come to the mantelpiece. A pair of Joel, "take the form of an additional brass candlesticks stood on it, a china room to the Free Library, to be called shepherd and shepherdess, and two the Garside Library. I have paced the faded daguerreotypes in gilt frames. In one were still visible the outlines of a boy and girl, stuck up side by side in their Sunday clothes; from the other looked forth dimly, with blurred eyes, the merest suggestion of a dark, handsome Lancashire face. These daguerrotypes were all that remained to Joel Garside of wife and children, all dead within one fatal week five-and-twenty years ago.

"I am aware," he said with a sigh, "that this dusting takes up time which might be more profitably employed in study, but how could I suffer a strange and probably careless female to handle my Lairs and Penaits." And he rubbed the faded face of his wife's portrait gently and carefully.

"I mustn't stay," said Charles, rising. "I just came to bring you a little contribution to your library, which I picked up in Paris."

He handed his friend a small and beautifully bound edition of "Don Quixote" in the original.

"Is it worthy of the Institution, Joel? I thought it pretty."

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Pretty enough, very pretty. But you consider the outsides of books too much, Charles," returned Joel, putting on another pair of spectacles, and minutely examining the two little volumes. "You are ignorant of the very elements of bibliography, and would be easily imposed upon by the merest forgery. However, this appears to be genuine, so far as I can at present ascertain. Thank you very kindly, my dear. It is like your goodness to have thought of your old friend when far away in the city of pleasure."

66

ground behind the present building, and find it ample for the purpose. My funds are already more than sufficient to build the room, though not to pay a librarian. Oh! Mr. Charles, sir, what a lesson it will be to the people of this town when they see what a citizen, a working man like themselves, can achieve! There will be an inscription over the door in gilt letters commemorating Polly conjux delectissima or amatissima, and me. I intend to compose it this very evening, and will bring it to you for your criticism and approval.”

"I am afraid my opinion is not worth your taking," replied the young man.

"No, Charles, I know very well it is not, but who is there in this town who is capable of assisting me? It is such an unliterary place. Wykes the bookseller was telling me a fortnight ago his trade goes from bad to worse. However, as I was saying to him, it is not much wonder when he leaves that old tatterdemalion to mind the shop, with his elbows through his sleeves, and generally reading, so that he is quite unaware of a customer's presence. Give me your boots, Charles, and I will put them on for you. night, my dear, and mind you do not fall, for the steps are a mass of ice.".

There! Good

So he let out Mr. Charles, and returned to the parlor. Saturday was one of the feast-days he allowed himself twice a week, when he baked a piece of meat and had in a fresh jug of beer. On other days he consumed the residue of the meat cold, and the residue of the beer flat, or even mingled with water. Sometimes on these feastnights wild visions of luxury would float before his mind's eye. What was it like to live in a house with two or three parlors filled with bookcases, to keep servants, and have something different for supper every night? Perhaps he had really got enough money to do that pleased. The idea would be moMerily attractive, but after all there "It will without doubt," continued was the Institution to be considered,

How's the Institution getting on?" asked Charles, fastening his coat.

Joel's eyes lit up. He stooped his head and spoke low, as though some one might be listening.

"The Institootion is all settled," he said. Charles had known it settled and unsettled again twenty times UNIVER course of the last ten yea

HE

LIBRARY

OF GEORGIA

"I have acquired a few languages, sir, ancient and modern," returned Joel, relaxing a little.

At supper to-night he thought of noth- | books, and they tell me you're a ing but that and the inscription which scholar." was to be placed over the door. He kept a bit of paper by his plate, and wrote upon it as ideas occurred to him. Bibliothecam hanc concivibus suis - he began; then having got as far as In memoriam conjugis amatissimæ, he started again with Fundator civis benevolus.

"Well, I fancy you're the only man in this cursed den of a town that's likely to value a good book two straws."

"The people of this town are exceed- he

So absorbed was he that a low knock | ingly ignorant and uneducated," replied Joel, still further mollified.

at the street door passed unnoticed. At length a sharp tap aroused his attention, and muttering between annoyance and surprise, for his visitors were generally few and far between, he went out into the passage. He placed the candle on the stone floor, and lying down on his stomach, applied his eye to the crack under the door through which he had reconnoitred Mr. Charles's extremities. He could not make out much, but it was sufficient to assure him that his visitor was not Mrs. Higgs; accordingly he opened the door a very little. One of the few and small gaslamps in the street stood beside it, so that he could see pretty plainly the meagre figure of a small, elderly man, with grey, unkempt locks falling from under the shapeless wideawake that shadowed his face. His elbows were through the thin coat buttoned over his chest, and the ends of his trousers were frayed. He carried five or six books under his arm.

"Mr. Garside, I think?" he said. Joel acknowledged his identity.

"I know that. I don't want to part with my books," he pressed his burden convulsively to his side. "But there, I suppose I must. And I thought if they'd got to go, you were the only man I'd care to bring them to."

"Are those the books?" asked Joel, adjusting his spectacles and stretching out a hand. "Yes. But it's precious cold out here, Mr. Garside," returned the man, with a shiver.

"Well, you may come in."

Joel made way for him to pass, and closed the door after him. The man took off his battered and rusty wideawake, showing thin grey hair matted over a brow of unusual development in proportion to the small and sunken features beneath it. He leaned against a case of books, and looked on with a certain suppressed eagerness as Joel Garside turned over the volumes he had brought. They were a few old plays, and a Virgil of no particular merit. Joel peered into them, wondering how much he should offer. He did not want them, but he wished to assist the poor fellow, who had evidently come down in the world. Meantime the man turned away and began to examine the books near him.

"Ah!" he cried in a minute or two, laying his hand on a fine Boccaccio in three volumes, while his sunken eyes kindled under their shaggy brows; "now I wonder if this is genuine ! "

"Genuine!" exclaimed Joel. Then, "I do not wonder, sir, that you are surprised at seeing so valuable a book in so exposed a position. It is a temporary arrangement, but careless, I admit."

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"May I look at it?" asked the man quickly, fidgeting with the top of it. "Certainly, sir," replied Joel, with condescension. "That book caught my eye in Paris, when our Mr. Charles took me to see the Exposition. I scarcely knew the value of it at the time, but I have since been made aware that it was a complete bargain, and, from the point of view of the book-collector, perhaps the gem of the entire Instit- of my library."

His visitor had wetted a not overclean forefinger and was turning the

pages.

"Then you must excuse my refusing to accept your statement," he replied, triumphant but still dignified. The man shrugged his shoulders and answered nothing. Joel turned to the books again, composing his ruffled feelings, and considering what he should offer for them.

"If you don't want those, I have some others you might like better. Greek plays," said the man at length. He spoke slowly, hesitatingly, as though with reluctance. 66 Euripides, for instance."

"Oh, indeed!" returned Joel, with "Yes," he said, pausing. "Yes, it awakened interest. "What have you is the Venice counterfeit. I thought got of Euripides? I should be willing 80. And an uncommon clever forgery to purchase a nice edition containing it is, to be sure.' the Iphigenia' (he pronounced it "Forgery!" exclaimed Joel indig- Hiphigenya) in Tauride' and the nantly. What do you mean, sir? AIphigenia in ' gentleman much better acquainted with such matters than you are likely to be has examined my Boccaccio and highly commended it."

"Very likely," returned his visitor composedly. "He didn't happen to know about the misprints in the original. Look here now, on page eight, there's giornata. In the real article you'd find giornat. Wrong, of course, so the Venice printer put it right, and a fool for his pains!"

Joel bent his brows on the little man, and cleared his throat several times before he trusted himself to speak.

'Do you say this Boccaccio is a forgery?" he asked at length, with the most awful slowness and solemnity.

"Oh, yes, it's the counterfeit right enough," returned the other, una

bashed.

"Name your authority," said Joel, burning with repressed scorn and indignation, but still endeavoring to be judicial.

The man sat down on the overturned zine pail which still stood in the passage, and thought.

"Iphigeneia, Iphigeneia!" interposed the little man irritably; "that's the right way to pronounce it." Joel drew himself up.

"You, sir," he said, "may call it so if you please. I call it Hiphigenya."

"It's not what I please," returned the man, rising, "it's the right way. You're no scholar; it's easy enough to see that. Look at me - I am. I was educated at Rugby School till I was fifteen, and if my father hadn't failed and blown his brains out, I should be a great gun at Oxford by this time. But he was made to study books, not to sell them. So was I. And now I've got to sell them, I've got to ! "

"I do not care where you were educated," said Joel, with concentrated scorn. "You must be without common intelligence if you suppose the pronunciation of dead languages to be anything but an arbitrary convention. Scholars of different nationalities pronounce them differently. I have an undoubted right to say Hiphigenya if I choose. I shall continue to do so."

"Oh, pray do as you please," replied the little man, with rising excitement; "it's nothing to me. Only as long as you choose to say Hiphigenya you mustn't expect to pass as a scholar up with educated men, whatever you may

"It's no good," he sighed, passing his hand through his hair; "I can't remember. I can't- can't remember anything."

Joel drew an audible breath through his contracted nostrils.

do in this beastly manufacturing hole.

And to think that I am obliged to part with my books to you—to you! Oh, it's a queer world!"

The neighbors hearing the loud angry voices in the silent street, looked out of their windows. The moon was Joel's wrath could no longer be re- shining straight up the street, showing strained; he trembled with indigna- the meagre little figure of the ragged

tion.

"I will not continue to be insulted in my own house by a beggarly fellow like you, a tatterdemalion no better than a scarecrow. Begone, sir, and take your worthless books with you."

He

scholar dark against the snow. stood facing his adversary, his elbows. pressing his books against his sides, the cold night-wind blowing about his thin garments. Much further up the figure of Joel presented itself to the astonHe pushed them towards the man, ished gaze of his neighbors, who had who gathered them together with weak, seldom or never before seen him leave y trembling fingers, and broke out fiercely his house after he had returned from in a voice that was also weak and trem- his day's work at the mill. It stood or bling. "You ignorant, conceited old rather danced there long and lean, and donkey! You've missed a find; you've behind it a black shadow, immeasurmissed a bargain. Serve you right. ably longer and leaner, danced too in Hiphigenya, indeed! Ha, ha! Igno- grotesque gigantic mimicry of his gesramus ! " ticulations.

This last epithet was a Parthian dart, sent through the door just as he was closing it behind him. In a moment Joel appeared outside on the doorstep. The moon was now shining brightly on the snow in the deserted street.

"What did you call me, sir?" he asked, with the same awful and judicial solemnity with which he had met the man's imputations on the character of his Boccaccio.

66

"Ignoramus!" called the other, going away; "Ignoramus !" Then he went on for a bit, turned again and repeated, "Ignoramus!" with a weak, hoarse laugh.

"Hignoramus yourself, you tatterdemalion!" shouted Joel, coming down into the street.

His antagonist, who had continued his retreat, faced about, his feeble voice strengthened by excitement.

"So you pretend to know Greek!" he cried. "You impostor!"

Joel's dignity would hold out no longer. He bounded forward, waving his long arms threateningly. "If tha doesna hold tha " he began, and then breaking off abruptly; "how dare you insult and blacken my character, you ignorant scoundrel ! Begone, I Say!

"Hark at him!" shrieked the little man mockingly; "why, he can't even pronounce English properly! "

"You insolent vagabond," he shouted, striding forward again. "If you don't be off I'll give you such a lesson."

"I've given you a lesson anyhow, and gratis too," interrupted the other, backing a little as Joel advanced. "You won't forget to say Iphigeneia next time."

"I shall adhere to my own pronunciation, sir," returned Joel fiercely. "No, no; you'll say Iphigeneia-for my sake, do."

"Hiphigenya!" yelled Joel," Hiphigenya! Hiphigenya! There!" he yelled in a crescendo, and at every word advanced a stride nearer to his foe.

The little man retreated hastily till he reached the turn of the street where it narrowed, and, breaking into steps, plunged down out of the moonlight into black shadow. There, as though struck by a sudden thought, he turned, and shifting all his books under one arm stretched out the other, and pointing a trembling finger at Joel, began to laugh. It was a thin, ghostly cackle of a laugh, but somehow he contrived to put into it a whole world of scorn and derision. It was too much for Joel.

"If tha doesna hold tha domned noise," he roared, bounding forward. "a'll gi' tha the biggest hidin'

The rest was lost in the rush of his onset. In a moment he had grasped

his adversary by the shoulders and was shaking him violently backwards and forwards as a nurse shakes a naughty child. The poor creature was indeed hardly stronger than a child, and when Joel loosed him he fell down two steps and lay there with his books scattered all round him. Joel, ashamed of his own violence, picked him up in silence, set him on his feet, brushed the snow from his clothes, and restored his books to him without saying a word. The little man took them, also without a word, turned, and went hurrying and stumbling down the steep, ice-coated steps. The gulf of darkness swallowed him, while Joel paused panting - for he was not accustomed to exertion - at the top of the steps, and listened to the The sound of his enemy's retreat. footsteps ceased, and for a minute all was silence; then once more a ghostly cackle of laughter ascended to the listener's ears, and a thin voice from somewhere far away down there in the darkness reiterated,

"Mr. Charles, sir," he whispered, "Ignoramus! Ignoramus! Ignora- "I must go in there's some mistake

He

The next morning being Sunday, Joel Garside was walking through the town in company with Mr. Charles, whom he had accidentally met. carried a large paper bag in his hand, for he was going as usual to renew the flowers on his wife's grave, although the bitter frost must certainly in a few hours destroy the white narcissus and purple violets which he purposed to lay there. The two friends were walking through a small street, and a squalid one compared to most of those in the prosperous little manufacturing town. Joel, with his hand on Mr. Charles's arm, was eagerly reciting the different versions of his Latin inscription and asking Mr. Charles's opinion, chiefly as it appeared for the pleasure of having some one with whom to differ. Presently they came to a little crowd collected round an open door, by which a policeman stood on guard. The people all looked grave- even agitated - and talked to each other in hushed voices.

here, I'm sure."

Why on earth should you go in, Joel?" asked Charles, a little pettishly.

"Oh, my dear, do not inquire; but I must, indeed I must. I shall know no peace till I have ascertained the facts."

The policeman allowed them to pass, telling them they would find no one in the house except the doctor and Mrs. Shaw, to whom it belonged. The garret was easily found, for the ladder leading to it was immediately at the head of the stairs, and Charles climbed up, followed more slowly by Joel. It was a small garret, which had formerly held Shaw's loom, but his widow had sold it. Several broken panes in the window were plastered over with newspaper, but there had been no pretence of mending the skylight, which also had a broken pane. A large wooden bedstead almost filled the garret, which had no other furniture except a cracked jug and basin, and a rough deal box. On the bed, with the knees drawn up and the head, with its grey, dishevelled