do not know the bishop
myself, but Mr. Grenfell, at whose house you spent a few days in the
early summer, married the bishop's niece, and will gladly give you an
introduction to his uncle. He is in Scotland. But I will write to him
before I go to bed."

Sunday morning brought me a cordial letter from Mr. Grenfell,
introducing me to the bishop. I wrote a note to his lordship, saying I
should be glad to have an opportunity to see Bradford's history; that I
was to sail for the United States the next Wednesday, but would be
pleased to call at Fulham Tuesday, if that were agreeable to him.

I got a note in reply, in which he said if I would call on Tuesday he
would be happy to show me "The Log of the Mayflower," which is the title
the English, without the slightest reason in the world, give the
manuscript. I kept the appointment, and found the bishop with the book
in his hand. He received me with great courtesy, showed me the palace,
and said that that spot had been occupied by a bishop's palace for more
than a thousand years.

After looking at the volume and reading the records on the flyleaf, I
said: "My lord, I am going to say something which you may think rather
audacious. I think this book ought to go back to Massachusetts. Nobody
knows how it got over here. Some people think it was carried off by
Governor Hutchinson, the Tory governor; other people think it was
carried off by British soldiers when Boston was evacuated; but in either
case the property would not have changed. Or, if you treat it as a
booty, in which last case, I suppose, by the law of nations ordinary
property does change, no civilized nation in modern times applies that
principle to the property of libraries and institutions of learning."

"Well," said the bishop, "I did not know you cared anything about it."

"Why," said I, "if there were in existence in England a history of King
Alfred's reign for thirty years, written by his own hand, it would not
be more precious in the eyes of Englishmen than this manuscript is to
us."

"Well," said he, "I think myself it ought to go back, and if it had
depended on me it would have gone back before this. But the Americans
who have been here--many of them have been commercial people--did not
seem to care much about it except as a curiosity. I suppose I ought not
to give it up on my own authority. It belongs to me in my official
capacity, and not as private or personal property. I think I ought to
consult the