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Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he held it near the candle and turning the leaves until he found the passage that he wanted began to read. " . . . The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog.
He had read his manuscript, and it was not so bad; by George, some of the stuff was pretty good! And the end was not so far off. Five or six chapters more and the thing would be finished. He would have to secure a publisher, of course, but two had already expressed an interest; and so on. Captain Elisha drew his own conclusions. He judged that his niece's letter had reached its destination.
This manuscript, on which was fixed the last gaze of the Queen of Scotland, is a duodecimo, written in the Gothic character and containing Latin prayers; it is adorned with miniatures set off with gold, representing devotional subjects, stories from sacred history, or from the lives of saints and martyrs.
He had already discussed the caste with Gilbert, and on the morning after the scene on the Embankment, he telephoned to Gilbert, telling him that he had made engagements for the play, and would like to fix a date on which he should read the manuscript to the company.
At the last word, Polly, flushed with the spirit of the story, looked up expectantly; but her listener's weary eyes seemed to be studying the pattern of the dainty comfort across her lap. Sadly Polly gathered together the scattered manuscript sheets, and waited. "Thank you, dear," the little lady finally said; but the words were spoken as with an effort.
This manuscript was well put together. It was a manly and yet feeling address in behalf of the oppressed Africans. It contained a sober and dispassionate appeal to the reason of all without offending the prejudices of any. It was distributed at the expense of the association, and proved to be highly useful to the cause which it was intended to promote.
Before Gray owned this book, it belonged to Mr. Antrobus, his uncle, who wrote many original notes in it. The volume has also this manuscript memorandum on one of the fly-leaves, signed by a well-known naturalist, now living in England: "August 28, 1851. "This book has Gray's autograph on the title page, written in his usual neat hand.
Then Merelli laid the other manuscript before Verdi. "Look, here is Solera's libretto; such a beautiful subject! Take it home and read it over." But Verdi refused. "No, no, I am in no humor to read librettos." "It won't hurt you to look at it," urged Merelli, and thrust it into the coat pocket of the reluctant composer.
He could not bring himself to fetch the manuscript, and it was his housekeeper who brought it to him. "Ah," he said, "it is tasteless as the gruel that poor James Murdoch is eating." And taking a volume from the table "St. Augustine's Confessions" he said, "what diet there is here!" He stood reading. There was no idiom, he had used Latin words instead of English.
"You have a goodly pile of manuscript there," he remarked; "may I ask what it is?" "It is a little book into which I am putting all my ignorance," she said. "I hope you are not going to be diffident about letting me see it?" he answered encouragingly. "I could certainly give you some useful hints." "You are too kind," she said; and he accepted the assertion without a suspicion of sarcasm.
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