t is
enveloped; the well-browned and very sharp features; the straight,
dark-gray hair, and the absent manner of Mr. Hardscrabble, might, with
the uninitiated, cause him to be mistaken for an "up-country" clergyman
of the Methodist denomination.

"Mr. Hardscrabble? Mr. Hardscrabble? Mr. Hardscrabble?" muses the
Antiquary, canting his head wisely, "the Sheriff, as I'm a man of
years!"

Mr. Hardscrabble comforts his eyes with his spectacles, and having
glanced vacantly over the little shop, as if to take an inventory of its
contents, draws from his breast-pocket a paper containing very ominous
seals and scrawls.

"I'm reluctant about doing these things with an old man like you," Mr.
Hardscrabble condescends to say, in a sharp, grating voice; "but I have
to obey the demands of my office." Here he commences reading the paper
to the trembling old man, who, having adjusted his broad-bowed
spectacles, and arrayed them against the spectacles of Mr. Hardscrabble,
says he thinks it contains a great many useless recapitulations.

Mr. Hardscrabble, his eyes peering eagerly through his glasses, and his
lower jaw falling and exposing the inner domain of his mouth, replies
with an--"Umph." The old Antiquary was never before called upon to
examine a document so confusing to his mind. Not content with a
surrender of his property, it demands his body into the bargain--all at
the suit of one Keepum. He makes several motions to go show it to his
daughter; but that, Mr. Hardscrabble thinks, is scarce worth while. "I
sympathize with you--knowing how frugal you have been through life. A
list of your effects--if you have one--will save a deal of trouble. I
fear (Mr. Hardscrabble works his quid) my costs will hardly come out of
them."

"There's a fortune in them--if the love of things of yore--" The old man
hesitates, and shakes his head dolefully.

"Yore!--a thing that would starve out our profession."

"A little time to turn, you know. There's my stock of uniforms."

"Well--I--know," Mr. Hardscrabble rejoins, with a drawl; "but I must
lock up the traps. Yes, I must lock you up, and sell you out--unless you
redeem before sale day; that you can't do, I suppose?"

And while the old man totters into the little back parlor, and, giving
way to his emotions, throws himself upon the bosom of his fond daughter,
to whom he discloses his troubles, Mr. Hardscrabble puts locks and bolts
upon his curiosity-shop. This important business done, he