Having proceeded thus far--which, by the way, is no small length; for
the great difficulty, as Burrel found it, was to place himself fairly
on a footing of friendship with Sir Sidney Delaware's family--we must
unwillingly abandon the expatiative; and, having more than enough to
do, leave the party on their walk, and turn to characters as
necessary, but less interesting.
CHAPTER IX.
In the house of Lord Ashborough--which is situated in
Grosvenor-square, fronting the south--there is a large room,
which in form would be a parallelogram, did not one of the shorter
sides--which, being turned to the north, looks out upon the little
rood of garden attached to the dwelling--bow out into the form of a
bay window. The room is lofty, and, as near as possible, twenty-eight
feet in length by twenty-four in breadth. Book-cases, well stored with
tomes in lettered calf, cover the walls, and a carpet, in which the
foot sinks, is spread over the floor. Three large tables occupy
different parts of the room. Two covered with books and prints lie
open to the world in general, but the third, on which stand inkstands
and implements for writing, shows underneath, in the carved lines of
the highly-polished British oak, many a locked drawer. Each chair, so
fashioned that uneasy must be the back that would not there find rest,
rolls smoothly on noiseless casters, and the thick walls, the double
doors, and book-cases, all combine to prevent any sound from within
being caught by the most prying ear without, or any noise from without
being heard by those within, except when some devil of a cart runs
away in Duke-street, and goes clattering up that accursed back street
behind.
Such were the internal arrangements and appearance of the library at
Lord Ashborough's, on a morning in September of the same year, one
thousand eight hundred and something, of which we have been hitherto
speaking. The morning was fine and clear; and the sun, who takes the
liberty of looking into every place without asking permission of any
one, was shining strongly into the little rood of garden behind the
house. The languishing plants and shrubs that had been stuffed into
that small space, dusty and dry with the progress of a hot summer, and
speckled all over with small grains of soot--the morning benediction
showered down upon them from the neighboring chimneys--no doubt
wished that the sun would let them alone; and, as through an open
passage-door they caught a sight of the conservatory filled with rich
exotics, all watered and aired with scrupulous care, one of the poor
brown lilacs might be heard grumbling to a stunted gray laburnum about
the shameful partiality of the English for foreigners and strangers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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