A PRICELESS EPISTLE.

Otago Witness, Issue 1906, 21 August 1890, Page 36

A PRICELESS EPISTLE.

Perhaps the largest and most valuable I private collection of autograph letters and manuscripts in the United Kingdom is that which has been made by Mr Alfred Morrison, a gentleman of unlimited wealth. The most valuable article in this superb collection ie a letter written by Marie Stuart. On the morning of her execution the unfortunate Queen of Scots wrote three letters —one to his Holiness the Pope, another to the King of France, and a third to the Archbishop of Guise. The letter to the Pope is still preserved among the treasures of the Vatican, the letter to the archbishop was for hundreds of years sequestered in a monastery at Guise, but the letter to the French king was destroyed among other family papers of that monarch. One day, not many years ago, it was discovered by the monks of Guise that the letter which had so long been treasured among their relics was missing ; it was evident that a burglar had been at work among the archives, but no cine to the infamous culprit could be obtained. The loss created quite as muoh of a sensation as the robbery of a saintly relio might have created, but there seemed to be no way of recovering the treasure or of reaohing the offender. In time there appeared in London a man who exhibited this identical letter— the letter written a few hours before her death by Marie Stuart to the Archbishep of Guise. How the letter came into the possession of this fellow can only be surmised ; there are some who say it was stolen; others, less charitable, assert that the monks, wishing to realise money on the relic, used him simply as a tool for the disposal of the letter. Be this, however, ' as it may, it was clear that the ruffian knew the full value of the treasure, and was determined to realise it in cash. So he sought out Mr Alfred Morrison and exhibited the precious letter. Of course Morrison waß wild with delight ; never before had there been presented bo notable an opportunity to jaossess himself of a priceless unique. < Morrison recognised the worth of the treasure; yet he recognised at the same' time, the propriety' of dissimulation. Therefore, feigning as best he could a certain indifference, he asked, "And how much do you wish me to pay you for this ? ". The man was fully prepared for that issue. " One thousand guineas," said he. The price startled, nay, paralysed 1 : Mr Morrison, millionaire though he was. " A thousand guineas I " roared he, " you are extortionate in your demand." "No, I am not," answered the ruffian, coolly, " I know what the letter's worth, and I shall not take a penny less for it." For a moment Mr Morrison was tempted to olinoh the bargain. "But no," thought he, "if I pay suoh a prioe for a single item, I shall simply render myself, liable to extortionate prices all the rest of my life." "Take it away,'.' said Morriion to the other, " I'll not pay you any inch Bum of money for it." 60 the man went his way, taking the precious document with him. Then it was that regret played npon Morrison. He ; might baye at least parleyed with the fellow— perhaps argument, . dispassionate argument, .or good-natured cajolery might have induced him. to, part with the treasure at a more reasonable price. What if some rival collector should secure the prize ? . What if by some means or other the letter should be destroyed ? These and •a thousand other fancies made Mr Morrison's life a veritable burden for many days and nights. It was perhaps a fortnight later that a woman entered Mr Morrison's library, she was wan and ill-olad. "My husband is in a oab outside," said she. "He has that Marie Stuart letter, and unless you will pay Him lOOOgs for it he will tear it up. He is a 'reckless man, and I warm you that he will execute his determination. i This announcement threw Morrison into a fever of excitement; he did not stop to think — his mind was filled with apprehension lest that priceless relic should be destroyed. Every enthusiastic colleotor will understand what his emotions must have been at that moment ; it was his duty to save the prize at any cost— it waß now or never 1 Trembling and white with excitement, his heart actually in his throat, he seized his cheque book, wrote out a cheque, rushed into the street, I and confronted the man in the cab. " Here's your money ; give me the letter," i cried Morrison. I " It's well you came. I was about to tear it up," said the man, grimly. But back in his library with the Marie Stuart letter in his hands, Mr Morrison began to take another aspect of the affair. 11 Is it reasonable to suppose," he a«ked himself, "that this squalid 'wretch, knowing the value of this prize, would have destroyed what he knew would make him comparatively rich ? Of course not ; he has played upon me ; he read me better than I knew myself ; by a moat commonplace artifice he has so excited my emotions that I have paid an extortionate sum for what I doubtless would, in time, have secured for half the money." With these poignant reflections did Morrison reproach himself, yet it is a question whether he would to-day partwith the Marie Stuart letter at any price. The other day • Mr S. J Dewey, the leading autograph dealer in London, was asked what that letter was worth, and his answer was : "Its value cannot be determined; it is one of the treasures that to collectors are simply priceless." STORIES OP BAD HANDWRITING. Perhaps the best story we have heard about bad handwriting is the one -which tells how a well-known London manager once 1 gave a man an '• order " to "admit two " to

his theatre, and how the possessor, of this' sorap of paper handed it over to a chemist..) who regarded it ad a prescription, and " made, ■itup " accordingly. This is an excellent story, but it has just defect— it is not true. The following illustration, however, of the wretched calligraphy of the late Lord Lyttelton may be thoroughly relied upon, though ib now appears in print for the first time. He was connected with a certain charity school in the Midlands, and one day he wrote a letter to a lady who was also concerned in the welfare of that institution. But she found it a sheer impossibility to read i the missive. A family council waß convened, ' and the collective wisdom of the household was brought to bear upon the letter, but still | without avail. Beyond just the opening words and the signature, it defied the closest < investigation. Thereupon one of the sons j returned it, with a note setting forth that his mother fully appreciated the consideration shown to her, but, unfortunately, it wa9 altogether beyond her power to read what his lordship bad written. Soon afterwards the letter was re-transmitted | by one of Lord Lyttelton's sons, who explained that he too bad been un- ! able to read it, and that his father could I not decipher it either, though in his own writing, and had now completely forgotten what it was he bad written about. The letter, we believe, has been kept in the family as a curiosity, but what the writer really wanted to say has never been discovered. Another story told of Lord Lyttelton is that once, when the subjeot of the eleotoral reform was before Parliament, he gave notice of his intention to move, as an amendment, that no person should be allowed to record his vote who could not sign his name legibly. But this amendment was never moved, the notice having been written so badly that it could not be printed, the officials of the House of Lords finding it impossible to make out what the mysterious strokes and dashes on the paper really signified. Dr Trusler, of Bath, wrote so bad a hand that at last, as he grew older and more careless, there waß only one compositor in the printing office where his writings were put into type who could read them. Eventually this one was forced to confess that they passed even his powers of deciphering bad "copy." He accordingly went to Dr Trusler, and asked him to read the manuscript over to him. " That is a perfectly reasonable request," answered the doctor, "but it so happens that {for some years I I have not been able to make out my own I writing, and now, as you can't read it, I had better get an amanuensis." And he did. The private letters of the Emperor Napoleon used, it is said, "to be mistaken for maps of the seat of war." Horace Greeley was a notoriously bad writer, and 60 was Sir Walter Scott. Many of the most amusing of the blunders made in print are also evidently due to bad handwriting. Contributors to tbe press are too apt' to suppose that words whioh may be perfectly plain to them— because they, as the writers, know what they mean— will be equally clear to the compositor who has to put them into type j^and when to their own carelessness is added a lack of intelligence on the part of the type setter, the effeot may be somewhat ludicrous. Thus, a London newspaper was once made to describe a picture as representing "Wicked Angels Fortifying Florence," when it should have been "Michael Angelo Fortifying Florence " — a distinction with a very decided difference. Then it was, probably, due to a lack of distinctness in the handwriting of the reporter that Lord Brassey was represented by a .newspaper as having referred, in the course of a speech, to the " Golden treasury of . soups' and oynics," instead of " Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics;" and the same explanation may account for the familiar expression, "Et tv, Brutel" appearing in print as " Eh, the Brnt'e 1" Again, a reverend gentleman in Glasgow, one of her Majesty's chaplains in Scotland, must have been dreadfully shocked when he found himself reported as saying that, "Personally he violated the 1 Lordjs Day a» much as, any member of the court," when what he had said was " venerated.".

It may, too, have been bad writing on the part of a reporter which was the primary cause of a newspaper representing' a member of,.the Government as making the following remarkable declaration:— "We have broken our breeches, we have burnt our boots;, honour, 'no less than other considerations,' forbids us to retreat." Here, of course, " breeches " should be bridges, and " boots " should be boats. A Lancashire paper produced something quite as good as this when it represented that — A little knowledge ii a dangerous thing ; Drink dwp.'or taste not of the aperient npMng. The compositor, perhaps, had not met with the word " Pierian " before, and put his own interpretation upon, probably, the badlywritten word in the "copy." In this instance, however, there is just the possibility that the writer may himself have been at fault and have written the quotation inaccurately. But we have found other droll blunders which are undeniably traceable to bad handwriting. There was, for example, the newspaper which announced the title of anew book as " The Christian's Dream : No. Oows, no Cream." It should of course have read, "No Cross, no Crown," Another produced as the heading of an article, " A Hungarian Out Throat," instead of "A Honeymoon Out Short." • The feelings of the newly-wedded couple on seeing this must I have been as deeply wounded as were those of the relatives and friends of a dead man of whom they read in a newspaper that he bad died "in the richness of sin." The editor explained next day that what he had really written was that the men had died "in the interior of Asia." Whether or not he began to take writing lessons after this i? not stated. Another case which might have excused an editorial indulgence in nonscriptural phraseology was that in which a iournalist who wrote, " Bridge carried away by a drive of logs," saw it appear in print as " Bride carried away by a drove of hogs. -Mies O'Grady: "Well, but if you're a Dublin man, how came you to be born m Cork?" "Mr M'Guire: "Shureit's just this— l was staying there at the toime." When, by rea<on of a cold. or from nny other came tho lecretory orK«ns become disordered, they may beatimulstcd to healthy action by the vie of Ayer'» Cathartlo PHI*. Sold by all 'dealers i \ medioiae.