THE LUMLEY AUTOGRAPH.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "RURAL HOURS," ETC.
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 family hearth, but abroad in the public ways, and in the
wretched haunts of misery, they held undisputed sway.
Among the throng which choked the passage of Temple-Bar toward
evening, an individual, shabbily clad, was dragging his steps wearily along,
his pallid countenance bearing an expression of misery beyond the more
common cares of his fellow-passengers. Turning from the great
thoroughfare he passed into a narrow lane, and reaching the door of a
mean dwelling he entered, ascended a dirty stairway four stories high, and
stood in his garret lodging. If that garret was bare, cold, and dark, it was
only like others, in which many a man before and since has pined away
years of neglect and penury, at the very moment when his genius was
cheering, enriching, enlightening his country and his race. That the
individual whose steps we have followed was indeed a man of genius,
could not be doubted by one who had met the glance of that deep, clear,
piercing eye, clouded though it was at that moment by misery of body and
mind that amounted to the extreme of anguish. The garret of the stranger
contained no food, no fuel, no light; its occupant was suffering from cold,
hunger, and wretchedness. Throwing himself on a broken chair, he
clenched his fingers over the manuscript, held within a pale and emaciated
hand.