Year: 1872

How bitterly cold it was in New York
on the evening of the 4th Of February,
1871 | was sitting in front Of a snug
coal fire in my coy little library in
Washington Square. | am somewhat
inclined to be what is called book
worm: | love with my whole heart
whatever is old, quaint, and musty in
the way of books. They are fascinating
to me in proportion as they are ancient,
and possessed of that peculiar smell
Characteristic Of antiqua'cd bindings
and worm eaten paper. What other
merits they may possess is matter of
indifference to me. To be acceptable
they must be old.


On this especial evening my happiness
was complete. During the day | had
determined to brave the winter wind in
search of some new antiquity Of litera-
Sure--something that should be excep-
Sionally ragged, obscure, and aromatic.
Accordingly | betook myself to my fa-
Vorite resort in such emergencies-the
old secondhand bookstore in Ann
street, and, after ransacking about for
while, | hit upon what seemed to be
number of old, decayed letters bound
up together. and protected by time
worn leather cover.


Here was prize indeed With trem-
bling eagerness inquired the price,
and felt offended almost at being told ii
was ten cents Willingly would | have
given hundred times as much. had it
been asked. But reflected that swine
were always prone to trample upon
pearls, and paid my ten cents in silence.
Then, placing my purchase carefully in
my innermost breast pocket, | hurried
homeward through the biting wind.


Supper over, l ensconced myself in
my big easy-chair, and prepared for
campaign into the realms of antiquity.
My centre, as already limited, was pro-
tected by glowing fire, my right flank
defended by my last half bottle of rare
old port wine. my left wing strength
ened by a time-honored pipe Of fragrant
Latal<ia, and my rear brought up by a
judicious arrangement of cushions and
springs. Every thing being ready, |
drew forth my precious budget, and the
campaign began.


After little general skirmishing and
accommodating, in which long practice
and experience had rendered me an
adept, | began to gain an insight into
what had at first glance appeared some
what involved. The papers consisting
of copies of letters and extracts from a
journal) contained story of three indi-
viduals-two men and woman-who
lived about hundred and fifty years
ago One peculiar circumstance was
noticeable which considerably added to
the obscurity of this tale-all the proper
names had been omitted. A blank
space was left for each one. Even the
person Ia friend, apparently, of the
chief actor in the drama) who had
copied and arranged the original letters
and papers was as nameless as the rest.
But by dint of inserting initials in these
blank spaces, and noting down here an
event and there a date, | gradually ar
rived at comprehension Of the main
points Of the story, which (for I shall
resist the temptation to transcribe it in
the original words) ran somewhat as
follows:


Early in the last century man,
M, was residing in the vicinity of
what was then the flourishing town of
New York. He was an enterprising and
successful young farmer, who, barring
the fact that he was an orphan and un
married, wanted nothing to complete
his felicity. 1t seems probable that the
very fact of his having so little to desire
put it into his head that he needed
wife-some one to take charge of his
household affairs, receive him with a
kiss and smile on his return from the
days work, and bear him children who
should transmit his name to posterity.
Such one he believed himself to have
found in the person Of Miss Il, al
young lady belonging TO one of the best
families in the neighborhood The par
ents, well-to.do people, readily gave their
consent to the young farmers suit she
herself seemed to favor him and recip-
rocate his affection, and everything