In February 1910, Boston newspapers and private correspondents became entangled in a deception involving forged letters and assumed identities. The episode began when a string of anonymous or pseudonymous letters circulated among social and literary circles, purporting to be from various well-known local figures and claiming private knowledge or soliciting intimate responses. Recipients who recognized names or styles forwarded letters to newspapers and acquaintances, which amplified the reach of the forgeries. Contemporary reporting in Boston-area papers described bewilderment and indignation rather than any single dramatic revelation. Editors published retractions and readers’ denials as the inconsistencies in the letters—differences in handwriting, implausible details, and contradicting statements—became apparent. Investigations by newspaper staff and private detectives traced some letters to one or more local individuals, though public accounts at the time stopped short of a definitive criminal conviction widely reported in later retellings. Historians and media scholars sometimes point to the 1910 Boston correspondence hoax as an early documented example of impersonation for social or emotional manipulation via written communication. Unlike modern “catfishing,” which frequently uses photographs and online profiles, the Boston case relied solely on letters, stationery, and the authority of named identities in an era when provenance was judged largely by handwriting, envelope postmarks, and reputation. The deception exploited norms of polite society—where private correspondence was taken seriously and the circulation of letters could confer legitimacy. Primary-source newspaper coverage shows the episode unfolded incrementally: puzzling letters appeared, recipients communicated with others to verify authenticity, editors published pointed disclaimers, and local authorities conducted limited inquiries. Surviving contemporary accounts emphasize embarrassment and social fallout more than sensational criminality. Some researchers note that because newspapers were cautious about libel, reporting avoided naming alleged perpetrators when evidence was inconclusive. As a result, later summaries sometimes conflate facts, speculation, and local rumor. Because the record is fragmented—relying on newspaper notices, private diaries, and legal papers that are unevenly preserved—certain details remain disputed. The number of individuals involved, the precise motivations (whether prank, revenge, or financial gain), and the legal outcomes are not uniformly documented. What is clear is that the episode revealed vulnerabilities in trust networks of the pre-digital age and anticipated modern anxieties about identity fraud: people could be misled by apparently authoritative personal communications, and verification required resources not always available to private citizens. The 1910 Boston correspondence hoax did not become a widely known landmark in legal or media history, but it is useful to historians as a case study of social deception before electronic communication. It underscores continuities in how people establish credibility and how fraudsters adapt available technologies—then envelopes and handwriting, now social-media profiles—to exploit that credibility. The episode also illustrates the cautious posture of period journalism, balancing public concern against the risk of libel when allegations about private individuals were not conclusively proven.