UC-NRLF B 3 327 55b !!!iiili! BiJlilJiiiia ■ LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. Class <7l$$ '^^ <^^ <^s/ L^ r £j&y (ht^^u^ )*£/- SCROPE; OE, THE LOST LIBRARY. A NOVEL OF NEW YORK AND HARTFORD. BY FREDERIC B. PERKINS. HJSC FABULA NARRATUR. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1874. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, Oy ROBERTS BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. GENERAL Boston : Land, Avery, & Co., Stereotvpers and Printers. CONTENTS. PART I. PAGE The Book Auction; Scropes and Van Braams; The Detective .... 7 PART II. The Shadowing "Wings and the Nigger Baby ; Mr. Tarbox Button, the Subscrip- tion-Book Publisher; He trains a Canvasser; The Scrope Will and Signa- ture 30 PART III. Gowan's Second-hand Book Catacomb; Mr. Van Braam and Jacob Behmen; The Unique Scrope Genealogy ; A Broadway Paradise 56 PART IV. N A Billiard Saloon; Mr. William Button wins of Mr. Oppenheimer; A Faro Bank; The Solidarity de VAvenir 84 PART V. A See-ance at Mrs. Babbles's; The Great Philosopher, Mr. S. P. Quinby Anke- tell and the Development of the Germ; Mr. Anketell's New Language . . 106 PART VI. The Death of a Waiter-Girl ; Dr. Toomston's Sermon, with Pictures of the Doctor's Hands ' 122 PART VII. A Theological Dinner at Mr. Button's; The Scrope Association and the Estate in England 136 PART VIII. A Party at Mr. Button's, with Indian Philology, a Ghost Story, and a Love Song 151 101469 4 Contents. PART IX. PAGE Adrian's Meditations ; lie declines Mr. Button's Business Offer, and receives a Pair of Mittens 173 PART X. An Old Hartford House and an Old Hartford Lady; Mr. Jacox the Book Can- vasser and his Customer; Adrian searches a Paper-Mill, and finds Some- thing 1S8 PAET XI. The Scrope Chest ; Adrian as a Sick Nurse . 204 PART XII. Adrian as a Defender of the Oppressed ; A Broadway Fire ; Inside the Building . 218 PART XIII. The Police Station Cells ; The Morning Jail-Delivery 233 PART XIV. The Culmination of Mr. Button's Career; Adrian gets rid of one of his Mittens; The Finding of the Lost Library 247 SCROPE; OR, THE LOST LIBRARY. CHAPTER I. "Half-a-dollar, halfadollarfadol- lafadollafadollafadollathat's bid now, give more'f ye want it ! Half-a-dollar five-eighths three-quarters — Three- quarters I'm bid : — will you say a dollar for this standard work octarvo best edition harf morocker extry? Three-quarters I'm bid, three-quarters will ye give any more ? Three- quarters, threequarttheequartthee- quawttheequawttheequawt one dol- lar shall I have ? " Thus vociferated, at a quarter past five o'clock in the afternoon of Tues- day, January 9th, A. D. 186 — , with the professional accelerando and with a final smart rising inflection, that experienced and successful auctioneer Mr. Howlarid Ball, a broad-shouldered powerful looking man of middle height, with a large head, full eyes, a bluff look, spectacles and plenty of stiff short iron gray hair. A tall personage, old, gaunt and dry, but apparently strong, with dus- ty black clothes and a " stove-pipe" hat, pulled down over his eyes, in the front row of seats, a little to one side of Mr. Ball's desk, answered in a grave dry deliberate voice, " Seven-eighths. But it's damaged." "No tain't either" sharply an- swered the auctioneer, "what do ye mean, Chase-?" " Catalogue says so. It says the titlepage is greasy." Every man at once examined the catalogue he held in his hand, and a laugh arose as one and another detect- ed the mistake that old Chase was jest- ing about. The printer's proof-reader — as sometimes happens even to proof- readers — had been half learned, and out of the halfnessof his learning had substituted "lubricated" which he knew, for " rubricated," which he did not, and the catalogue bore that the book had a lubricated titlepage. Ev- erybody laughed except Chase, whose saturnine features did not change. " Gentlemen," said Mr. Ball, " pay no attention to Chase's jokes, but go on with the sale. Seven-eighths I am bid. Seven-eighths, sevnatesnatesnate- snatesnate say a dollar, somebody ! " implored he in his strong harsh voice. Then he paused a moment and looking around upon his hearers with an earnest expression, he slowly lifted his right hand as if about to make oath before any duly qualified justice of the peace or notary public : " Going. Will nobody give me one dollar for that valuable and interest- ing work, octarvo best edition harf mo- rocker extry, cheap at five dollars ? " — A pause — "Gone! Chase at seven- eighths." As he said " Gone," down came his hand with a slap. The hand is in these days often used for the tradi- tional hammer, as a decent dress-coat is instead of the judge's ermine. The following words were his announce- ment to his book-keeper of the cus- tomer's name and the price ; and then Mr. Ball, turning again to the audi- ence, observed with a grin and a queer chuckle — "And a good time mister Chase'll have a gittin his money back!" A young man in a back seat whis- pered to his neighbor, "He said Chase. Isn't that Gow- Scrope The Lost Library. "What's the next line? " sung out Ball at this moment to an assistant at the side opposite to the book-keeper, always behind the long desk or counter which separates the high-priest from the votaries in such temples as this — " What's the next line ? Oh yes, num- ber ninety-three, gentlemen. ' Bequeel de Divers Voyges.' Something about the pearl fisheries I guess. How much moffered P th' Eequeel, gentlemen? Full of valuable old copperplate illus- trations ; rare, catalogue says, — I spose that means tisn't well done (chuc- kle) — rare and interesting old book" — " Yes. He always buys by that name," briefly answered the young man's neighbor, looking up a moment from entering "7-8 Chase" in the margin of his catalogue against No. 92. "Do they all do so?" queried the young man. " A good many. You see " — " Shut up there, Sibley ! " broke in the strong business voice of the auc- tioneer. " Order in the ranks ! I can't hear myself think, you keep up such a racket ! " The words were sufficiently rough, but the speaker's bluff features wore a jolly smile, and he ended with a short chuckle. He was right, too, in sub- stance, and the person he called Sibley did " shut up," though a kind of sniff and a meaning smile and look at his young companion intimated the dis- sent of superior breeding as to the manner of the request. The sale was one which might be classed as " strictly miscellaneous." It is true that a hasty glance at the title- page of the catalogue informed the reader in " full faced display type " that there was a " valuable private li- brary ; " but a closer inspection would show that like those speakers who go at once from whisper to shout, this deluding inscription leaped from small " lower-case " to a heavy "condensed Gothic," somewhat thus : "CATALOGUE of books, including A VALUABLE PRIVATE LIBRARY, etc, etc." No doubt it was "valuable" in a sense. So is dirt. But assuredly no human being having his wits about him, would give shelf-room to such a mess as this was, taking it all to- gether, unless for purposes of com- merce. It was one of those sales that are made up once in a while from odds and ends of consignments, with some luckless invoice of better books mingled in, to flavor a little, if it may be, the unpleasant mass. But the plan is sure to fail ; poor Tray is judg- ed by his company ; the good books go for the price of poor ones, the poor ones for the price of " paper stock ; " the account-sales ends with a small additional charge over and above receipts against the consignor to meet expenses, cataloguing and auctioneer's commissions ; and the consignor, using indefensible terms of general re- proach, goes through the absurd ope- ration of paying money for the loss of his property. The auctioneer's shelves are cleared, at any rate, and ready for replenishment with those gorgeous or rare books which he loves to sell, feeling his commission rising warm in his very pockets, as the emulous calls or nods or delicate wafts of catalogues or tip-ups of fore-fingers flock up to him from every part of the room, and his voice grows round and full as he glances hither and thither, hopping up the numeration table ten dollars at a time. — How still the room grows, when such a passage-at-purses soars aloft JScrope; or, The Lost Library. 9 like the spirits of tlie dead soldiers in Kaulbacli's "Battle of the Huns," into that rare and exhausting two-or- three-hundred-dollar atmosphere ! But there was none of that, on this occasion. The number of "lines" or lots, in the catalogue, was only two hundred and eighty-nine, in all. In the New York hook-auctions, some- what more than a hundred lots an hour are commonly despatched ; the cheaper the lots the faster they must be run off; and in the present instance a single sitting of two hours or so was deemed an ample allowance. The actual bulk, or weight, or number, whichever category you may prefer, of volumes, however, was very con- siderable, as the common practice had been pursued of "bunching up" five, ten or twenty of the miserable things, into parcels with a string, and cata- loguing them somewhat thus : 245. T upper's Proverbial Philoso- phy etc. 5 vols. 246. Patent Reports etc. 10 vols. Some valuable. 247. School-books. 20 vols. Well: the sale went on, Chase buy- ing an extraordinary number of lots, and a small, short, bushy-bearded and wonderfully dirty Israelite who sat next him, and whom the bluff auc- tioneer irreverently saluted when he first bid with " Hallo ! you there, fa- ther Abraham ? " buying a very few bundles at two cents or three cents per volume. The securing of one of these small prizes by the dirty man seemed to irritate worthy Mr. Ball ; for having offered to the company the succeeding lot, and there being a moment's pause in which no one bid, the auctioneer with much gravity exclaimed, "Put it down to Chase at five cents !" " I won't have it ! " said the old man. "Ye shall have it — what's the next ? " was all the auctioneer replied, with a facetious chuckle and an as- sumption of great violence, and down it went to Chase, while Mr. Ball, with- out heeding his remonstrances, went straight on with the next lot. This was a worn looking octavo volume, with what is technically called a " skiver " or " split sheep " back and old-fash- ioned marbled board sides. " Number 109," cried the auc- tioneer ; "Reverend Strong's ordina- tion sermon and so forth. Valuable old pamphlets, and what'll you give for It ? " — with a quaint sudden stress on this seldom emphasized pro- noun, as if Mr. Ball had meant that the poor neglected thing should find one at least to think it of some weight. "Ten cents," said old Chase, in his grave dry voice — "what's the book?" " Twenty-five," said somebody. " Thirty," called out the young man who had asked about Chase. His voice was eager, and no doubt more than one of the sharp veterans present said to themselves, at that intonation, " Ah, I can put him up if I like ! " But the sale was dull ; as it happened no one did " put him up." "Thirty cents I'm bid," proceeded Mr. Ball; "Thirty, thirty, thirty. Say thirty-five. Thirty-five shall I have ? And gone [slap] for thirty cents "vvhizzit ? " " Cash," was the reply to this in- quiry for a name ; and the buyer, stepping up to the desk, paid his money and took his book. "Mark it delivered," resumed the auctioneer ; " The next is number 110, Life of Brown. How much will you give for It ? How much for Brown ? The celebrated Brown ! Come, bo 10 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. quick, gentlemen ! I can't stay here all night ! One dollar one dollar one dollawundollawundolla why is that too much ? "What will you give then ? " " Two cents" timidly ventured the soiled dove of a Hebrew, who looked as if he had "lain among the pots" ever since the idea of doing so was first started. "No you don't!" exclaimed the scandalized auctioneer, " I'll give three cents myself. Here, Chase, now I expect you to offer five cents apiece for every boo*k on this catalogue." " 1*11 do it," returned the old man promptly ; and the humble hopes of the poor Jew were effectually extin- guished. He rose and quietly stole out of the room, his head bent forward, with an air of exhaustion, suffering and patient endurance. No wonder ; it must have been a burden to carry the real estate and perfumery to- gether that were upon his person. As he went oat, in came Sibley in haste, from the hall outside, and re- sumed his seat, which nobody in par- ticular had observed him leaving, call- ing out as he did so, " What number are you selling? " "One hundred and ten, Sibley, — five cents is bid, seven and a half will you give ? " " One hundred and ten ! " exclaimed Sibley, greatly discomposed — "I wanted one hundred and nine ; got an unlimited order ; I was only called out for a moment — who's got it ? " " Cash is his name," returned the accommodating auctioneer, chuckling ; and a long thin fellow who bought books in the name of Park, and whose quiet, shrewd and rather sati- y rical cast of features denoted much character, added briskly, — " and cash is his nature. Be on hand next time, Sibley. ' Too late I staid, forgive the crime.' " But Sibley paid no heed to their chaffing, and the sale went noisily on, while Mr. " Cash " civilly informed his disappointed neighbor that he had bought the book, and at the same time handed it to him for inspection. Sibley took it, and barely glancing at the title page of the first pamphlet in it, returned it with thanks ; "Thank you (then to the auction- eer) — five-eighths ! (then to Cash) My customer wanted that first ser- mon, no doubt (then to Ball) Yes ! — quarter (then to Cash) I've got a fresh uncut copy that I'll give hirn. for the same money (then to Ball) No — let him have it (then to Cash) — much obliged to you all the same." The young man who had described himself as "Cash" now proceeded to give the volume a vicious wrench open across his knee; took out his knife and cut the twine strings at the back ; then, turning the covers back together, as cruel victors pinion their captives' elbows close in behind them, he passed the knifeblade behind a smaller pamphlet bound out of sight, as it were among the full sized octa- vos that constituted the bulk of the volume, so as to slit it out complete, perhaps bringing with it a film of the sheepskin of the back, held to the pamphlet by the clinging dry old paste. Then he again passed the volume to his neighbor, observing " There ; that's all I wanted ; I'm going, and I shall leave the rest of the volume any way; so I'll make you a present of it." " Well," said Sibley, rather startled — " stay — however, if you say so" — And he laid the book in his lap, for the young man had risen with sudden quickness and was already out of the room. Scrope The Lost Library. 11 CHAPTER II. There is a small oblong upland meadow, of an acre or thereabouts in extent. It is enclosed by a high but ruinous board fence, showing signs of prehistoric paint, and its line reels, as it were, every now and then, sometimes outward and sometimes inward, as if quite too drunk to be steady, but still obstinate in clinging to the general line of duty ; a strange cincture for the ne- glected grass land within, which seems more likely to be shut in by the traditionary post-and-rail or the still more primitive " stake-and-rider " of the farm. This area is uneven, as if it had never since the removal of the first forest growth been once well levelled and cultivated ; humpy almost as if irregularly set with old graves ; all overgrown with meadow grass, long and fine and thin, like ill kept hair of one now growing old; and looped and tangled here and there in the hollows, in dry wisps and knots, alon g with a scanty growth of brambles. At distant points there are a few trees. Two or three are ancient apple trees, dry-barked, thin of leafage, unhappy and starved in aspect. There is one solitary Lombardy pop- lar; an erect shaft, obstinately point- ing upwards, though wizened and almost bare, like an energetic old fashioned maiden aunt, good, upright, rigid and homely. The largest group is a clump, or rather a dispersed squad, of weeping willows ; unexpect- ed occupants of such high and dry and thirsty earth. Yet there they stand, with the dried, scrawny, half- bald look that pertains to the very earth beneath them, and to every thing that grows out of it ; their long sad boughs trailing to the ground, so nearly destitute even of the scanty lanceolate foliage which is- proper to them, as to repeat at a little distance the idea of the grass — that of long thin neglected hair. In the middle of the space around which these dreary trees stand like a picket line, is that which they were doubtless meant to adorn ; an old comfortless-looking white wooden house. It is not ruinous, but is ill repaired and will be ruinous very soon ; in a year or two more the dingy white will verge into a dingy brown ; warping clapboards will have worked loose at one end, and the slop- ing line of only two or three of them will throw a disreputable shade over the whole front ; some furious night- blast will fling those loose bricks that balance on the rim of the large old- fashioned central chimney-shaft, down with an ominous hollow bang, upon the loosened shingles of the roof, and thence to the ground : the shock will dislodge the shingles and admit the rain into the roomy old garret in streams, instead of the slow strings of drops that now make their quiet way here and there in upon the floor. When that point is reached, the de- struction goes on more swiftly. Even if small boys do not break many a ready road through every old-fash- ioned little window-pane, the leakage through the roof itself will not require many years to loosen the faithful old plaster of the ceilings of the second story rooms, to lay it in ruin upon their floors, and to make its steady way onward to the lower floor, by a process not unlike that to which the French were forced, in penetrating the heroic city of Zaragoza. Even to say where this desolate old house and lot is not, would never sug- gest where it is. Any one familiar with New England will say, That is like an old family homestead in 12 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. some ancient Connecticut or Massa- chusetts town, where all the young people have regularly moved away every year for the last century, and the old people have died, and the old houses are dying too. True ; it is like it. But the old house and lot is not there. It is in the heart of New York City — that is, the ground is there, and the old house too, unless it has heen pulled down, which to be sure is likely enough. The place however is on Hudson street, a considerable distance above Canal, and nearly or quite opposite an old church. But the old church may be gone too, by this time. At any rate, so it was at the time of the auction ; and the graded level of the four streets around — for this lost-looking spot occupied a whole block — contrasted stiffly with the humps and hollows within. More than one such piece of waste real es- tate can be found in every great city. Sometimes it is land unimproved, sometimes it is covered with ruinous shabby little hovels standing among great business houses or rich man- sions, sometimes it is a costly tene- ment standing shut and empty 3'ear after year. The reason is commonly, either minority of heirs, a lingering law-suit, or a capitalist's whim. The parlor of this house was a com- fortably furnished well-sized room of no very particular appearance, with an open grate and a bright coal fire, a piano, tables, curtains, and " tackle,ap- parel and furniture complete," as they say in a ship's bill of sale. Something there was however about the room, rather to be felt than seen, and which not every one could perceive at all. This something, when recognized, proved to be a feeling that somebody lived in the room ; that it was used ; was occupied ; was a home. It would be difficult to say what gave this im- pression. Perhaps it was that the chairs did not all stand on the meri- dian ; that the willow work-basket at one side of the fireplace was a little too far out in the room, as if put there on purpose ; and that it overflowed with the gracious little engineries and materials of feminine domestic manu- facture ; that a book lay carelessly over the edge of the shelf, and several others and some magazines and pa- pers, in no order, on the table ; that a curtain hung a little one side, as if some one had looked out of the window and had let the curtain fall, instead of executing a precise re-adjustment of it. The room and its contents seemed as if in process of use ; not as if under effort not to use them, nor as if set apart for show, or for consecra- tion. Some would say, no doubt, that this feeling was from the impressions or emanations or atmosphere — the persisting color or flavor or tone, or all together — that had been dispersed about this room and printed upon its whole bounds and contents, by those who dwelt in it. However this may be, something of this kind there was. The room was rather dusky than light however, for the colors of wall-paper, carpet, curtains, table-cover and furniture alike were chiefly of rather sombre and rusty reds and browns. A little conservatory opened from one window, which was cut down to the floor on purpose. This was filled to overflow- ing with strongly grown plants, most of them of the ornamental-leaved soi-ts that have become such favorites with- in the last ten or fifteen years ; and among these glowed the magnificent blooms of some of the brightest and largest flowered pelargoniums and tuberous-rooted fuchsias. There was a small fountain and basin with gold fish, almost buried under their leafage ; Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. 13 and above over it, hung from the roof by scarlet cords,, a large brightly col- ored shell, from which grew a grace- ful feathery plume of green sprays. Of ornaments or works of art, there were but very few in this room. The principal one was a large and broadly executed steel engraving, whose white "high lights" shone from its place above the grate in violent contrast to the sombre quiet of the rest of the room. Its subject was simply horri- ble — one of those powerful literal rep- resentations of mere agony that peo- ple seem to enjoy, with a vulgar bru- tal appetite like that which draws a crowd to see a public death. It was called "The Dying Camel." The field of the picture was filled with two broad masses, sky and desert. Below, stretched the flat thirsty stony sand, lifeless, endless, bounded by its one heavy horizon line, and glimmering and trembling in the naked cruel still- ness of the insufferable sunbeams that filled the hot white sky above. Close down in the middle of the foreground was the huge dark ungainly mass of the camel, prostrate, exhausted. His dead master lay flat on his face crowd- ed under the shade of the beast's flank, his arms spread out at full length. An empty water flask, just beyond the dead fingers' ends, protruded a mock- ing round vacant mouth at the spec- tator. The miserable camel had just strength enough left to lift its long dry neck and grotesque muzzle into the air, and the artist had imparted to the savage hairy face a horrible expression of despair, for the sunken eyes watched the circlings of a wide- winged vulture from moment to mo- ment poising himself close above for the first gripe of claw and stab of beak ; and from the extreme distance there came flying low over the sand, with eager necks outstretched before them a long line of other vultures, already scenting their prey. At the centre table of this room, on the evening of the day of the book- auction, sat an old man. He was slender and almost frail ; tall, dressed in black ; with long silvery curls, and a bloodlessly white face, delicately featured, and whose thoughtful spir- itual intelligence was saddened by some element of sorrow which might be weakness or disappointment or dissatisfaction or pain, — any or all of them together. His forehead was high, smooth, retreating and narrow ; his attitude upright ; and the ease and precision of his movements, and the clearness and brightness of his eyes, although they were sunken deep under the long overgrown eyebrows, showed that he had a good deal of life still left in him. On the table under a drop-light, confused with the books and magazines, were writing materials and a disorderly pile of papers, among which he had been working — or else, as they say in the country — " puttering." In a wadded arm-chair by the fire sat a girl, easily enough recognized as his daughter ; and the next observa- tion likely to be made was, that old as her father was, he would probably outlive her. She was of middle height, very delicately formed, but with that roundness of modelling which makes people look so much lighter than they really are. Her skin was singularly clear and thin and almost as bloodlessly white as her father's ; the blue veins here and there showing indicated that the whiteness was not that of opaque tissue, but of de- ficient circulation and general condi- tion. Her heavy black hair was coiled carelessly at the back of her head, and combed away from her forehead, and from the small white ears, so as to 14 Scropc ; or, The Lost Library. show the wavy line that limited the growth of the hair along the temples, and to display fulty the remarkable width and fullness of the forehead. This, indeed, was so marked that the family likeness which was unmistaka- ble upon the two faces of herself and her father, existed there in spite of the contradiction of the foreheads. Her eyes were very large, of a limpid gray, with long black lashes, and with deli- cate clearly pencilled eyebrows whose line was almost level for a little ways outward from the nose, and then fell on either hand in a more distinct curve. The nose was fine but high,, with well opened nostrils and thin, almost trans- lucent tissues, like those of a blood horse ; the mouth neither small nor large, the lips rather full than thin, and as well as the chin, beautifully modelled, with that statuesque empha- sis and distinctness of cut whose ab- sence is one of the defects of the ge- neric American face — if such gener- ic face there be. But these lips were much too pale for beauty of color; and they were extremely sensitive ; so much so as to suggest some exces- sively wild and timid creature of the woods rather than a human being. And yet this vivid sensitiveness of the lips was contradicted by the serious thoughtful fearlessness of the eyes. The character of ill health so clearly intimated by the dead whiteness of the complexion and the paleness of the lips was greatly strengthened by the dark shades under the eyes, and by an undefinable but unmistakable languor of attitude, movement and of voice. Like her father, she was dressed in black ; a heavy rich black silk, cut high in the neck, but with a small square space in front after the pretty fashion called a la Pompadour, A narrow border of lace at the neck, and lace cuffs to match, were the only approach to ornament in the whole costume. There was no ribbon, no bow, no ear-drops, no necklace, no bracelet, no buckle, no brooch, not even a ring. The young girl's sin- gularly elegant figure, the extreme quietness and even impassiveness of her perfectly composed and refined manner, were in some way intensified and set off by this rigid elderly plain- ness and richness of costume, which, as the French would say, swore furi- ously at her youth. Thus the whole effect was a contradiction, so harsh, so violent, as to suggest at first the hateful idea of an obtruded modesty. This however quickly gave way, on a little observation, to the correct con- clusion, that it was an incongruity only. But there was another effect, which the whole personality of the girl produced ; it was, if one might say so, that there radiated from her, or slowly gathered about her wherever she was, not the light and life that should glow from the young, but an atmosphere — or influence — that was dark, and dreary, if not cold ; perhaps not dead, but lifeless, — is there not a shade of difference ? Lastly : perhaps the strongest — certainly the most obvious mark of family resem- blance was a habit of eye common to her and her father. With noticeable frequency their upper eyelids came down so as to veil half the iris, and delayed there. All that this indicat- ed was, reflection, or some other men- tal effort. Clowns, for the purpose, scratch their heads; philosophers — and people with headaches — rest their foreheads in their hands. A third personage sat on a sofa at the hither side of the fire — i.e. to your right hand as you came from the door towards the fire — opposite the young girl, so that the three were at the angles of a triangle ; and as if the Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. 15 two had been chatting across the hearth while her father was busy among his papers. This third was a young man ; rather tall, well made, with a noticeable quickness and liveli- ness of manner and movement. He was somewhat fair, with merry brown eyes, good white teeth, full lips, a nose decidedly well shaped except that it was too broad and round at the end, and too thick in the wings of the nostrils, as if the maker being in some haste, had carelessly left some surplus material there. Otherwise, the face was perhaps at first sight rather dull than bright; not nearly so sprightly as the expression of the eye and the bearing of the whole figure. A peculiar look, which might almost be called grotesque, was given to the face, undeniably well-featured as it was, by the management of the hair and beard. The abundant crisp curls of the hair were cut at about two and a half inches in length and trained on a radiating, or what the pomologists call the fan, system. Tins gave the hair seen in profile the look of a hrest, covering the top of the bead and jut- ting in an enterprising manner for- ward and upward from the upper line of the forehead. The front view was much more glorious ; for it showed a thick frizzled halo standing out within an almost circular outline about the upper part of tbe long oval of the face, like the solid aureoles on ancient pic- tures of saints ; or as if be dressed bis hair by giving himself an awful fright every morning. The eyebrows were rather lifted, giving a funny sort of wide-awake look, which the young gentleman was accustomed to veil in 6ome manner, if it might be, with a double eye-glass. Truly, nature hav- ing exhausted herself in this magni- ficent hairy crown of glory, bad come short in the matter of beard j for the chin of our friend was sparingly gar- nished with hair, that grew in a little thin brush or pencil, spreading out- ward at the ends, like the pictures of the growth of the bamboo. A like starved growth, as if a few hairs had been cruelly deserted upon some barren shore, struggled stiffly for existence upon his upper lip ; and some dim prophetic glimpses of the whiskers of the future could be' seen by the eye of faith, between ears and chin. The ill-made gray suit, and the clumsy thick shoes indicated that he was an Englishman ; and if this was not' enough, there was a perceptible awkwardness of attitude and of man- ner also, such as is often seen among Englishmen even of the best social training and experience, but which in an American would be proof posi- tive of want of such experience. Last and most of all, the cockney shib- boleth of his speech ever and anon be- wrayed him, in spite of the sedulous watchfulness with which he tried to talk good English — a language which exists — orally — only west of tbe At- lantic. In England there are corrupt dialects of it only; — 1. cockney, and 2. provincial. CHAPTER III. " So " — said tbe old man, smiling indulgently as he spoke, to the younger one, — " so, cousin Scrope, you think one needs a good deal here below, and for a good while ? " " I do so. — I do indeed," replied the young fellow : — "Now, I should say, an ouse here in the city, — ■ yacht, of course, — place at Newport — ah, sweet place Newport, such soft hair, you know! — countwy seat on the Udson — say near Tawwytown — w T as up there yesterday — lovely coun- twy, I ashuah you. Went up there with Button — singular name that, 16 Scrope; or, The Lost Library. Mr. Van Bwaam — Button, button, who's got the button ? " " Oh, I don't know," returned the old gentleman, (not meaning any am- biguity), — " Monsieur Bouton would seem quite fine, wouldn't it ? By the way, I wonder why there has been no Mr. Scissors ? But how do you like Button's first name ? " "Weally, I don't know it. T Button Esq., it said — Do you know, now, you ave a monstwous many hesquires in Hamewica ? " " Oh, he might call himself Baron Button of Buttonhole, and sign all instruments, and sue and be sued by that name, if he chose. And he might have any coat of arms he might fancy, — a coat' all over gilt "buttons, if he liked — on his seal, and on his carriage too, without being annoyed by the proud minions of the College of Heralds. He may tattoo himself and all his house — and grounds — all over, with any insignia he chooses, for that matter. This is a free country, cousin Scrope ! " There was something satirical in the old man's manner, as if he were half laughing at both Americans and English. .He went on however : " Tarbox Button, his name is ; ' most musical, most melancholy ! ' " "Most musical, most jolly, I should say," answered the young man.. " But I can't imagine were e got that name, do you know ? Hit's certainly not in my copy of the Squope and Gwosvenor Woll. Bwummagem name I should fancy, Button, at any rate." "Father," said the young girl, with a shade of grave motherliness and mild reproof in her manner — her mother was dead, and she was both mother and daughter to the old man — " Father, you mustn't be bad, now, and make fun of Mr. Button. He has been too kind to us for that. What would you have to do, and where should we find so good a home to live in, and where should we visit at all, if it were not for him ? " The voice was very sweet, and was low and clear like her father's ; but in place of the slight but perceptible sharpness of intonation which re- curred every now and then in his speech, when his sub-acid humor tinged it, hers had a striking liquid fulness like the lowest notes of a full- throated singing-bird. But it was neither sad nor glad ; it had a certain indifferent or dreamy quality, almost as if the speech were that of a som- nambulist ; or perhaps it was an in- tonation of weariness. "No harm, Civille," said Mr. Van Braam ; " I was observing upon his name, not upon him." "Yewy well off is Mr. Button, I should say ? " queried Scrope. " Yes," answered the old man. " Here's this vacant piece of ground that this old house stands on, — why, it must be worth a quarter of a mil- lion dollars, and he finds it conve- nient to hold it unimproved and pay our New York taxes on it, until he has time to speculate with it in some way. Meanwhile Civille and I occupy one of the most valuable estates in the city," added the old man, laughing. " Do you know, now," pursued Scrope, "I never should ave taken Button for one of the family if Fd met im by accident say in Gween- land ? E asn't the stjde, at all." " Why," said the old gentleman, "I've often thought of it myself. But he had a pretty hard time when he was a boy, like a good many other rich people, and he has made his own way, without any leisure to finish and polish himself. Besides there's a poor strain of blood in that branch of the family ; those Gookins that his Scrope; or, The Lost Library. 17 mother, old Mrs. Button came from were distillers and hard*. cases from generation to generation, by the town records ; — rough, violent people, — a kind of natural-born pirates. And his wife's family, although they were decent enough, were narrow and small-minded, somehow. The fact is, that unless you take Button's execu- tive ability as showing Scrope blood, there's only the record to prove that he has it. I don't know any of the rest of them that have so few of the family traits. And perhaps, as we are three Scropes here together, we may take Civille's and my Van Braam blood into our confidence and mention in strict secrecy that cousin Button's immense bragging about his Scrope blood is as near an absolute proof that lie hasn't a drop of it, as any one thing could be. All the rest of us like to have it very well, but no other of us would advertise it so ex- tensively." " Now I should ave fancied," said Mr. Scrope, after having listened to all this with evident and close in- terest, " that Mr. Button's political hambition was more unnatuwal in one of our connection than is boast- ing." "Very justly observed," answered Mr. Van Braam. " A good many of us have refused offices, and I know none of us except my cousin Button who wants them. But so it is : Mr. Button is proud of his descent, and he is terribly fond of being talked about, of having influence and of holding offices. I fancy he likes all that best of all, moreover, because it is such a capital advertisement of his books. And he is so energetic and shrewd in managing, that, you may say, he ought to have influence and office, particularly as he is reckoned perfect- ly honest. 'The tools to him that can use them.' And he is very gen- erous with his money where these two interests of his are concerned, and very sharp and close with it everywhere else. There, cousin Scrope — that is a pretty complete account of Mr. Button. It has only to be filled out with his minor traits ; and those you can see for yourself." " A vewy good man to ave on your side I should say," observed Mr. Scrope, smiling. " Indeed, he's given me some vewy good advice halweady about horganizingthe Squope Associ- ation. He knows exactly ow to man- age people — exactly. E put me up to hall the dodges about the news- papers, and about cowwespondence, and influence and intwoductions. Do ye know, now, hi fancy I shouldn't ave been able to awange this matter at all without im." Mr. Van Braam smiled and nodded, as much as to say, The most likely thing in the world. Scrope resumed ; " This other cousin now, Chester — your cowespondent about the gene- alogy, — e's hanother sort of person, I imagine ? " " Why, yes," answered Mr. Van Braam. " He hasn't any money — that is, nothing except the little old place at Hartford where he and his great-aunt live together, and the in- come he earns. But an assistant- librarian doesn't have a very large salary, and I don't suppose his other revenues enable him to do much more than live comfortably. I guess Adrian is a pretty clear case of Scrope, though. He doesn't care much for money, he is fond of principles, he isn't afraid, he goes his own road, he has managed, by the help of a capital set of instincts of his own, to make himself a well- educated and accomplished young gentleman, he loves all manner of right thought and sound study, he is 18 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. fond of fun, lie is sweet-tempered, he likes pets .and children, and old peo- ple, and they like him ; and he likes to do things for others." " Beg pardon," said Scrope of Scrope, " but if hit's a fair question, ow did e get hout of eaven ? " All three of the company laughed, and it was the young lady who an- swered this time : " The sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were fair," she quoted. "It must have been my cousin Ann Button, for whom Adrian came down to us." " Oh," said Scrope ; " then if e mawies her e won't need to twouble himself about money." " Very true " replied Miss Civille ; " and yet it would be a great mistake to suppose that Adrian wanted her money. I knew all about their en- gagement. Ann was never very much of a favorite with anybody in those days — I don't know that she is very much liked now. But then, she used to be really neglected and lonesome and miserable. Adrian just devoted himself to her because nobody else would ; out of pure kindness ; and so they fell in love." Mr. Scrope bowed an acquiescence, but with a queer look, which Civille understood perfectly, and answered ; " Oh, you needn't think it — that was two or three years ago, when we were all younger and didn't think so much of money. Besides, Mr. Button was not nearly so rich then. It was afterwards that he made so much." " Oh," replied Scrope ; — " That does seem like it. But I don't sup- pose the money will make him like her any the less." " I don't know about that," said Civille reverting to her dreamy man- ner, and looking out from great half covered gray eyes as if she was watch- ing something beyond the walls of the room — "I don't know about that. If I know cousin Adrian, it's the like- liest reason in the world to repel him." "I shouldn't wonder," observed the old man ; — "it would be Scrope all over." " If you'll allow me," said Scrope, " I'd like to suggest that that would be more suitable to the hold spelling than the new. S, c, ah, o, o, p, they used to spell it — Squoop, not Squope. Now old Colonel Adwian the wegicide was so vewy particular that I say his name gave wise to the vewy term Squooples. He was full of 'em. And if my Yankee cousin is so squoopulous, I don't know hut I shall advise him to take the old-fashioned name again, and leave off the Chester entirely." " I dare say he would like to do so," observed Mr. Van Braam. " I want you to see him to-night, however, if possible, so that you and he may know one another a little before the Association meeting. It may be of service to both. And my old-fash- ioned ways," added the old gentle- man with a good-natured smile, " make me desirous that all those of our kin should know each other. — It's high time he was here, too." " I can't honestly say I shall miss im," said Scrope, with a gallant look towards the young lady, " if e does not come. No man could be quite appy to see another hadmiwer in Miss Van Bwaam's pwesence ; and I know no man can see er without being er hadmiwer." At this not very elegant compliment one might have seen Mr. Van Braam's eyebrows give a curious lift, and he just glanced at the young man, but without moving what Mr. Scrope would call his ed. As for the young lady herself, she answered in her in- different voice : Scrope ; or. The Lost Library. 19 "Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Scrope, I'm sure. But your Yankee cousin will not be in your way. He is engaged already, as we were saying. Indeed, we here are not at all in soci- ety; you will be free of rivals, both with my father and myself." " There, cousin Scrope," said the old man, " That's as much as to say that you may marry us both if you can get us ! " The young Englishman looked rather uneasy; even fewer English- men are good at taking jokes, good or bad, than at making them ; and he answered quite at random, but as it happened quite well enough for such talk — " Vewy appy, I'm sure ! " The perfect coolness and speed with which the two Americans carried for- ward his hint to such remote conse- quences had terrified him; for he could not be sure whether they spoke in irony or not, their manner was so entirely grave and impassive. Mr. Van Braam laughed quietly, the daughter just smiled, while the old gentleman remarked, "Not badly answered, cousin Scrope; but don't be alarmed ; we nei- ther of us propose matrimony at pres- ent." The young man was silent for an awkward moment ; when there was a ring at the door, a card was handed to Mr. Van Braam, who said " Show the gentleman in," and the absent kins- man entered. It was our young friend Mr. " Cash," of the auction room. As he came in, Mr. Van Braam rose and stepped forward to receive him, with hearty cordiality. Miss Civille and Mr. Scrope arose, as the old gentleman, leading the new comer toward the fire, presented him : " I want you to be at home here at once, cousin Adrian." he said. " Ci- ville, you knew your cousin better two or three years ago than now, but I hope you'll make up for lost time. Cousin Scrope, I know you and Mr. Chester will be friends, for you are kinsmen, and you have interests in common besides at present, in this estate and association business." Mr. Adrian Scrope Chester had enough of general resemblance to Mr. Van Braam and his daughter, and in- deed to his five or six times removed English cousin, to pass very well for a co-descendant. That is ; he was tall, erect, well- formed, quick and easy in movement, and of an intelligent and comely countenance. His brown hair, instead of the cometary horrors of Mr. Scrope's, was brushed in a con- ventional manner, and curled in large soft curls instead of persisting in the frizzle of the Englishman, and his beard and mustache were thick and fine. His eyes were of a clear dark blue, his lips at once full and sensi- tive, all his features delicate and yet not small ; and whereas Mr. Scrope's bearing and presence gave an impres- sion of good-nature, quickness, levity, fun, Chester's spoke of thorough kind- ness, instead of mere good nature ; of penetration, of insight, instead of quickness; of sense and directness and strength rather than levity ; of gen- eral intellectual activity, rather than of mirth only. Comparatively speak- ing, the American seemed to possess large good qualities, of which the Englishman had only somewhat small imitations. And yet the English are very often what people sometimes call "singed cats — better than they look." The young people tried to do justice to Mr. Van Braam's favorable intro- duction : but Miss Civille's manner was chilling enough, although she did not mean it to be, and indeed in spite 20 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. of her intentions ; so that Chester, barely touching her hand, which was cold and limp, said to himself, How- did she come to dislike me ? Mr. Scrope did rather better. He may possibly, in spite of the mild caustic that had just been applied to his dem- onstrations of jealousy, have felt some slight objection to the second young man in that company, or it may have been his ordinary awkwardness only that was upon him. However, he made his bow, shook hands, expressed his pleasure, and crowned the opera- tion by taking from his pocket a card which he ceremoniously presented to Mr. Chester. Mr. Chester received it with thanks, delivered his own in exchange, as seemed to be expected, and then took time to peruse the legend upon that of Mr. Scrope. The phrase is correct — he took time. The card, a long one, like those sometimes sent on wedding occasions, contained the following composition : * BRABAZOX AYMAR DE VERE SCROPE OF SCROPE. And at the point where an asterisk is put, there was moreover a most noble-looking coronet, printed in the three primary colors, very impressive to behold. " I am sorry my daughter was absent at your recent visits to New York,'' said Mr. Van Braam, when the four had seated themselves. '• You and I agree on so many points that I shall be glad to see you and her contending over them. She is always refuting her father." But the kind smile and pleasant tone and half-mischievous expression with which the words were said gave them a second meaning directly op- posite to their grammatical one. "I am afraid of controversies with ladies," said the new comer. " They receive things by intuition, instead of groping to them by feeling along chains of reasoning. Beasoning will not induce a woman to agree with you; reasoning with women is 'like hunting wild ducks with a brass band. It scares them. I should never hope to convince a woman except by mak- ing her like me and then unintention- ally on purpose letting her see what I thought." ••What treason!" exclaimed Miss Civille, this time with a sufficiently perceptible tone of interest. " There you go ! " exclaimed her father, amused. — " Thirlestane for- ever ! " "Thirlestane?" queried Mr. Scrope. " How Thirlestane ? " - Why/' resumed the old gentle- man : "don't you remember their motto ? It's in the Lay of the Last Minstrel. ' Beady, aye, ready ! ' " Civille will always answer the trum- pet call wdien it sounds for battle over Women's Bights ! " "Xow father," she remonstrated; " are you going to quote every min- ute ? How can I entertain the gen- tleman, particularly if you wish me to fight with Mr. Chester, if you open your broadside upon me too, like that miserable Frenchman against John Baul Jones in the Bonhomme Rich- ard ? " "Well, well, my child — I'm dumb — vox fauribus hcesitf " •'• But permit me to explaii;." - Chester, with some anxiety: "I had no treason in my soul. I do not mean that men have no intuitions, nor that women have no reason ; but only that as between the two. women have most of one, and men of the oth- er. It is just as it is with another couple of faculties — or sets of faculties ; I mean executive power and what peo- Scrope; or, The Lost Library. 21 pie call goodness. I believe men have most of the former, and I believe wo- men are better than men ; I believe God put them into the world on pur- pose to be better than men ; I do not believe that either of them is destitute of either faculty." " I don't believe one single word of it," said Miss Civille, with a resolute tone. "If women are inferior to men in any particular or superior to them either, it's because they have been ed- ucated into going without their rights, and it's a great shame ! " " Well," rejoined Mr. Chester, pa- cifically ; " Miss Van Braam will par- don me, I am sure, if I venture to act as if I were talking with a man in one particular ? " "I don't know about that," said the young lady, almost alertly — she had plenty of spirit, it would appear, under that cold and languid manner, and the debate appeared not to be at all unwelcome ; " what is it ? " " Why, only that really and truly, I do detest arguing and I tell you plainly, and say I'd rather not. I get so angry — or if I don't, I want to, — when I undertake to argue. But there's another reason for my begging off just now" — he looked at the two gentlemen — " I'll let you tread me into the very dust next time, but there are some things that we ought to talk about." As they all agreed that the apology was real, Miss Civille was graciously pleased to accept it. "First," said Mr. Van Braam, "when did you come to town ? I got your note only this afternoon." " Yesterday, sir," said Chester. " I should have called last evening, only that I was too tired, and to tell you the honest truth I went to bed and slept all night long." " The wisest thing you could do. Next, let us arrange about the Asso- ciation meeting." This meeting, however, as quickly appeared, was set for that day week ; Scrope, moreover, in reply to their in- quiries, showed them that under the ex- perienced guidance of Mr. Button, all things had been put in such readiness that it only remained for the persons concerned to render themselves at the time and place appointed. Both Mr, Van Braam and Mr. Chester congrat- ulated Mr. Scrope upon the thorough manner in which all these prelimina- ries had been adjusted, when there was once more a ringing at the door-bell, and once more a card was brought to the master of the house, who took it and read it, saddling his eyeglasses with an experienced little jiggle on the bridge of his nose, and looked puzzled. Then he read it again, very carefully, half shutting his eyes, cocking his head backwards, and focusing the object with a kind of trombone motion. Then his head dropped, and he looked around him like one who has received an unex- pected affusion of cold water. " Why," he said, rather to himself than to any one else — " what " — and he stopped, and said to the ser- vant, with something of displeasure in his manner, "Ask him to walk in." Returning in a moment, the servant reported that the gentleman had only a word to say to Mr. Van Braam, and would trouble him but for a very lit- tle. Still with the same wondering and half displeased look, the old gentle- man arose and went out into the hall, leaving the door open. Listening, the three others heard some indistinct murmur of voices only. Then in a few minutes Mr. Van Braam said, speaking from the hall, 22 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. "Never mind me for a little while, young people ! " and lie shut the door. Evidently the business was to take rather more time than he had sup- posed. CHAPTER IV. Chester, when the door had closed, proceeded to make some further inquir- ies about the Scrope Association and its operations. All these were readi- ly answered, becoming quite a debate on ways and means, and greatly en- lightening the querist. The Associa- tion, it appeared, consisted, or was to consist, of the descendants of Adrian Scrope, son and heir of Colonel Adrian Scrope the Regicide, executed at Ty- burn on the 9th or as others say the 17th October, 1660. To these de- scendants, it appeared, there now of right belonged a certain large sum of money representing property which had devolved to Adrian Scrope the younger after his flight to New Eng- land, and which still remained so sit- uated that the heirs could certainly recover it upon making proof of their descent. Scrope of Scrope, being himself a descendant not of the regi- cide Colonel, but of a younger brother, could not inherit while there were di- rect heirs ; but being fond of genea- logical investigations he had come to a knowledge of the facts in this case. He avowed very frankly that he de- sired to make a profit by means of the affair, but he said that he was also partly actuated by the equally lauda- ble motives of family pride and family liking. It was from these causes that he had come to America with the design of searching out the Scrope heirs, forming them into an Associa- tion, becoming their agent, obtaining from them the necessary funds, proving their claim, and receiving as compen- sation a proper percentage, to be al- lowed him when the heirs should be actually in receipt of their respective inheritances. This arrangement, of course, effectually prevented any mal- versation by the agent. In the pros- ecution of this undertaking, Scrope had first fortified himself with letters and documents, and had then come to the United States, where he had for some time been investigating, adver- tising and corresponding ; and with much labor had advanced so far as to appoint the meeting referred to, in New York, one week from date, of a number of the American heirs. Miss Civille Van Braam took little part in this discussion between the two young men, listening only, and even this was with the air of pre-occu- pation or fatigue or almost melan- choly which was habitual to her. So, when all at once business matters having been sufficiently debated, Scrope of Scrope suddenly turned to her and asked for some music, she started almost as if from sleep. "Oh! Excuse me! — What was it ? — I beg your pardon ! " The request was repeated, and with an apology for her inattention, the young lady very readily went to the piano, and selecting some music, play- ed, and then sang, with good judg- ement and good execution, both instru- mental and vocal, but without much emotion. The music she chose, appar- ently, was a graceful melody with lu- cidly arranged accompaniment, rather than crowded harmonies or techni- cal difficulties ; it was sufficiently good music, and at the same time simple enough for mixed society : safe music to play anywhere. There was a cer- tain ease and truth of expression in her fingering and vocalizing however, which seemed to intimate the capaci- ty of doing much morej and the pe- Scrope; or, The Lost Library. 23 culiar vibrating fulness of her voice gave the impression of large passion- ate vehemence existing, though it might be asleep and unconscious of itself. Having ended, she smilingly asked Mr. Scrope to take his turn, and he very readily complied. He sang one or two English ballads in a clear, not very expressive barytone or rather counter-tenor, and he sang without any embarrassment, sitting quietly on the sofa, simply explaining before he began that he knew no instrument. This style of singing is not very com- mon in America, but it might well be ; it requires, and gives, a sort of self-reliance of ear and a peculiar completeness of style, exacted by the absence of accompaniment. The per- formance, indeed, was much better than any one would have argued from the exterior and general bearing of Scrope of Scrope ; and he was ap- plauded accordingly. Next came Chester, externally much more easy in manner than Scrope, but in reality very much more shy. He would gladly have de- clined, but with some little effort he came up to the mark like a man, with the allowable apology that he could neither sing without an instrument like Mr. Scrope nor play like Miss Van Braam, and should therefore give them two inferior kinds of music to- gether. So he went to the piano, and sang a little ballad of William Ailing- ham's, whose words and music are suf- ficiently a specimen of that evening's performance to be worth reprodu- cing. THE CHILD'S THREE WISHES. ££ — g-~ #■ ting! I wish I were a primrose ! A bright yellow primrose, * d: 3— ±=±=z: :^=± m^s =*=E±Z3t ad lib. szs -0 O «v blooming in the spring! The fleeting clouds above me, The little birds to love me, The 5=3=3 — xact, I wouldn't have nothin to say tc him. He wants to git some territory for my Histry o' the Bible. Tain't likely it's in him, anyhow. Good agents are about as plenty as hen's teeth. But we'll soon find out." " Territory ? " said Adrian — "what's that?" "Why, I own the hull United States," said Mr. Button, adding with a grin, — "for the sale of my publications, I mean. Now ef a feller comes'n wants to git an agency — say the Histry, now — the fust thing is to see 'f he can sell a book." "Why," said Adrian, "how can you tell that ? " " I reckon you'll see how I can tell, before you git out o' this office, ef that feller comes as he agreed. I'll open his eyes, unless he's smart, I tell ye — and yourn too, smart's ye be ! — Wal ; spose I find he can sell. Next thing is, is there any territory. This book'll tell ; " — Mr. Button se- lected a thin folio volume from the pile on the table and opened it — " This is my record of the hull United States, as fur'z I've lotted deestricks out on't to sell the Histry o' the Bible. You see, the agents are my army, and I'm like the centurion in the Bible ; I say unto urn to come, and go, and do it, and they do ; and if they don't, they ketch it ! I make every man stand in his lot, and work it thorough ly too, I tell ye ! But about this book : " — Here Mr. Button took from a drawer a written paper, and read aloud a very long title, beginning with the words " Useful Information," end- ing with the imprint, viz. /'Published by Subscription Only. T. Button. New York;" and having between the two, after that fashion of sub- scription books which is so disgusting to practical printers of good taste, 44 8c rope ; or, The Lost Library. what really amounted to a whole table of contents, showing in substance that the work therein described was or was to be a sort of encyclopedic collection of receipts for cooking, recipes for simple medicines, rules for farming affairs, directions for plan- ning and calculating various mechani- cal processes, arithmetical tables, forms for simple written instruments, — in short a most extensive miscella- ny of information, necessarily of the greatest convenience provided always it should be trustworthy. " There," added Mr. Button, as he ended, " my fust name for that was, "Button's Every Thing." "More striking," commented Adrian. "Praps so," said the publisher; "but these sensation titles won't do for my way of doin' business, no more'n sensation books. I can't do nothin' without a book that's really right up and down valable. When I've gut that, then I can bear on jest as hard as I like, and the more's said about the book the better. That's the way I've made my money, — by givin' right good goods — better'n I agreed, every time, and puttin' on a tre-menjus pressure." Adrian, who had never closely looked into such matters, was quite man enough to perceive and to ad- mire the real breadth of view, the just sense, and the vast energy, that these statements implied, and he said as much, to the evident gratification of Mr. Button. " But how do you make people buy the book?" he inquired, — just as one of the clerks" looked in to say that Mr. Jacox, and another gentle- man, were present. " Show um both right in," an- swered Button, adding, — to Adrian, — '-'That's jest exactly what I'm a goin to show ye." CHAPTER Vin. Two men came in. One was a tall or rather a long man ; oldish, lean, seedy, solemn, with a hollow chest, a long lean face, and an unwholesome dusky unclean complexion. He wore a rusty black suit, and a stock in- stead of a cravat. " Mr. Jacox ? " asked Button. " No," said the other man, quickly. "My name's Jacox." He was a brisk little fellow, it might be either thirty-five or forty years old, dry, jerky, with twinkling light-blue eyes, straight whitish hair, whitish eye- brows, a voluble quick utterance, and every appearance of absolute confi- dence in Mr. Jacox. Mr. Button looked for a moment at the two men, decided "which was worth attending to, and proceeded to eliminate the surd, as the algebraists say. " Seddown, gentlemen," he said, to begin with ; " Glad to see ye." They saddown, not knowing — nor did Mr. Button either — that this form of the verb " to sit " viz.. with a d, is really a close approach to the primeval Aryan root. "Did you want to see me?" he asked of the desolate long rusty man. "Yes," replied he in a dejected tone. "Wal?" barked Button, inquir- ingly and disapprovingly in a sin- gle loud harsh syllable, — " Here I be." " Uh-uh-uh-m," bega*n the long man, with a long cough, apparently only a cough of habitual preface ; and he added, with a spiritless manner, " I was stopping in the city for a few days, and not having any occupation just at present — I am a member of the ministerial profession, sir — but not being engaged just now, I thought I would confer with you on the sub- Scrope . or, The Lost Library. 45 ject of undertaking to engage in the sale of some of jour publications." Button moved impatiently in his chair. " No use, Mr. Mr. no use. You can't sell my books." The long man, as if unaccustomed to such direct and uncompromising speech, started perceptibly, and looked aghast for a moment, as if some one had " spatted " him in the face with a cold wet hand. " Uh-uh-uh-uh-m,"he began again ; "I trust, sir, that the fact of my being a minister of the gospel " — "Not the least in the world," in- terrupted Button — " Nothin' of the kind. You hain't gut the root o' the matter in ye — that's the long and the short on't. You can't sell books. You can't sell nothin'. I hain't no use for ye. A hundred sech fellers as you couldn't sell a baby a tract. It's, jizm I want. Piety ain't no count in the subscription book business. Nor ministers neither; only men. I'd like to 'commodate ye, my friend, but taint no kind o' use. Good morn in'. I'm very busy. John!" he shouted again to his clerk, who instantly ap- peared — " Show this gentleman out." And without paying the least at- tention to the confounded long man, who coughed again in full, and would have begun another circumlocution, Mr. Button made a sudden half-face, and addressed Jacox. " Now, Mr. Jacox, your turn. So you want to git some territory to sell my Histry o' the Bible ? " " Yes," said Jacox. But both he and Adrian wore looks that testified to an uncomfortable sensation in view of the dismissal of the poor broken- down clergyman, who had as it were gradually been extracted from the room in a state of astonished but feeble indignation. "Hrnh!" snuffed the publisher, vigorously. " That chap would have sot there 'n talked all clay long 'f I'd a let him. No more go in him than there is in a broken-backed snek. Sell books ! No wonder he hain't got no engagement. What's he good for, I'd like to know? He may be wuth somethin a preachin, for what I know, where they only want a kind nuss to git um asleep, but I don't believe he can save no souls. Forty sech preachers couldn't convert a rat. let alone a sinner in britches ! All the used up ministers in the world, 1 blieve, think they can make their everlastin fortins a sellin books. They're the wust and meanest fail- ures on um all. I've lost money enough and time enough with um. I tell ye, before this. I shuck um off mighty quick now." This was not, perhaps, very chari- table, except in that range of charity that begins at home ; but the two hearers felt that it was hard sense, and business-like. Button went on : " Married, Mr. Jacox ? " " Yes." " Where's yer famly ? " " North Denmark, Connecticut." " References ? " Jacox had at once begun to be un- easy under this inquisition, probably thinking it only another mode of prefacing a rejection, and being a person of no great patience, and hav- ing a good deal of free and independ- ent American citizenship about him, he snatched out a pocket-book and hast- ily drew forth some bank bills, which he exhibited, saying at the same time, with extreme swiftness of utterance, "Well, by thunder, I'd about as soon expect to give references to run a gin mill as to run the subscription book business. I can pay my way, and do my work, and do exactly as I 46 Scrope; or, The Lost Library. agree. References ! I snum ! Well, by ginger, you can write to Noyes and Skittery of Hartford, if you want to. They don't want me to leave 'em. But I won't give no man no references ! " " Don't kick before you're spurred, Mr. Jacox," placidly observed Mr. Button. "I like your spunk. I think it's possible you and I may agree, and if we do, and you do as I say, 3 r ou'll make a comfortable independ- ence in a few years. But you say you've bin one of Noyes and Skit- tery's agents ? " " Yes I do, and right smart men they are. Why, they made not less'n three thousand dollars last year just on outfits they sold to agents." "Wal," said Mr. Button, weight- ily, " I don't make no money a sellin one book and a canvassin book apiece to my agents for an outfit. I don't make money off my agents. I can do better. I make money for urn. I made last year twenty thou- sand dollars, not off a nasty little mess of outfits, but off one work I published. And my agents made forty-five thousand." Jacox opened his eyes. " I don't say nothin against Noyes and Skittery," resumed the chieftain ; " I know urn to be good men and smart men. But their system ain't my system, and my agents can't use no system but mine. I hain't no ex- pectation that iSToyes and Skittery'll like mine, no more'n I like theirn. But look a here, Mr. Jacox ; — the bigger share you git of the sixty thousand dollars" — Mr. Button pronounced with an emphasis like one that carves colossal words on a pyramid of granite — "of the sixty thousand dollars my agents shall make, this year, on my new Histry o' the Bible, — the more you git on't, the better I shall be pleased, — sup- posin you take a holt." Adrian himself, not at all inclined nor accustomed to look at things from the pecuniary side, began to feel the influence of this powerful passion for wealth that smouldered so hotly in the strong and large though low na- ture of Mr. Button. In spite of him- self it stimulated him from under- neath, as where a mass of coal on fire, burning under ground, heats and drives up an unnatural growth of vegetation on the surface above it, too rank for the cool clear air on the mountain. As for Jacox, a quick- thoughted and vivid creature, and eager for wealth after the genuine sharp-witted Yankee fashion, even if possible more than Button in propor- tion as he was poorer, he was not merely smouldering. He was white hot already, though with correct busi- ness habit he was trying desperately to seem totally indifferent. Pie could hardly sit still. Adrian fancied that as the little man sat there in his chair, he could hear him fizz and see him thrill in the new-fangled scien- tific manner, — and he said to him- self, " Heat a Mode of Motion." Mr. Button, indeed, was under a full head of steam. He had seen at once that Jacox would make a capital agent, and he was fully resolved to capture him on the spot. Besides, he wanted to show Adrian how to handle Men. He resumed ; as one might say, to change the figure, he re-opened his broadside of hot shot. "Now, Mr. Jacox, I'll be plain with ye, for that's the best way. I like your looks ; and I b'lieve you and I can do fustrate by each other. But you can't sell no books for me not on your plan. I'll jest tell ye a little about mine, and if you don't like, why, there's no harm done. Ef Scrope ; or, The Lost Lihrary. 47 ye do, it's a thing agreed. Now, — sellin.' books is like workin' land. It can be done shallow, or deep. Your way — I don't mean no disrespect to nobody, Mr. Jacox, but it's ray way of explainin' things — your way's what I call the Skitteryskimmery System. Your firm rakes in a rij- ment — I should say a brigade, I reckon, of fellers, anybody they can git — the more the better, because the tirm wants to save itself if it can jest by sellin outfits alone. And any man mat can lay down the price of an out- fit's enlisted. Then they give out territory jest as fast as they can, the faster the better, and they send out their agents jest like them locusts that come up over the land of Egypt, and they skitter and skim over the hull country in about three months or six months, 'n sell what they can, and deliver the books, and the hull thing's over. And the next six months or the next year it's jest so over again with another book, and so on ; and no book don't sell for more'n a year at the outside, and the coun- try gits jammed and choked with trash that ain't fit to be read. Ain't that so, Mr. Jacox ? " Jacox laughed. "Something of that kind, Mr. Button." " Wal — my system is the Subsoil System. I don't employ no agent un- til I've seen him and talked to him and found out what he can do, and shown him how, if he don't know al- ready, for I do know, Mr. Jacox ! and the proof on't is the money I've made. And when he's taken territory I make him stay there and sell and re- port to me and sell and report to me until he's worked every house in his deestrict — every house ! And my books'll sell for ten years, for twenty years, and they're better and better all the time, for I keep improvin on 'em, so's't every subscriber gits all I promise him and a good deal o' the time more too. — Now, Mr. Jacox, do you know how to sell a customer a book ? " " Why," said the little man, great- ly impressed by the intense manner and weighty matter of Mr. Button's address, — "Why, I've been in the habit of thinking so ; and I've sold a good many books ; but I'll say this, Mr. Button — that I'm ready to take your directions." " Now ye talk like a man o' sense," said Button. " Here," — and taking up a copy of the History of the Bible, he held it out to Mr. Jacox, adding, — " Now sell me that book." Jacox looked puzzled. " I mean it. I mean exactly that. Sell me that book ! I don't want it. D — n a book agent anyhow ! Cussed piratical villins ! " Jacox, without a word, took the volume, and rose from his chair. But- ton seized a pen, turned to the table, and began to write assiduously. "Mr. Button, I believe?" said Jacox, in a prompt and sharp but good natured voice. Button just glanced up and then down again, sajang, gruffly, "Yes. What want ? " Jacox laid the book on the table, open to the title-page. "There, Mr. Button. You're a man of family. That book will do more to keep your children honest and safe in their morals and their practice, than alHhe Sunday schools in York State. You've got to own it." " Get out with your book ! " ex- claimed Button, slapping down the cover of the book and giving it a slide so angry and vicious that it flew quite over the edge of the table. Jacox caught it neatly in the air, laid it right back where it was before, 48 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. open just the same, and went straight on in exactly the same tone, barely making a semicolon at the interrup- tion. " — As I was saying; now for in- stance ; 3 r our daughter hears some- body say the Bible's a humbug ; she's a young innocent girl and don't know good and evil. Or your son, and he thinks it's smart to be an independent thinker. But when they come home and ask you or their mother about it, you just look up the points in this book and you set 'em all right, and save a fine young fellow that you've set your heart on, from going head first into infidelity, and all the wickedness that generally goes along with it." — " You see," broke off Jacox, all of a sudden, " this is no fair shakes. I haven't studied up the book. I don't know any thing about it at all. I can't sell a book that I don't understand. Neither could you ; nor anybody. I can't preach at random." " You've done very well, Mr. Jacox," said Button with a smile — " That's jest what I was a waitin' to hear ye say. I was a lookin' to see how long you could run your mill without any grist in't. You're the man I want,I guess. You ain't afraid, and you don't git upsot, and you don't lose your temper. And if you'd a had the fax about that book welHn your mind, how long would you have hung on to me ? " A fell look of bull-dog tenacity set- tled in the queer light-blue eyes of the little man as he answered with his teeth set together, "Till I had your name down for one or more copies, unless I died first." "Wal," said Mr. Button; "that's extremely satisfactory ; now I must go; — can you come in here to-morrow morning at nine exactly ? " Jacox said he could. " Then I'll make an arrangement with ye that'll suit ye, I guess. I want to give ye some particklers about sellin too, that'll be of service to ye. And see here ; — I wish you'd master this here " — he took a printed thing like a sort of hand-bill or broad sheet off the table and gave it to him — " and see how full an account on't you can give me in the mornin'. Adrian, you take one too — " he handed him one accordingly — " I want ye to see how these things are done. Good day, Mr. Jacox." And with more cordiality than he had yet shown, the great man arose and gave his new agent a hearty farewell shake of the hand. When Jacox was gone, Button sat back in his chair with an air of weari- ness that rather surprised Adrian, and, wiping his forehead, he asked the lat- ter, " What d'ye think o' that ? " " I didn't know there was so much generalship in the business," an- swered the young man. " There is though — and it uses up the general, too. Tell ye what 'tis, it spends a man's life to put force into things like that. I've got that Jacox, — but I'm tired. I've grown kinder shaky, nervous a woman would call it. I can't stan it as well as I could fifteen years ago. I feel a queer kind o dizzi- ness every once in a while, and sorter pains in the back o my neck. I only wish my son Bill would take to the business — Really, I'd a bought my own book o Jacox if 'twould a sot Bill in the right path," continued Mr. But- ton, with a queer painful smile — "I couldn't help a thinkin on't when he made them pints about a man's chil- dren. But it's too late now, I reckon. He must graduate at the law school, I spose, and travel, and be somethin or other — I'm sure I do'no what." Mr. William Button was the only JScrope ; or, The Lost Library. 49 and not particularly hopeful son of the capitalist. Among the suffi- ciently numerous deficiencies of our beloved country is, the want of an Education for the Children of the Rich. Physiological results of igno- rance and of consequent mistakes in the use of life — or perhaps instead of mistakes the term should be wrong conditions of society, — in our great business centres, make them often a sort of whirlpools into which good strains of blood are incessantly div- ing and disappearing. A strong eager resolute worker comes into the city, intent on wealth. He plunges into a career of furious unrelaxing va- cationless struggling for money, mar- ries, and he and his wife go straight on in the same road. Even while a young man, even though upright and pure of life, the freshness and cleanly vigor of his youth are soiled, dried, stagnated, enfeebled, by the hot fury of his money-making, the dead air of the city streets, a life without ex- ercise, vacation, or any health-giving constituent; and the children born to him are by a necessary result the physiological embodiments of mistake, unbalance, imperfection. They are born ill-constructed ; their very mar- row and pith has weak streaks in it ; they are ships whose timbers had dry rot in them when they were framed. Now, of all the distinctions of man, the highest is, his infinite power of amendment, of reparation, of recov- ery, of improvement. Even for the strengthless sprouts of these unlucky city stocks, neither physiologist nor educator — scientific as we pretend to be — knows how great a measure of redemption might be secured by a prop- er education of mind and body. For our poor, our schools and our life af- ford it. In other countries, much is accomplished by the aid of wise and just sentiments as to the responsibili- ty of inheritors of wealth. But with us, physiological ignorance prevents any remedy for the congenital weak- nesses of money-makers' children, and social and moral ignorance prevents any remedy for the peculiar tempta- tions around the helpless little fools as they grow up. So the impartial self- limitations of nature are left to do their cold unerring work, and in the second or third generation the abused race is extinct, by a vital reductio ad absurd inn. But Mr. Button, though profoundly displeased at many things concerning his two children, and par- ticularly his son, — who was, in short, rather foolish and more than rather fast — could not imagine any reason for it. So like a practical man as he was, he said but little about it and did the best he could. People who are largely and instinc- tively kindly and desirous to help, often attract the confidences of others, without any purposes or advances of their own. Women are most often called to such lovely offices ; but there are a few men who without having less of the masculine forces, have as it were superadded something of the feminine emotional and sympathetic endowment. Such was Adrian, and he had often met with experiences accordingly. He was the established confidant, ex officio, of all his friends. A stranger sitting by his side in the rail car would confess to him his disappointments in life, his sor- rows and even — sometimes — his ill deeds ; for until a late stage of the case-hardening of evil-doing, sin in most people is more or less consciously a sickness, a pain, and almost every- body longs for sympathy in sickness or pain. Even lost children and lost old women at the street corners always floated up to Adrian by this 50 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. unconscious attraction, to ask him the way ; a stray dog, or a poor mewing outcast kitten infallibly trotted at his heels. And here was this big bull of a capitalist confessing griefs that he would hardly admit to himself, to the young man that he habitually looked on as a " kind o' Nimshi " — as is the funny Yankee term for a shiftless per- son ; apparently from some fancied fitness of sound, rather than from any actual inefficiency recorded as belong- ing to the ancient Hebrew gentleman and progenitor of Jehu. Adrian, whose opinion of Mr. But- ton junior was certainly not higher than the father's, found no adequate consolation to offer, but he argued as well as he could that there was plenty of time yet ; and that many men had waited and doubted along time before choosing their occupation ; and that perhaps it was good fortune that the young man could afford to wait. But the shrewd publisher shook his head. " I do' know — we'll hope for the best. — But there's no use a talkin about it, anyhow. Now, -as to my Useful Information. There's a lot o work to be done on't yet, and a Gen- eral Introduction to be writ, and I'd thought o makin on ye an offer to take holt on't. I've got an old feller to daddy it, as I call it — I can have any I want out of a dozen, — with a D.D. to his name, that'll let me put his name on the title-page. Nothin like havin handles to the author's name ; if he has as many as one o these big steamboat engines, a stickin out everywhere, all the better. D.D. stands for Daddy, I reckon. Well, as I was a sayin, there's room in this office for a smart man, and there's money too. One thing leads to an- other, ye know. Who knows what might come on't ? " In truth, the promptness and neat- ness with which Adrian had turned off his work as secretary, had greatly surprised and impressed Mr. Button, and had decided him almost on the instant to make somewhat such a proposition to the young man as he had thought of a hundred times. But he had always been held back by a no- tion that Adrian " couldn't do noth- in," as he would have phrased it, and still more by his not understanding him. Natures like Button's, whose morality is decently good, but whose highest aspirations are filled full by authority and by wealth, are perhaps the best that can be really happy in this world ; for happiness is the suc- cessful exertion of the best of our fac- ulties. But the range of life that lies above, in thought ; — all that can be lived by seeing and feeling and pro- ducing beauty or truth or love — all the higher grades of activity are un- known to these merely materialist and executive minds. They are strongly built basements ; they have no sunny upper rooms nor oratories with skylights. Accordingly Mr. Button was conscious that forceful as he knew himself, his weapons would not bite upon Adrian, and he was di- vided between displeasure which he was inclined to think just contempt, and another feeling which he would perhaps have called dislike ; but it had a tinge of apprehension in it. There is always some fear toward a superior organization. It is as belong- ing to a higher — a more spiritual — range of being, that we are afraid of a ghost. To Button, Adrian was a kind of ghost — unpractical, intangi- ble, useless, scareful. Adrian in reply expressed a very honest surprise ; for he, understand- ing Button pretty well, was conscious of his sentiments, and had smiled to himself more than once at the idea Scrope; or, The Lost Library. 51 of their yoking together in business — for he had naturally thought of it, having thoughts active, discursive and many. But, he said, not having expected it, he could not at once de- cide ; and furthermore, he was to be so much occupied with divers affairs that in any event he would have to post- pone a reply for some weeks. To this Mr. Button agreed, with the cautious remark "there ain't nothin bindin in sejestions." And thereupon the two left the office, Mr. Button to as- sault and carry the defences of the Reverend Doctor Giddings, and Adrian to undertake a hunt in Gow- ans' antiquarian or rather second- hand book store, only a few blocks away in Nassau Street. CHAPTER IX. The visit of Adrian Scrope Chester to New York was for several pur- poses. The first of these, of course, was to enjoy some of those hours, — such as are always so blissful and so brief — in the permitted happiness of Miss Button's society. Another was, to be present at the approaching meet- ing of the Scrope Association. An- other was, to obtain the relief of a va- cation, or at least of a change of activi- ties, from the steady tediousness of his drudging duty as Assistant Librarian. By passing this interval in New York, he was certain of the stimulus always offered by the swift and motley vari- ety of experiences which the great city is forever offering to the sojourner from without it — the said sojourner being for the most part, as the citi- zens know very well, the only person decently informed about what is going on in the city. And besides all these errands, there was still another; a purpose which was in fact a secret of his own ; in which he had already been eagerly interested for several years. How eagerly, none can very well understand, except those who have themselves been possessed by that keen and absorbing sort of passion which belongs to pursuits intrinsi- cally not important, as if the trifling nature of the occupation itself were to be made up for by the correspond- ingly greater zeal it inspires. In the particular taste in question, Adrian was however only exhibiting one of the traits which belonged to the Scrope ' race, and exhibiting it in the pro- nounced manner natural to the mani- festations of that strong blood. The Scrope descendants generally, not exclusively Mr. Van Braam, Mr. Button, Adrian, and Scrope of Scrope, but a very respectable army of kins- folk scattered by this time as is so commonly the case with New England families, into all manner of positions in life, and all over the United States, retained more or less of the vivid sentiment of kinship and the pride of good descent, as well as the sturdy moral quality, the mental activity and the liking for good liter- ature, which belonged to their best known Puritan ancestors. Indeed, even a special trait of the literary tendency of the race — the taste for collecting and recording — remained often distinct and recognizable, as he- reditary in this race of Yankee yeomen and men of business, as the like in the old French family of De Thou or the noble English house of Spencer. Thus it came to pass that there were in existence a score at least, and very likely thrice as many, manu- script copies of the document which was connected with Adrian's visit to the famous establishment of Mr. William Gowans in Nassau Street, if not a cause of it ; and of which he had in fact at the time of that visit 52 Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. one such copy safely bestowed in his pocket-book. This document was all that was left of the will of Adrian Scroope the Refugee ; and this will, — a holograph, as the collectors call it, viz., a document written throughout bv ir^ maker or author, instead of being written by some one else in order to be signed by him, — and two signatures, were in fact all the exist- ing record evidence of his personal presence in America, so far as had hitherto become known to antiquaries. There were reports, suspicions, and traditions in abundance, and of very great circumstantial weight ; but, as The original will was drawn upon a page of foolscap paper, and the por- tion remaining was such a strip as would be torn out of a bound book by some one snatching at a leaf in haste. It was the outer half, torn roughly down the middle of the leaf from top to bottom ; and — if this theory about a book was true, for there was no evi- dence on the subject — it had been on the left hand page as you open the book, for it was the left hand half of the lines which had been preserved. As antiquaries know very well, paper was used economically in the early days of New England, as if a costly Mr. Van Braam very well knew, and thing, and this will was, accordingly, though verbose in style, written in a small, crowded, though clear and clerkly hand, wonderfully firm and steady for so old a writer ; so that the whole instrument, signatures, attesta- tions and all, was easily contained upon had explained to young Scrope, this was the extent of the certainties. Exactly this dearth of information it was. which obviously enough was go- ing to be the great difficulty in the way of establishing any American claim by inheritance upon the very the single page. large sum which was represented as ready to be delivered to whomsoever should prove his right as heir to the regicide colonel, Adrian Scroope. The will in question had been proved in Hartford, in 1728, and was executed the year before, as ap- peared from that half of the attesta- tion to that effect, which remained. This date indicated that the maker of The original half was in the hands of a well known antiquarian and col- lector, Philetus Stanley of East Hart- ford, — and should naturally be there still, as he is himself, like Adrian Scrope Chester, a descendant from the Deidamia named in the will. What was left upon this mutilated page throws various lights upon hereditary Scrope traits, and is not without inter- the will had attained to a full measure est as a specimen of the wordy style of of that long life which was an almost its period, as well as of the thorough invariable possession of such Scroope manner in which it was then usual descendants as were strongly marked to imbue business documents with a with either the physical or mental formal piety. It is not meant that traits of the race. For, Adrian Scroope this piety was insincere, but that it the Refugee, having fled to New Eng- was superfluous. Many an old deed land after his father's execution in of those days begins, not lGfi'X was then a man grown, accord- ing to the current tradition, and ac- cording to reason. If he were twenty years old in 1660, he would of course be eighty-seven in 1727, the year of the execution of the will. To all persons to whom these presents shall concern," but "To all Christian people to whom " &c. — as if faith need not be kept with the heathen. In like manner was it, that the most dishonest of merchants as much as Scrope; or, The Lost Library. 53 the most honest, would in old times notes of hand and hills for groceries, put "Laus Deo" at the head of a The hody of the existing portion new set of hooks. The same notion of the so-called Scrope Will was as is to-day alive in those who are striv- follows, omitting the witnesses' names ing for a law to enforce the acknowl- and the attestation of proof. The tes- edgment of God in all constitutions, tator's signature was lost, all except laws, conveyances of real estate, the first two letters. 20th of ye second m° called April, 1727. I Ad at present sojourning in Hartford on the C heing at this tyme sick and weake in body, yett and mercy of the Lord retaining my full unde icular my purposes often heretofore expressed, doe d my last will and testament as Followeth : My miserable and sinfull bodie to be bur with y e leaste cost and pomp y l decently may testimony against y e heathen custome of vaine show beseech to be regarded. And my soul I coniitt un in full faith and trust in his kindness to me a worm fied that my state be whatsoever he chooseth. And whereas I am of right entitled to all personall which was'or should have been that of Ad ther within y e realme of England, and Whereas I nail lyfe of others and myselfe than for the thinges of temporall in New England is therefore but small : And whereas my daughter Adriana hath disob things, and especially in marrying Philipp Van Booraem, my deare daughter Deidamia hath been loving & ob and in particular hath been the staffe of my old age, N of my aforesaid purposes already often expressed, queath all my temporall estate both real and person soever, lands, tenements and hereditaments, whether wrongfully or otherwise withheld from me, whether sit bookes in y e chest with name and armes of Scroope and all goods, chattels and choses in action of every and that without prejudice or unkindness to my deare son of said Hartford, presently contracted in To my said deare daughter Deidamia and her he fullest and amplest estate therein that may be. Ad Many careful and repeated studies tractive problem to the local antiqua- had been made upon this mutilated ries of Connecticut — a persistent, record ; for it was a chief centre of hard-headed, and sharp-witted tribe interest to a somewhat numerous of close reasoners, shrewd investigators family connection, and it presented a and determined searchers, though less fascinating though yet very at- not numerous. 54 Scrope; or, The Lost Library. "Oh few and small their numbers were, A handful of sharp men." The conclusions drawn from the Will are not very difficult to discern, however. Some of them of course, were reckoned certain, and others uncertain. Thus : it was considered clear that the testator was a person of deep piety, after the type of his period ; strong and enduring in re- sentment, yet disinterested and be- neficent ; that he was of original and decided waj^s of thinking, as was shown by his unconventional notions about funerals ; that he believed him- self entitled to property of some kind in England 5 that whatever he could give was given exclusively to his daughter Deidamia, — undoubt- edly that Deidamia Throop who is well known to have married John Chester of Windsor ; that he had a son, whom he had probabl}'- provided for as is often the case, by what are called " advancements " or gifts dur- ing his life, and who therefore took nothing by this will ; that although no express words of disinheriting were used, nothing whatever was given to the disobedient daughter Adriana, married to the Dutchman Philipp Van Booraem or Van Braam. The tenacious character of the Scropes was evidenced in such minor matters as the language and handwriting, which were rather that of the Com- monwealth, when the writer was a boy at school, than of the period of Swift and Addison, at which the in- strument was executed. It was clear enough also that a chest carved with the Scrope name and arms, and containing books, had been given to Deidamia. But — however weighty the pre- sumptions in the case might be, and although the testator's given name began with the two letters " Ad " — and although both the body of the will and these two letters, especially the very characteristic and strikingly designed capital A were admitted to be in the same handwriting with the two existing signatures of Adrian Scroope, and although no other rea- sonable hypothesis would account for a daughter of the uncommon name of Adriana, and although it was specified that the chest with the " bookes " bore the name and arms of Scroope — in spite of all these cu- mulative circumstances, they were cir- cumstantial evidence only, and the more cautious authorities hesitated to affirm positively that the will was absolutely that of Adrian Scroope, son and heir of Colonel Adrian Scroope the Regicide Judge. It may, they reasoned, be that of the Reverend Adeodatus Throop, minister of a small society in New London County, after- wards known as New Concord, and by law incorporated as the town of Bozrah in May 1786 ; — and whose son or grandson Benjamin Throop, succeeding him in his spiritual charge, having graduated at Yale College in 1734, was ordained Jan. 3, 1739, and became his successor in his spiritual office, living to a great age and dying, still after the good old fashion the settled minister at New Concord or Bozrah, in 17S5. It is very true, however, that an- other family tradition identified the two, Adrian Scroope and Adeodatus Throop. This tradition was a con- stant and unvarying one, and had be- come an unquestioned article of faith among the Scrope descendants. It was, that Adrian Scroope had been hunted for by the officers of the crown at the same time with his father, viz. in 1660, and had indeed only escaped from them by great presence of mind and a shrewd deceit. The party of officers had, it would appear, even Scrope ; or, The Lost Library. 55 made their way into the house where young Seroope was. They did not know his person however ; and with a ready coolness remarkable in a young fellow, he perceived this, and adroitly mingled with them, pretend- ing to aid them in their search. Fi- nally, looking out at a window, and affecting to see the man they wanted he cried out " There goes Seroope ! " flung himself out as if in pursuit, and so got off. He remained, apparently, in hiding, and crossed secretly to New England ; though the time as well as the manner of his doing so are purely matters of conjecture. He may have crossed in the same ship with the regicides Goffe and Wh alley, who landed at Boston in July 1G60. There is not however the remotest trace of his presence in New England, either, until the year 1666, when he must have been living at Hartford under his own name, for the signa- ture at the end of this chapter, and which is a fac-simile furnished by the kindness of that accomplished histori- cal scholar C. J. Hoadly Esq., State li- brarian of Connecticut, is upon a docu- ment dated March 11, of that year, and he is there described as " of Hartford." The other of his two known signa- tures is of about the same time. He had therefore then passed safely through the time of the first pursuit of Goffe and Wh alley, in the fall and winter of 1660-61, and had thought it safe to appear in his own name. Whatever was the immediate occasion of his adopting that of Throop instead (taking it for granted that he did so, according to this distinct and positive family tradition), the reason must necessarily have been fear of legal proceedings by the crown. Reason enough; for those were the clays when no counsel was allowed to a prisoner on a criminal charge ; and when if the king and his ministers so required, a crown prosecution for high treason was all but certain death. And the same consideration continued almost or quite as powerful not only under that hog and murderer Chief Justice Jeffries in the reign of James II., but even for almost a century later. It was barely over a century ago that a storm blew down the last skull from Temple Bar, in 1772, — four years be- fore our own Declaration of Indepen- dence. It is no wonder, then, if the imperilled refugee remained quietly in the safe concealment of an assumed name, (a concealment rendered pecu- liarly safe by the fact that near by, in the town of Lebanon, there was ac- tually established a well known fami- ly of the name of Throop), and in an obscure Connecticut village, to the end of his days. One of more ambi- tious, vain or greedy temper might have risked attempting to regain the wealth and high position that justly belonged to him in England. But the Scropes were proud, not vain ; nor did they greatly feel the want of either riches or honor ; and there is reason enough to believe that the ob- scure and silent life which he lived was filled with good works and con- tented studies and meditations, such as would afford at least as much real enjoyment as such a character could find in any higher position. '