Their dinner was soon despatched; the half cold, half raw chops, so different from their simple yet tempting fare at home, offering little to induce its prolongation. After its removal, Kate looked wistfully from the window. "It does not rain now, grandpapa, would you not like a stroll into Kensington Gardens? I should like so much too, to find out some library, for how shall we get over this evening without music, or work, or books, or chess. Oh, I forgot, nurse has unpacked the chess-board." "I am not inclined for walking, or chess, either, my love; indeed I am singularly knocked up; I should like a book, however." "But I am sure a little walk would do you good, dear grandpapa." "No, my dear, I will take a sleep, and, if you like to go out, nurse can go with you, it will be a pleasure to her too." After settling the Colonel to the best of her ability in the impracticable arm-chair; Kate summoned Mrs. O'Toole, who most readily obeyed her call, heartily tired of the society of Mrs. Crooks, for, as she said emphatically, "there's no divarshin in thim English!" After enquiring their way to the nearest circulating library, Kate and Mrs. O'Toole set out on their exploring expedition. The rain had ceased, and a rich, yellow, evening sun shone out in full lustre. "How new everything looks here, nurse," said Kate, when they had walked a few minutes in silence, "how different from dear old A----." "In troth it does, Miss Kate; but thim gardens, as they call thim, is mighty fine, an' did ye iver see sich dawshy little houses, wid balconies afore?" "Never, indeed, they give me the idea of handsomely ornamented mansions, seen through an inverted telescope, for there is a little of everything about them." "Athen wan, good, ould, red stone house, like what was in A----, is worth a score iv thim." The extreme newness of everything, notwithstanding its prettiness and neatness, was displeasing to Kate's eye, accustomed, as it had been, to the mellow tints and picturesque irregularity of A----. It is remarkable how much more congenial, both to heart and mind, are indefinite and irregular outlines; as if the more perfect finish, was all too cramped, too finite to satisfy the boundless and formless imaginations of man's heart; as Tupper beautifully says, "Thinkest thou the thousand eyes that shine with rapture on a ruin, Would have looked with half their wonder on a perfect pile? And wherefore not--but that light tints, suggesting unseen beauties, Fill the complacent gazer with self grown conceits?" The library was, without much difficulty, found, and the demure damsel, who there represented the muses, in reply to Kate's enquiries, handed her a catalogue, in which she soon lost herself, as one usually does in the vain attempt to discover favorite authors, widely separated by an inexorable alphabetical arrangement. "Have you nothing by the authoress of 'The Cup and the Lip?'" asked Kate.