I give to you now the humble tome of Saint Barthalamew of Alagood, our treasured patron saint of orphans, unrequited love and spiced rum. I give to you all of the pretty as has been rendered famous by history's most drunken and mischievous poets. I give to you passion and virtue and romance as well, for, indeed, there is some of that to account for. But, here too you will find all of the ugly as has been removed, rewritten or unremembered, as has been put aside for the sake of a good rhyme or, in the many instances of the tragically unimaginative, a very, very poor rhyme. And yes, good reader, I give to you the mystery of the Lady of Oglethorpe and her unforgettable gift, for her tale, as it regards his, has never been told to any critical satisfaction.So I say hold kindly to these good pages for herein lies the story of the death and sometimes even the life of Barthalamew Buckett. If ever a man hoped for love, it was he. If ever a man tried for love, it was he. If ever a man failed at love it was, without any sort of doubt and in every conceivable way, he above all.