Rome except that he's a Roman Catholic,and I don'know who cooks for him,whether it's a man or a woman;but when it comes to a dish o'maccaroni,I ain't afeard of their shefs,as they call 'em,--them he-cooks that can't serve up a cold potater without callin'it by some name nobody can say after 'em.But this gentleman knows good cookin',and that's as good a sign of a gentleman as I want to tell 'em by."VISTILL AT FAULT.
The house in which Maurice Kirkwood had taken up his abode was not a very inviting one.It was old,and had been left in a somewhat dilapidated and disorderly condition by the tenants who had lived in the part which Maurice now occupied.They had piled their packing-boxes in the cellar,with broken chairs,broken china,and other household wrecks.A cracked mirror lay on an old straw mattress,the contents of which were airing themselves through wide rips and rents.
A lame clothes-horse was saddled with an old rug fringed with a ragged border,out of which all the colors had been completely trodden.No woman would have gone into a house in such a condition.
But the young man did not trouble himself much about such matters,and was satisfied when the rooms which were to be occupied by himself and his servant were made decent and tolerably comfortable.During the fine season all this was not of much consequence,and if Maurice made up his mind to stay through the winter he would have his choice among many more eligible places.
The summer vacation of the Corinna Institute had now arrived,and the young ladies had scattered to their homes.Among the graduates of the year were Miss Euthymia Tower and Miss Lurida Vincent,who had now returned to their homes in Arrowhead Village.They were both glad to rest after the long final examinations and the exercises of the closing day,in which each of them had borne a conspicuous part.
It was a pleasant life they led in the village,which was lively enough at this season.Walking,riding,driving,boating,visits to the Library,meetings of the Pansophian Society,hops,and picnics made the time pass very cheerfully,and soon showed their restoring influences.The Terror's large eyes did not wear the dull,glazed look by which they had too often betrayed the after effects of over-excitement of the strong and active brain behind them.The Wonder gained a fresher bloom,and looked full enough of life to radiate vitality into a statue of ice.They had a boat of their own,in which they passed many delightful hours on the lake,rowing,drifting,reading,telling of what had been,dreaming of what might be.
The Library was one of the chief centres of the fixed population,and visited often by strangers.The old Librarian was a peculiar character,as these officials are apt to be.They have a curious kind of knowledge,sometimes immense in its way.They know the backs of books,their title-pages,their popularity or want of it,the class of readers who call for particular works,the value of different editions,and a good deal besides.Their minds catch up hints from all manner of works on all kinds of subjects.They will give a visitor a fact and a reference which they are surprised to find they remember and which the visitor might have hunted for a year.Every good librarian,every private book-owner,who has grown into his library,finds he has a bunch of nerves going to every bookcase,a branch to every shelf,and a twig to every book.These nerves get very sensitive in old librarians,sometimes,and they do not like to have a volume meddled with any more than they would like to have their naked eyes handled.They come to feel at last that the books of a great collection are a part,not merely of their own property,though they are only the agents for their distribution,but that they are,as it were,outlying portions of their own organization.The old Librarian was getting a miserly feeling about his books,as he called them.Fortunately,he had a young lady for his assistant,who was never so happy as when she could find the work any visitor wanted and put it in his hands,--or her hands,for there were more readers among the wives and--daughters,and especially among the aunts,than there were among their male relatives.The old Librarian knew the books,but the books seemed to know the young assistant;so it looked,at least,to the impatient young people who wanted their services.
Maurice had a good many volumes of his own,--a great many,according to Paolo's account;but Paolo's ideas were limited,and a few well-filled shelves seemed a very large collection to him.His master frequently sent him to the Public Library for books,which somewhat enlarged his notions;still,the Signor was a very learned man,he was certain,and some of his white books (bound in vellum and richly gilt)were more splendid,according to Paolo,than anything in the Library.
There was no little curiosity to know what were the books that Maurice was in the habit of taking out,and the Librarian's record was carefully searched by some of the more inquisitive investigators.
The list proved to be a long and varied one.It would imply a considerable knowledge of modern languages and of the classics;a liking for mathematics and physics,especially all that related to electricity and magnetism;a fancy for the occult sciences,if there is any propriety in coupling these words;and a whim for odd and obsolete literature,like the Parthenologia of Fortunius Licetus,the quaint treatise 'De Sternutatione,"books about alchemy,and witchcraft,apparitions,and modern works relating to Spiritualism.
With these were the titles of novels and now and then of books of poems;but it may be taken for granted that his own shelves held the works he was most frequently in the habit of reading or consulting.
