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{Tuesday, 20th of August = does this date the final composition of “The Lumley Autograph” or of its setting? August 20 fell on a Tuesday in 1844 and 1850}

“Please, sir, is it true that they pay money for old letters at this place?”

“They do–have you any thing of the kind to dispose of?”

Judge of my gratification, my amazement, when she produced the Lumley Autograph!

Of course I instantly took it, at her own price–only half a guinea–and I further gave her Lady Holberton’s address, that she might claim the liberal reward promised far the precious letter. Tears came into the poor child’s eyes when she found what awaited her, and I may as well observe at once that this young girl proved to be the daughter of a poor bed-ridden artisan of Clapham, who had seen better days, but was then in great want. It is an ill-wind that blows no good luck, and the contest for the Lumley Autograph was a great advantage to the poor artisan and his family. The girl had picked up the paper early one morning, in a road near Clapham, as she was going to her work; Lady Holberton gave her a handful of guineas as the promised reward–a sum by the bye just double in amount what the poor poet had received for his best poem–and she also continued to look after the family in their troubles.

But to return to the important document itself. Never can I forget the expressive gratitude that beamed on the fine countenance of Lady Holberton when I restored it once more to her possession. She rapidly recovered her health and spirits, and it was generally reported that seizing this favorable moment, Mr. T—- had offered himself and his collection, and that both had been graciously accepted. Miss Rowley called and a sort of paix platree was made up between the ladies. A cargo of American autographs arrived containing the letter of the Cherokee editor, the sign-manual of governors and colonels without number, and I even succeeded in obtaining epistles from several noted rowdies, especially to gratify the ladies. Lady Holberton made her selection, and the rest were divided between Miss Rowley and Mr. T—-. Joy at the recovery of the Lumley Autograph seemed to diffuse an unusual spirit of harmony among collectors; many desirable exchanges were brought about and things looked charmingly. Alas, how little were we prepared for what ensued!

{paix platree = patched-up peace (French)}

On the occasion of the presence in London of two illustrious royal travelers, Lady Holberton gave a large party. So said the papers at least; but I knew better. It was chiefly to celebrate the recovery of the Lumley Autograph, and its restoration to her celebrated Album that the fete was given. The Album was produced, in spite of a half-formed vow of Lady Holberton to the contrary, but then His Royal Highness Prince —- —- had particularly requested to see the letter of the poor poet, having heard it mentioned at dinner. The evening passed off brilliantly, their royal highnesses, came, saw, and departed. The crowd followed them to another house, while a favored few, chiefly collectors, remained lingering about the table on which lay the Album. I should have said earlier, that Lady Holberton had appointed a new office in her household the very day after the loss of the Lumley Autograph; this was no other than a pretty little page, dressed in the old costume of a student of Padua, whose sole duty it was to watch over the Album whenever it was removed from the rich and heavy case in which it usually lay enshrined. He was the guard of the Album, and was strictly enjoined never, for one instant, to remove his eyes from the precious volume from the moment he was placed on duty, until relieved.

Well, there we were, some dozen of us, collected about the table; Lady Holberton looking triumphant, Mr. T—- very proud; and there stood the page of the Album, dressed in his Paduasoy gown, with eyes fastened on the book, according to orders, while he supported its gorgeous case in his arms. Some remark was made as to the extraordinary manner in which the precious Autograph had been lost, and then found again. My blood actually boiled, as one of the company turned to me and asked in a suspicious tone, if I did not know more of its history than I chose to confess? My indignation was boundless; fortunately I could produce the friend walking with me in Piccadilly, and the artisan’s family at Clapham, as witnesses in my favor. Miss Rowley was standing near me at the moment.