of man. No vessel had swum in that stream, no house or hut had stood upon its banks. The waters of this stream were crowded with craft of every size and build. The shores were lined with houses and wharfs, and stores of every height and kind. And yet the two rivers were identical in all things. How was this?