Chapter 2

The trunk was sent, and the letter actually pasted in it as part of the new lining. Dr. H----, who, as we have observed, was rather eccentric in his ways, had a son about to commence his career as a soldier; and the worthy man thought the letter might teach the youth a useful lesson of moderation and temperance, by showing him every time he opened his trunk, the extreme of want to which his fellow beings were occasionally reduced. What success followed the plan we cannot say. The trunk, however, shared the young soldier's wandering life; it carried the cornet's uniform to America; it was besieged in Boston; and it made part of the besieging baggage at Charleston. It was not destined, however, to remain in the new world, but followed its owner to the East Indies, carrying on this second voyage, a lieutenant's commission. At length, after passing five-and-twenty years in Bengal, the trunk returned again to Southampton, as one among some dozen others which made up the baggage of the gallant Colonel H----, now rich in laurels and rupees. The old trunk had even the honorable duty assigned it of carrying its master's trophies, doubtless the most precious portion of the colonel's possessions, though at the same time the lightest; as for the rupees, the old worn-out box would have proved quite unequal to transporting a single bag of them, for it was now sadly unfit for service, thanks to the ravages of time and the white ants; and, indeed, owed its preservation and return to its native soil solely to the letter pasted in the lid, which, in the eyes of Colonel H----, was a memento of home, and the eccentric character of a deceased parent.

{cornet = the lowest officer rank in a British cavalry regiment, below that of Lieutenant; now obsolete}

The time had now come, however, when the Lumley autograph was about to emerge forever from obscurity, and receive the full homage of collectors; the hour of triumph was at hand, the neglect of a century was to be fully repaid by the highest honors of fame. The eye of beauty was about to kindle as it rested on the Lumley autograph; jeweled fingers were to be raised, eager to snatch the treasure from each other; busy literati stood ready armed for a war of controversy in its behalf.

It happened that Colonel H---- was invited to a fancy ball; and it also happened that the lady whom he particularly admired, was to be present on the occasion. Such being the case, the most becoming costume was to be selected for the evening. What if the locks of the gallant colonel were slightly sprinkled with gray? He was still a handsome man, and knew very well that the dress of an eastern aymeer was particularly well suited to his face and figure. This dress, preserved in a certain old trunk in the garret, was accordingly produced. The trunk was brought down to the dressing-room, the costume examined piece by piece, pronounced in good condition by the valet, and declared very becoming by the military friend called in as counsellor.

{aymeer = Emir; a Muslim title signifying commander in Arabic}

"But what a queer old box this is, H----," said Major D----, eyeing the trunk through his glass.

"It's one I've had these hundred years," replied the colonel. "So you think this trumpery will do, D----?"

"Do? To be sure it will, my dear fellow--it gives your Milesian skin the true Nawaub dye. But I was just trying to make out an old letter pasted in the lid of your trunk, under my nose here. Is this the way you preserve your family archives?"

{Milesian = slang term for Irish, from Milesius, mythical Spanish conqueror of Ireland; Nawaub = from Nabob, Anglo-Indian slang for one who has returned home from India with a large fortune}

"That letter is really a curiosity in its way," said the colonel, turning from the glass and relating its history, so far at least as it was known to himself.

His friend spelt it through.

"My dear fellow, why don't you give this letter to the father of your fair Louisa; he's quite rabid on such points; you'll make him a friend for life by it!"

The advice was followed. The letter was cut from its old position in the lid of the trunk, and presented to Sir John Blank, the father of the lovely Louisa, who, in his turn, soon placed the hand of his daughter in that of Colonel H----.

Sir John, a noted follower in the steps of Horace Walpole, had no sooner become the owner of this interesting letter, than he set to work to find out its origin, and to fill up its history. Unfortunately, the sheet had received some wounds in the wars, as well as the gallant colonel. One corner had been carried away by an unlucky thrust from a razor--not a sword; while the date and signature had also been half eaten out by the white ants of Bengal. But such difficulties as these were only pleasing obstacles in the way of antiquarian activity. Sir John had soon formed an hypothesis perfectly satisfactory to himself. His mother's name was Butler, and he claimed some sort of affinity with the author of Hudibras; as the Christian name of the poor poet had been almost entirely devoured by the ants, while the surname had also suffered here and there, Sir John ingeniously persuaded himself that what remained had clearly belonged to the signature of the great satirist; as for the date, the abbreviation of "Nov. 20th." and the figures 16-- marking the century, were really tolerably distinct. Accordingly, Sir John wrote a brief notice of Butler's Life, dwelling much upon his well-known poverty, and quoting his epitaph, with the allusion to his indigence underscored, "lest he who living wanted all things, should, when dead, want a tomb," and placed these remarks opposite the letter of our starving poet, which was registered in the volume in conspicuous characters as an "Autograph of Samuel Butler, author of Hudibras, showing to what distress he was at one time reduced."

{Samuel Butler (1612-1680), another English author popularly believed to have died in great poverty; he is best known for his long satiric mock-epic poem, "Hudibras" (1663-1678)}

Here the sheet remained several years, until at length it chanced that Sir John's volume of autographs was placed in the hands of a gentleman who had recently read Mr. Lumley's MS. Life of Otway. The identity of this letter, with that copied by Mr. Lumley, immediately suggested itself; and now the first sparks of controversy between the Otwaysians and the Butlerites were struck in Sir John's library.

From thence they soon spread to the four winds of heaven, falling on combustible materials wherever they lighted on a literary head, or collecting hands.

By the bye, the rapidity with which this collecting class has increased of late years is really alarming; who can foresee the state of things likely to exist in the next century, should matters go on at the same rate? Reflect for a moment on the probable condition of distinguished authors, lions of the loudest roar, if the number of autograph-hunters were to increase beyond what it is at present. Is it not to be feared that they will yet exterminate the whole race, that the great lion literary, like the mastodon, will become extinct? Or, perhaps, by taming him down to a mere producer of autographs, his habits will change so entirely that he will no longer be the same animal, no longer bear a comparison with the lion of the past. On the other hand should the great race become extinct, what will be the fate of the family of autograph-feeders? What a fearful state of things would ensue, even in our day, were the supply to be reduced but a quire! The heart sickens at the picture which would then be presented--collectors turning on each other, waging a fierce war over every autographic scrap, making a battle-field of every social circle. Happily, nature seems always to keep up the balance in such matters, and it is a consoling reflection that if the million are now consumers, so have they become producers of autographs; it is therefore probable that the evil will work its own remedy; and we may hope that the great writers of the next century will be shielded in some measure by the diversion made in their favor through the lighter troops of the lion corps.

As for the full merits of the controversy so hotly waged over the Lumley autograph between the Otwaysians and the Butlerites, dividing the collecting world into two rival parties, we shall not here enter into it. In all such matters it is better to go at once to the fountain head; if the reader is curious on the subject, as doubtless he must be, he is referred to one octavo and five duodecimo volumes, with fifty pamphlets which have left little to say on the point. Let it not be supposed, however, for an instant, that the writer of this article is himself undecided in his opinion on this question. By no means; and he hastens to repel the unjust suspicion, by declaring himself one of the warmest Otwaysians. It is true that he has some private grounds for believing that a dispassionate inquiry might lead one to doubt whether Otway or Butler ever saw the Lumley autograph; but what of that, who has time or inclination for dispassionate investigation in these stirring days! In the present age of universal enlightenment, we don't trouble ourselves to make up our opinions--we take and give them, we beg, borrow, and steal them. True, there are controversies involving matters so important in their consequences, so serious in their nature, that one might conceive either indifference or fanaticism equally inexcusable with regard to them; but there are also a thousand other subjects of discussion, at the present day, of that peculiar character which can only thrive when supported by passion and prejudice, and falling in with a dispute of this nature, it is absolutely necessary to jump at once into fanaticism. Accordingly, I had no sooner obtained a glimpse of the letter of the starving poet, embalmed within the precious leaves of one of the most noted albums of Europe, than I immediately enlisted under Lady Holberton's colors as a faithful Otwaysian. With that excellent lady I take a tragical view of the Lumley Letter, conceiving that a man must be blind as a bat, not to see that it was written by the author of Venice Preserved, and this in spite of other celebrated collectors, who find in the same sheet so much that is comical and Hudibrastic. Strange that any man in his senses should hold such an opinion--yet the Butlerites number strong, some of them are respectable people, too; more's the pity that such should be the case.

As we have already observed, the controversy began in the library of Sir John Blank, and it continued throughout the life-time of that excellent and well-known collector. At his death, a few years since, it passed into the hands of his daughter, the widow of Colonel H----; and it will be readily imagined that although the main question is still as much undecided as ever, yet the value of the document itself has been immeasurably increased by a controversy of twenty years standing, on its merits. I wish I could add that the fortune of Colonel H---- had augmented in the same proportion; but, unhappily for his widow, the reverse was the case; and it was owing to this combination of circumstances that Lady Holberton at length obtained possession of the Lumley Autograph. Mrs. H---- became very desirous of procuring for her eldest son a cornetcy in the regiment once commanded by his father; as she was now too poor to purchase, the matter required management and negotiation. How it was brought about I cannot exactly say. Suffice it to declare that the young man received his commission, through the influence of Lady Holberton, in a high military quarter, while the Lumley Autograph was placed on a distinguished leaf of that lady's velvet-bound, jewel-clasped album.

It so happened that I dined at Holberton-House on the eventful day upon which the Lumley letter changed owners. I saw immediately, on entering the drawing-room, that Lady Holberton was in excellent spirits; she received me very graciously, and spoke of her son, with whom I had just traveled between Paris and Algiers.

"Wish me joy, Mr. Howard!" exclaimed the lady after a short conversation.

Of course I was very happy to do so, and replied by some remarks on the recent success of her friends in a parliamentary measure, just then decided--Lady Holberton being a distinguished politician. But I soon found it was to some matter of still higher moment she then alluded.

"I never had a doubt as to our success in the house, last night--no; rather wish me joy that I have at last triumphed in a negotiation of two years standing. The Lumley Autograph is mine, Mr. Howard! The letter of poor Otway, actually written in the first stages of starvation--only conceive its value!"

Other guests arriving I was obliged to make way, not however, before Lady Holberton had promised me a sight of her recent acquisition, in the evening. In the mean time I fully entered into her satisfaction, for I had already seen her album in Paris, and heard her sigh for this very addition to its treasures. During dinner the important intelligence that the Lumley letter was her own, was imparted to the company generally.

"I knew it! I was sure of it from her smile, the moment I entered the room!" exclaimed Mr. T---- the distinguished collector, who sat next me.

Another guest, Miss Rowley, also a collecting celebrity, was sitting opposite, and turned so pale at the moment, that I was on the point of officiously recommending a glass of water.

"Have you albums in America, Mr. Howard?" inquired a charming young lady on my right.

"There is no lack of them, I assure you,"--I replied.

"Really! Adela, Mr. Howard tells me they have albums in America!" repeated the young lady to a charming sister, near her; while on my left I had the satisfaction of hearing some gratifying remarks from Mr. T----, as to the state of civilization in my native country, as shown by such a fact.

"And what are your albums like?" again inquired my lovely neighbor.

"Not like Lady Holberton's, perhaps--but pretty well for a young nation."

"Oh dear--not like Lady Holberton's of course--hers is quite unique--so full of nice odd things. But are your albums in America at all like ours?"

"Why yes! we get most of them from Paris and London."

"Oh dear! how strange--but don't you long to see this new treasure of Lady Holberton's--that dear nice letter of Otway's, written while he was starving?" inquired the charming Emily, helping herself to a bit of pate de Perigord.

{pate de Perigord = an expensive French delicacy: goose liver pate with truffles.}

"Yes, I am exceedingly curious to see it."

"You don't believe it was written by that coarse, vulgar Butler, do you?"

"No, indeed,--it is the pathetic Otway's, beyond a doubt!"

My neighbor, the Butlerite, gave a contemptuous shrug, but I paid him no attention, preferring to coincide with the soft eyes on my right, rather than dispute with the learned spectacles to the left.

After dinner when we had done full justice to the bill of fare, concluding with pines, grapes, and Newtown pippins, we were all gratified with a sight of the poor poet's letter, by way of bonne bouche. A little volume written by Lady Holberton--printed but not published--relating its past history from the date of its discovery in the library of Lord G----, her grandfather, to the present day, passed from hand to hand, and this review of its various adventures of course only added force to the congratulations offered upon the acquisition of this celebrated autograph.

{pine = pineapple. Newtown pippin = a green, tart, tangy American apple, originally from Long Island, a favorite of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson; bonne bouche = a tasty morsel (French)}

While the company were succeeding each other in offering their homage to the great album, my attention was called off by a tap on the shoulder from a friend, who informed me that Miss Rowley, a very clever, handsome woman of a certain age, had expressed a wish to make my acquaintance. I was only too happy to be presented. After a very gracious reception, and an invitation to a party for the following evening, Miss Rowley observed:

"You have Autographs, in America, I understand, Mr. Howard."

"Both autographs and collectors," I replied.

"Really! Perhaps you are a collector yourself?" continued the lady, with an indescribable expression, half interest, half disappointment.

"No--merely a humble admirer of the labors of others."

"Then," added the lady, more blandly, "perhaps you will be good-natured enough to assist me."

And, after a suspicious glance toward the spot where Lady Holberton and Mr. T---- were conversing together, she adroitly placed herself in a position to give to our conversation the privacy of a diplomatic tete-a-tete.

"Could you possibly procure me some American autographs for my collection? I find a few wanting under the American head--perhaps a hundred or two."

I professed myself ready to do any thing in my power in so good a cause.

"Here is my list; I generally carry it about me. You will see those that are wanting, and very possibly may suggest others."

And as the lady spoke she drew from her pocket a roll of paper as long, and as well covered with names as any minority petition to Congress. However, I had lived too much among collectors of late to be easily dismayed. The list was headed by Black Hawk. I expressed my fears that the gallant warrior's ignorance of letters might prove an obstacle to obtaining any thing from his pen. I volunteered however to procure instead, something from a Cherokee friend of mine, the editor of a newspaper.

{Black Hawk = Black Hawk (1767-1838), an American Indian (Sac) chieftain, defeated by the U.S. Army in 1832, whose "Autobiography" (1833) became an American classic.}

"How charming!" exclaimed Miss Rowley, clasping her hands. "How very obliging of you, Mr. Howard. Are you fond of shooting? My brother's preserves are in fine order--or perhaps you are partial to yachting--"

Bowing my thanks for these amiable hints, I carelessly observed that the letter of the Cherokee editor was no sacrifice at all, for the chief and myself were regular correspondents; I had a dozen of his letters, and had just given one to Mr. T----. This intelligence evidently lessened Miss Rowley's excessive gratitude. She continued her applications, however, casting an eye on her list.

"Perhaps you correspond also with some rowdies, Mr. Howard? Could you oblige me with a rowdy letter?"

{rowdies = in the mid-nineteenth century, an American slang term for backwoodsmen or other rough and disorderly types}

I drew up a little at this request; my correspondents, I assured the lady, were generally men of respectability, though one of them was of a savage race.

"No doubt; but in the way of autographs, you know, one would correspond with--"

The sentence remained unfinished, for the lady added,

"I wrote myself to Madame Laffarge, not long since. I am sorry to say Lady Holberton has two of hers; but although an excellent person in most respects, yet it cannot be denied that as regards autographs, Lady Holberton is very illiberal. I offered her Grizzel Baillie, two Cardinals, William Pitt, and Grace Darling, for one of her Laffarges; but she would not part with it. Yet the exchange was very fair, especially as Madame Laffarge is still living."

{Madame Laffarge = Marie Lafarge (1816-1853), French woman convicted in 1840 for poisoning her husband; later pardoned. Grizzel Baillie = Lady Grizel Baillie (1665-1746), Scottish poet. William Pitt = either William Pitt "the Elder" (1708-1778) or William Pitt "the Younger" (1759-1806), both British Prime Ministers. Grace Darling = Grace Darling (1815-1842), English heroine and lighthouse keeper's daughter, famous for her rescue of castaways in 1838.}

I bowed an assent to the remark.

"And then she herself actually once made proposals for Schinderhannes, to a friend of mine, offering Howard, the philanthropist, Talma, William Penn, and Fenelon for him--all commonplace enough, you know--and Schinderhannes quite unique. My friend was indignant!"

{Schinderhannes = German bandit chief, executed in 1803. Howard = John Howard (1726-1790), English philanthropist and prison reformer. Talma = Francois Talma (1763-1826), popular French playwright. William Penn (1644-1718), Quaker founder of Pennsylvania. Fenelon = Francois Fenelon (1651-1715), French Archbishop and writer}

I ventured to excuse Lady Holberton by suggesting that probably at the time her stock of notabilities was low.

Miss Rowley shook her head, and curled her lip, as if she fancied the lady had only been seeking to drive a hard bargain.

"On one point, however, I have carried the day, Mr. Howard. Lady Holberton is not a little proud of her Vidocq; but I have obtained one far superior to hers, one addressed to myself so piquant and gallant too. I called on the dear old burglar on purpose to coax him into writing me a note."

{Vidocq = Francois Vidocq (1775-1857), French police detective who turned robber, and was exposed in 1832.}

I wondered, in petto, whether I should meet any illustrious convicts at Miss Rowley's party the next evening; but remembering to have heard her called an exclusive, it did not seem very probable.

{in petto = silently, to oneself (Latin)}

After running her eye over the list again, Miss Rowley made another inquiry.

"Mr. Howard, could you get me something from an American Colonel?"

I assured the lady we had colonels of all sorts, and begged to know what particular variety she had placed on her catalogue--was it an officer of the regular service, or one of no service at all?

"Oh, the last, certainly--officers who have seen service are so commonplace!"

My own pen was immediately placed at Miss Rowley's disposal, as my sword would have been, had I owned one. As I had been called colonel a hundred times without having commanded a regiment once, my own name was as good as any other on the present occasion.

"You are very obliging. Since you are so good, may I also trouble you to procure me a line from a very remarkable personage of your country--a very distinguished man--he has been President, or Speaker of the Senate, or something of that sort."

To which of our head men did Miss Rowley allude?

"He is called Uncle Sam, I believe."

{Uncle Sam = "Uncle Sam" became a popular personification of the United States during the War of 1812, replacing Brother Jonathan, and was often used in contradistinction to the British "John Bull"}

This was not so easy a task, for though we have thousands of colonels, there is but one Uncle Sam in the world. On hearing that such was the case, Miss Rowley's anxiety on the subject increased immeasurably; but I assured her the old gentleman only put his name to treaties, and tariffs; and although his sons were wonderfully gallant, yet he himself had never condescended to notice any woman but a queen regnant: and I further endeavored to give some idea of his identity. Miss Rowley stopped me short, however.

"Only procure me one line from him, Mr. Howard, and I shall be indebted to you for life. It will be time enough to find out all about him when I once have his name--that is the essential thing."

I shrunk from committing myself, however; declaring that I would as soon engage to procure a billet-doux from Prester John.

{Prester John = Mythical ruler believed in the Middle Ages to head a powerful Christian Kingdom somewhere in Asia; later identified with the Christian Kings of Ethiopia in Africa}

"Prester John! That would, indeed, be quite invaluable!"

This Asiatic diversion was a happy one, and came very apropos, for it carried Miss Rowley into China; she inquired if I had any Chinese connections.