The Columbus journal. (Columbus, Neb.) 1874-1911, 1908-12-02
m SACRED KEEPING
WIDOW HELD HER HUSBANDS
LITERARY TREASURES.
Not All the Wealth o. New York, She
Declared, Would Tempt Her to
Part with the Books
He Loved.

A New Yorker who returned q few
days ago from the Catskill mountains
tells of an old woman he met. who
lives In . cottage just outside the lit
tie town Of Cairo. This woman, q
Mrs. Gary. he discovered. has . valu-
able collection Of books which BE-
longed to her husband, who Ut one
time kept q secondhand store In
Washington, D. c.. and who died about
20 years ago.
Il stumbled on the little wooden
house and its occupant by chance"
said he. and It II q meeting I shall
long remember. followed her up an
unexpected stair, through bare room
to where the books were. They lined
. dozen rough shelves and Uttered the
floor. Evidently they had not been
disturbed for years. Piles of hand
some volumes In worn leather covers
lay smeared in cobwebs and dust. I
stopped down to pick up a book.
Stop she cried. grabbing my arm.
You must not touch them! They were
his. and you must not touch them!'
Gradually, however. she relented.
I was allowed to open some Of the vol
umes under protest. Rare books they
were. Three first editions, which lay
half hidden in . pile of broken plaster
would have brought. believe, total
Of $500 ut . book connoisseur's sale In
New York; one copy Of Poe. which l
would have liked much to possess, lay
In q moldy condition ON the sill of the
little attic window; several rare vol
umes Of Dickens works and an equal
" rare copy of Longfellow l found be-
hind an immense travelling trunk,
squeezed and scratched deplorably.
Treasure met my hand and eye every
where.
why I protested, II you took
these books to New York and placed
them with proper persons you'd make
small fortune
ITO New York; she echoed, raising
her hands in alarm. No. indeed. all
the wealth Of New York would not
tempt me to part with one of them.
They were his: that's enough for me.
take care of my books, Jane''-that
was about the last words he said to
me before he died. I have respected
his wish. for they are here Is he left
them. You are the first to lay q finger
on them. and you'll likely be the last.
for before I follow him I'll make sure
that his books'n fall into no strange
hands. Here. during the latter years
of his life. on the oak chair under tho
skylight, he would ut for hours and
days on end with no company but his
books. That night that was his last
he was here for hours. When he came
down to the sitting room he could not
rest, and he said to me: I'm going
back to my books. Jane, and may read
till late. Get to bed IL you wish. and
never mind me-" So I went to bed.
and on awakening at the first glimmer
of dawn I saw I was still alone.
cried Andrew" but no answer came;
then I stole out and went up stairs.
All, I remember a II 1t were yester-
day. He sat here with his head down
on his chest-dead. This book was
in his left hand and his right gripped
the chair arm like a'vise. That other
book on the floor lay as It lies now.
open with its face down. There I have
left 1t lie. No hand shall touch them.
And 80 We walked silently out Of the
musty room. and she locked the door"
New York Press.