the writing-table. He started as his eyes caught the words "------
Theatre" stamped in carmine letters on one corner of the envelope. Van
Twiller broke the seal with trembling fingers.

Now, this note some time afterward fell into the hands of Livingstone,
who showed it to Stuyvesant, who showed it to Delaney, who showed it to
me, and I copied it as a literary curiosity. The note ran as follows:

MR VAN TWILLER DEAR SIR--i am verry greatfull to you for that
Bracelett. it come just in the nic of time for me. The Mademoiselle
Zabriski dodg is about Plaid out. my beard is getting to much for me. i
shall have to grow a mustash and take to some other line of busyness, i
dont no what now, but will let you no. You wont feel bad if i sell that
Bracelett. i have seen Abrahams Moss and he says he will do the square
thing. Pleas accep my thanks for youre Beautifull and Unexpected
present. Youre respectfull servent,
CHARLES MONTMORENCI WALTERS.

The next day Van Twiller neither expressed nor felt any unwillingness
to spend a few weeks with his mother at the old homestead.

And then he went abroad.

BROTHER SEBASTIAN'S FRIENDSHIP
------------------------------
BY HAROLD FREDERIC

_Harold Frederic (born at Utica, N. Y., August 19, 1856; died in 1898)
was a novelist whose every book exceeded its predecessor in conception,
general construction, and technique of detail. His death at the
maturity of his powers was therefore a great loss to American
literature. His posthumous novel, "The Market Place" indicates that
Frederic, had he lived, might have outshone even Balzac in the fiction
of business life. "Brother Sebastian's Friendship" is a clever short
story of the days of his literary 'prenticeship. It was his
introduction to the "Utica Observer," where he worked for several
years._

BROTHER SEBASTIAN'S FRIENDSHIP
BY HAROLD FREDERIC
[Footnote: By permission of the "Utica Observer."]

I who tell this story am called Brother Sebastian. This name was given
me more than forty years ago, while Louis Philippe was still king. My
other name has been buried so long that I have nearly forgotten it. I
think that my people are dead. At least I have heard nothing from them
in many years. My reputation has always been that of a misanthrope--if
not that, then of a dreamer. In the seminary I had no intimates. In the
order, for I am a Brother of the Christian Schools, my associates are
polite--nothing more. I seem to be outside t