On a morning in April, 1869, the present writer had occasion to call at one of these buildings,—­No. 927.  Several broad and weather-stained marble steps led up to an old-fashioned doorway, where the modern bell-pull and the antique brass knocker contended for recognition.  Alike rusty as these were, it became a problem as to which would best secure communication with the interior.  While the matter still seemed indefinite, it was set at rest by the advice of an obliging street-urchin, who volunteered his information with appropriate brevity and directness: 

“Try the door.  If it’s loose, Daddy Mickley’s home, sure.  If it’s locked, ‘taint no use of knockin’, for he’s out.”

Thus instructed, I tried the door.  It happened to be “loose,” and ushered me into a long dark entry, at the farther end of which a wide flight of heavy oak stairs led to the upper rooms in the rear of the building.  Among these rooms, one of the first to be reached was evidently a workshop; and here was encountered the only living being as yet visible in the spacious old mansion.  Upon entering, I was met by a dignified and placid old gentleman, whose appearance was very much in keeping with the house in which he dwelt.  He was quite evidently of the old school, and his pleasant voice gave me an old-school welcome.  A fine broad forehead rested above a pair of the most kindly eyes that can be imagined, and belonged to a splendidly-shaped head, which was totally bald, save for a slight fringe of white hairs about either temple.  The mouth was, in its expression, even more prepossessing than the eyes, and the whole bearing of the old gentleman—­who had evidently reached his three-score and ten, but who, as was equally apparent, carried the warmth and vigor of youth still with him—­was calculated to please and impress the least observant visitor.

The late Joseph J. Mickley comprised qualities at once more attractive and more unusual than are often met with in one person.  He was distinguished throughout the world, during more than a generation, for the diligence and success of his numismatic researches, and his collection of rare coins was for a long time the most valuable in this country.  As a collector of scarce books and autographs he was hardly less noted or less successful.  But in Philadelphia he was most of all admired for his delightful social qualities and his extensive information on a surprising variety of topics.  During forty years his house was a rendezvous for a numerous group of specialists,—­not alone in his own favorite pursuits, which, indeed, were both many and diverse, but in any and every department of art or learning.  Coin-hunters, autograph-dealers, historical students, philosophers, musical-instrument-makers, noted performers, and performers of less note, all the way down to “scratch-clubs,” were his constant visitors for years.  It is probable that no private house in Philadelphia has entertained a greater number of intellectually distinguished people