ent of the handsome young man who
was the mystery of our great university town "sixty years since,"--long
enough ago for a romance to grow out of a narrative, as Waverley may
remind us. The writer of this narrative remembers him well, and is not
sure that he has not told the strange story in some form or other to
the last generation, or to the one before the last. No matter: if he has
told it they have forgotten it,--that is, if they have ever read it; and
whether they have or have not, the story is singular enough to justify
running the risk of repetition.

This young man, with a curious name of Scandinavian origin, appeared
unheralded in the town, as it was then, of Cantabridge. He wanted
employment, and soon found it in the shape of manual labor, which he
undertook and performed cheerfully. But his whole appearance showed
plainly enough that he was bred to occupations of a very different
nature, if, in deed, he had been accustomed to any kind of toil for his
living. His aspect was that of one of gentle birth. His hands were not
those of a laborer, and his features were delicate and refined, as well
as of remarkable beauty. Who he was, where he came from, why he had
come to Cantabridge, was never clearly explained. He was alone,
without friends, except among the acquaintances he had made in his new
residence. If he had any correspondents, they were not known to the
neighborhood where he was living. But if he had neither friends nor
correspondents, there was some reason for believing that he had enemies.
Strange circumstances occurred which connected themselves with him in
an ominous and unaccountable way. A threatening letter was slipped under
the door of a house where he was visiting. He had a sudden attack of
illness, which was thought to look very much like the effect of poison.
At one time he disappeared, and was found wandering, bewildered, in a
town many miles from that where he was residing. When questioned how he
came there; he told a coherent story that he had been got, under some
pretext, or in some not incredible way, into a boat, from which, at a
certain landing-place, he had escaped and fled for his life, which he
believed was in danger from his kidnappers.

Whoever his enemies may have been,--if they really existed,--he did not
fall a victim to their plots, so far as known to or remembered by this
witness.

Various interpretations were put upon his story. Conjectures were as
abundant as they were in t