He gave her also a reel in a bottle, which, he wrote, he had “_maid_” himself, and some coral, and a dried flying-fish, that was somewhat fearful to look upon, with its sword-like fins and its hollow eyes. At first, she could not go to sleep with that flying-fish hanging on the wall. But he surprised the little seamstress very much one cool September evening, when he shoved this letter along the cornice: _Respected and Honored Madam_: _Having long and vainly sought an opportunity to convey to you the expression of my sentiments I now avail myself of the privilege of epistolary communication to acquaint you with the fact that the Emotions, which you have raised in my breast, are those which should point to Connubial Love and Affection rather than to simple Friendship. In short, Madam, I have the Honor to approach you with a Proposal, the acceptance of which will fill me with ecstatic Gratitude, and enable me to extend to you those Protecting Cares, which the Matrimonial Bond makes at once the Duty and the Privilege of him, who would, at no distant date, lead to the Hymeneal Altar one whose charms and virtues should suffice to kindle its Flames, without extraneous Aid_ _I remain, Dear Madam, Your Humble Servant and Ardent Adorer, I. Smith_ The little seamstress gazed at this letter a long time. Perhaps she was wondering in what Ready Letter-Writer of the last century Mr. Smith had found his form. Perhaps she was amazed at the results of his first attempt at punctuation. Perhaps she was thinking of something else, for there were tears in her eyes and a smile on her small mouth. But it must have been a long time, and Mr. Smith must have grown nervous, for presently another communication came along the line where the top of the cornice was worn smooth. It read: _If not understood will you mary me_ The little seamstress seized a piece of paper and wrote: _If I say Yes, will you speak to me?_ Then she rose and passed it out to him, leaning out of the window, and their faces met. HAROLD FREDERIC 1856–1898 Harold Frederic was bred and schooled, at college and at journalism, in Central New York. His fictions were almost all written in London during the later years of his correspondence with the “New York Times.” The most popular of these, _The Damnation of Theron Ware_, shows him stronger in the novel. His own fondness for his short stories is due in part, doubtless, to their being closer to his native soil; but the one reprinted below shows also a distinct appreciation of the form. THE EVE OF THE FOURTH [_From “In the Sixties,” copyright, 1893, 1894, 1897, by Charles Scribner’s Sons, authorized publishers of Harold Frederic’s works; reprinted here by special arrangement with them_]