The Bostonians, Vol. II | Page 9

his eye; the afternoon sun
was yellow on their homely faces; their windows showed a peep of
flower-pots and bright-coloured curtains; they wore an expression of
scholastic quietude, and exhaled for the young Mississippian a tradition,
an antiquity. "This is the place where I ought to have been," he said to
his charming guide. "I should have had a good time if I had been able
to study here."
"Yes; I presume you feel yourself drawn to any place where ancient

prejudices are garnered up," she answered, not without archness. "I
know by the stand you take about our cause that you share the
superstitions of the old bookmen. You ought to have been at one of
those really mediæval universities that we saw on the other side, at
Oxford, or Göttingen, or Padua. You would have been in perfect
sympathy with their spirit."
"Well, I don't know much about those old haunts," Ransom rejoined. "I
reckon this is good enough for me. And then it would have had the
advantage that your residence isn't far, you know."
"Oh, I guess we shouldn't have seen you much at my residence! As you
live in New York, you come, but here you wouldn't; that is always the
way." With this light philosophy Verena beguiled the transit to the
library, into which she introduced her companion with the air of a
person familiar with the sanctified spot. This edifice, a diminished copy
of the chapel of King's College, at the greater Cambridge, is a rich and
impressive institution; and as he stood there, in the bright, heated
stillness, which seemed suffused with the odour of old print and old
bindings, and looked up into the high, light vaults that hung over quiet
book-laden galleries, alcoves and tables, and glazed cases where rarer
treasures gleamed more vaguely, over busts of benefactors and portraits
of worthies, bowed heads of working students and the gentle creak of
passing messengers--as he took possession, in a comprehensive glance,
of the wealth and wisdom of the place, he felt more than ever the
soreness of an opportunity missed; but he abstained from expressing it
(it was too deep for that), and in a moment Verena had introduced him
to a young lady, a friend of hers, who, as she explained, was working
on the catalogue, and whom she had asked for on entering the library,
at a desk where another young lady was occupied. Miss Catching, the
first-mentioned young lady, presented herself with promptness, offered
Verena a low-toned but appreciative greeting, and, after a little,
undertook to explain to Ransom the mysteries of the catalogue, which
consisted of a myriad little cards, disposed alphabetically in immense
chests of drawers. Ransom was deeply interested, and as, with Verena,
he followed Miss Catching about (she was so good as to show them the
establishment in all its ramifications), he considered with attention the

young lady's fair ringlets and refined, anxious expression, saying to
himself that this was in the highest degree a New England type. Verena
found an opportunity to mention to him that she was wrapped up in the
cause, and there was a moment during which he was afraid that his
companion would expose him to her as one of its traducers; but there
was that in Miss Catching's manner (and in the influence of the lofty
halls) which deprecated loud pleasantry, and seemed to say, moreover,
that if she were treated to such a revelation she should not know under
what letter to range it.
"Now there is one place where perhaps it would be indelicate to take a
Mississippian," Verena said, after this episode. "I mean the great place
that towers above the others--that big building with the beautiful
pinnacles, which you see from every point." But Basil Ransom had
heard of the great Memorial Hall; he knew what memories it enshrined,
and the worst that he should have to suffer there; and the ornate,
overtopping structure, which was the finest piece of architecture he had
ever seen, had moreover solicited his enlarged curiosity for the last
half-hour. He thought there was rather too much brick about it, but it
was buttressed, cloistered, turreted, dedicated, superscribed, as he had
never seen anything; though it didn't look old, it looked significant; it
covered a large area, and it sprang majestic into the winter air. It was
detached from the rest of the collegiate group, and stood in a grassy
triangle of its own. As he approached it with Verena she suddenly
stopped, to decline responsibility. "Now mind, if you don't like what's
inside, it isn't my fault."
He looked at her an instant, smiling. "Is there anything against
Mississippi?"
"Well, no, I don't think she is mentioned. But there is great praise of
our young men in the war."