A Mysterious Journal, a Magnifying Glass and a Librarian

A Mysterious Journal, a Magnifying Glass, and a Librarian

     One of my first assignments as a newly appointed reference librarian was to organize a small room that contains materials of historical and regional significance to our area. While sorting through a shelf one day, I stumbled upon an old diary that contained poetry copied from various newspapers from 1860 through the late 1870s. Intrigued by this book, I decided to figure out to whom the journal belonged and why it was being housed in the overflow of vault materials.

    The journal is old and not in the best condition. In addition, multiple names are handwritten on the inside cover making it difficult to determine ownership. I consulted my colleagues and we came up with a few answers. The person who wrote in this journal was educated and literate. This is indicated by the excellent handwriting and the interest in poetry. Furthermore, we concluded that the owner of the journal was female, again, the penmanship and style of handwriting possessed feminine qualities. After this point, I was about ready to give up on finding the writer of the journal. I had studied the inside and backside covers with a magnifying glass (literally) to uncover the name of the owner, but all leads were met with dead ends. I decided to leaf through the entire journal again, page by page, in hopes of finding a clue. On page 96, hidden amongst the poetry was a letter that I had overlooked! After reading the letter I finally had a name and down the rabbit hole I went…

Below is the transcribed copy of the letter copied verbatim: 

Dear Matilda: - My friend and companion,

How can you e’er pardon your Kate,

For not writing directly she came here,                            
And letting you Know of her fate?Such wonders I saw on my Journey!

I meant to have written them all

But forgetting to Keep up my diary,

I cant my adventures recall.

But when I arrived at Aunt Susan’s

With Bessie unpacking my box,

I heard a loud chorus of voices:

“Oh Kate, now you’ll meet Mr Cox!

We girls are all struck by his beauty!

He’s so rich, and so clever, and young!

And he wears the most matchless of neckties!

You’ll worship the song he has sung!”

When I heard this, my dearest Matilda

I put on my blue grenadine

That you Know is so very becoming -

I cant tell how praised it has been,

And I walked in the drawing-room singing

A few bars of an Opera air

Pretending I thought no one near me,

Yet I Knew Mr Cox would be there

And he was – standing up on the hearth-rug

With a photograph book in his hand,

They were right.  He was tall, And so hamsome;

And his whisker and necktie were grand.

His eyes were like violet blossoms

His teeth were as orient pearls

And I marked a large diamond glitter

As he drew his white hand thro’ his curls

There I heard my Aunt Susan say, gently:

“Mr Cox, my pet niece, little Kate.

Now come, let us hasten to dinner –

Even now I’m afraid we are late.”

Dear Matilda, Poets say “that love cometh

Unsought and remarkably soon,”

They are right – for an hour after dinner

When we went out to look at the moon,

You’d have thought he’d have Known me for ages

As we strolled up and down the long walk,

I am glad that papa was not near us –

He’d have started to hear all his talk.

For I Know how he blamed me for list’ning

To Fred Wrightou’s few flattering Jokes

But Matilda, I never was flattered

‘Till I walked ‘neath the moon at fair Oaks

He sais I’m a Sylph and an elfin –

A fairy and gossamer sprite;

Mamma calls me “awfully dumpty”

After all Charley Cox may be right.

My hair which my sisters call reddish

He tells me “like rich mellow gold –

Only owned by the angels of Eden

Only painted by Artists of old”

As proof of his love and attention

When I sit down to sing or to play

He turns o’er each leaf of my music

And non power can attract him away.

There’s that musical genius Jane Ford –

So dark and so ugly, and tall:

I hear she would die for his smiles,

Yet he never looks at her at all

You Know what a dunce I’m at chess

I can scarce tell a pawn from a queen

Yet he’s always challengeing me to a game

And neglects the fine player – Jane Green

I think it a symptom of love

When he praises all the things that I do

And says I am perfect because –

I feel that his judgments untrue.

He declares that he Knows he’s unworthy

So he humbly has offered, in fear

His heart and his hand his devotion for life

And a sum of ten thousand a year!

H said he should die if I loved not.

So I’m wearing his diamond ring;

Ordered my trousseau from Stewarts

And shall marry him early in spring;

He has left off his billiards, his beer, and Cigars

Sold his horse that he loved more than life

Sent his dog, that once snarled at me, off to a friend

And is building a house for his wife;

So now when you read how employed I’ve been,

My silence, dear Matty forgive;

And pray, as I pray, that my happiness now,

May continue as long as I live;

So write to me dearest as soon as you can –

At Fair Oaks some time I may stay;

And believe that thro life I shall ever remain

Your affectionate friend            Katy May

P.S. – I want your advise as to how I shall dress

Must I wear Meeklin or Honiton veil

I’m afraid if I have white Satin and pearls

It will make me look dreadfully pale.

End of post sct                                    K. M.