Grannom, who was fond of fishing without an attendant,
must have lost his balance, slipped, and been dragged down by the weight
of his waders. The recent breaking off of the hon. gentleman's
contemplated marriage on the very wedding-day will be fresh in the memory
of our readers."
This was the story which I read in the newspaper during breakfast one
morning in November. I was deeply grieved, rather than astonished, for I
have often remonstrated with poor Grannom on the recklessness of his
wading. It was with some surprise that I received, in the course of the
day, a letter from him, in which he spoke only of indifferent matters, of
the fishing which he had taken, and so forth. The letter was
accompanied, however, by a parcel. Tearing off the outer cover, I found
a sealed document addressed to me, with the superscription, "Not to be
opened until after my father's decease." This injunction, of course, I
have scrupulously obeyed. The death of Lord Whitchurch, the last of the
Grannoms, now gives me liberty to publish my friend's _Apologia pro morte
et vita sua_.
"Dear Smith" (the document begins), "Before you read this--long before, I
hope--I shall have solved the great mystery--if, indeed, we solve it. If
the water runs down to-morrow, and there is every prospect that it will
do so, I must have the opportunity of making such an end as even
malignity cannot suspect of being voluntary.
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