{Chatterton = Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), British poet, who created an imaginary Thomas Rowley, a supposed medieval monk, to whom he ascribed some of his poems.Chatterton committed suicide at the age of 18 when a poem of his, allegedly by Rowley, was rejected; he was buried in a pauper's grave.Susan Fenimore Cooper no doubt has this in mind in naming a character in this story Theodosia Rowley.
{Gilbert = Nicolas Gilbert (1751-1780), French poet, who died in Paris at the age of 29.The French writer Count Alfred de Vigny (1797- 1863), in his book of essays "Stello" (1832), popularized a legend that Gilbert had died insane and in abject poverty at the charity hospital of the Hotel Dieu in Paris, and compared his miserable end with that of Chatteron; it seems likely that Vigny, whose book appeared while Susan Fenimore Cooper was studying in Paris, was her source for this reference to Gilbert.In fact, Gilbert was not impoverished, and died of injuries after falling from his horse}
"Better, Hopkins--doing well.But what have you here? I never see old papers but I have an inclination to look them over.If a man has leisure, he may often pick up something amusing among such rubbish.Don't you ever read the papers that pass through your hands?""No, sir--I 'as no time for that, sir.And then I was never taught to read writing, and these 'ere papers is all written ones.We puts them that's written for one trunk, and them that's printed for another, as you see, sir; one must have a heye to the looks of the work.""Why yes--you seem to manage the job very well; and I have a trunk,by the bye, that wants patching up before my boy carries it off with him; I'll send it round to you; Hopkins.But stay--what's this?" and the doctor took up a soiled, yellow sheet of paper, from the heap rejected by the workman; it contained a scrawl which proved to be the identical letter of the poor poet, the Lumley autograph, though in what manner it became mingled with that heap of rubbish has never been satisfactorily ascertained.
"Here's a poor fellow who had a hard fate, Hopkins," said the benevolent man, thoughtfully."It is as good as a sermon on charity to read that letter."The trunk-maker begged to hear it.
"Well, poor journeyman as I be, I was never yet in so bad a way as that, sir.""And never will be, I hope; but this was a poet, Hopkins--and that's but an indifferent trade to live by.I'll tell you what, my good friend," said the doctor, suddenly, "that letter is worth keeping, and you may paste it in the trunk I'll send round this afternoon--put it in the lid, where it can be read."The trunk was sent, and the letter actually pasted in it as part of the new lining.Dr.H--, who, as we have observed, was rather eccentric in his ways, had a son about to commence his career as a soldier; and the worthy man thought the letter might teach the youth a useful lesson of moderation and temperance, by showing him every time he opened his trunk, the extreme of want to which his fellow beings were occasionally reduced.What success followed the plan we cannot say.The trunk, however, shared the young soldier's wandering life; it carried the cornet's uniform to America; it was besieged in Boston; and it made part of the besieging baggage at Charleston.It was not destined, however, to remain in the new world, but followed its owner to the East Indies, carrying on this second voyage, a lieutenant's commission.At length, after passing five-and-twenty years in Bengal, the trunk returned again to Southampton, as one among some dozen others which made up the baggage of the gallant Colonel H--, now rich in laurels and rupees.The old trunk had even the honorable duty assigned it of carrying its master's trophies, doubtless the most precious portion of the colonel's possessions, though atthe same time the lightest; as for the rupees, the old worn-out box would have proved quite unequal to transporting a single bag of them, for it was now sadly unfit for service, thanks to the ravages of time and the white ants; and, indeed, owed its preservation and return to its native soil solely to the letter pasted in the lid, which, in the eyes of Colonel H--, was a memento of home, and the eccentric character of a deceased parent.
{cornet = the lowest officer rank in a British cavalry regiment, below that of Lieutenant; now obsolete}
The time had now come, however, when the Lumley autograph was about to emerge forever from obscurity, and receive the full homage of collectors; the hour of triumph was at hand, the neglect of a century was to be fully repaid by the highest honors of fame.The eye of beauty was about to kindle as it rested on the Lumley autograph; jeweled fingers were to be raised, eager to snatch the treasure from each other; busy literati stood ready armed for a war of controversy in its behalf.
It happened that Colonel H-- was invited to a fancy ball; and it also happened that the lady whom he particularly admired, was to be present on the occasion.Such being the case, the most becoming costume was to be selected for the evening.What if the locks of the gallant colonel were slightly sprinkled with gray? He was still a handsome man, and knew very well that the dress of an eastern aymeer was particularly well suited to his face and figure.This dress, preserved in a certain old trunk in the garret, was accordingly produced.The trunk was brought down to the dressing- room, the costume examined piece by piece, pronounced in good condition by the valet, and declared very becoming by the military friend called in as counsellor.
{aymeer = Emir; a Muslim title signifying commander in Arabic}
"But what a queer old box this is, H--," said Major D--, eyeing the trunk through his glass.
