kett when he left Leonard, and asked him as a
favour to find some light occupation for the boy, that would serve as an
excuse for a modest weekly salary. "It will not be for long," said the
doctor: "his relations are respectable and well off. I will write to his
grandparents, and in a few days I hope to relieve you of the charge. Of
course, if you don't want him, I will repay what he costs meanwhile."

Mr. Prickett, thus prepared for Leonard, received him very graciously;
and, after a few questions, said Leonard was just the person he wanted
to assist him in cataloguing his books, and offered him most handsomely
L1 a week for the task.

Plunged at once into a world of books vaster than he had ever before won
admission to, that old divine dream of knowledge, out of which poetry
had sprung, returned to the village student at the very sight of the
venerable volumes. The collection of Mr. Prickett was, however, in
reality by no means large; but it comprised not only the ordinary
standard works, but several curious and rare ones. And Leonard paused
in making the catalogue, and took many a hasty snatch of the contents
of each tome, as it passed through his hands. The bookseller, who was
an enthusiast for old books, was pleased to see a kindred feeling (which
his shop-boy had never exhibited) in his new assistant; and he talked
about rare editions and scarce copies, and initiated Leonard into many
of the mysteries of the bibliographist.

Nothing could be more dark and dingy than the shop. There was a booth
outside, containing cheap books and odd volumes, round which there was
always an attentive group; within, a gas-lamp burned night and day.

But time passed quickly to Leonard. He missed not the green fields, he
forgot his disappointments, he ceased to remember even Helen. O strange
passion of knowledge! nothing like thee for strength and devotion!

Mr. Prickett was a bachelor, and asked Leonard to dine with him on a
cold shoulder of mutton. During dinner the shop-boy kept the shop,
and Mr. Prickett was really pleasant, as well as loquacious. He took
a liking to Leonard, and Leonard told him his adventures with the
publishers, at which Mr. Prickett rubbed his hands and laughed, as at a
capital joke. "Oh, give up poetry, and stick to a shop," cried he; "and
to cure you forever of the mad whim to be author, I'll just lend you the
'Life and Works of Chatterton.' You may take it home with you and read
before you go to bed. Yo