THE LUMLEY AUTOGRAPH.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "RURAL HOURS," ETC.




[Not long since an American author received an application from a
German correspondent for "a few Autographs"--the number of names
applied for amounting to more than a hundred, and covering several
sheets of foolscap. A few years since an Englishman of literary note
sent his Album to a distinguished poet in Paris for his contribution,
when the volume was actually stolen from a room where every other
article was left untouched; showing that Autographs were more
valuable in the eyes of the thief than any other property. Amused
with the recollection of these facts, and others of the same kind,
some idle hours were given by the writer to the following view of this
mania of the day.]

The month of November of the year sixteen hundred and -- was
cheerless and dark, as November has never failed to be within the
foggy, smoky bounds of the great city of London. It was one of the
worst days of the season; what light there was seemed an
emanation from the dull earth, the heavens would scarce have owned
it, veiled as they were, by an opaque canopy of fog which weighed
heavily upon the breathing multitude below. Gloom penetrated every
where; no barriers so strong, no good influences so potent, as wholly
to ward off the spell thrown over that mighty town by the spirits of
chill and damp; they clung to the silken draperies of luxury, they
were felt within the busy circle of industry, they crept about the