His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick dreams about
gorgeous old works in "silk linings, triple gold bands, and tinted
leather, locked up in wire cases, and secured from the vulgar hands
of the mere reader;" and, to continue the happy expressions of an
ingenious writer, "dazzling one's eyes like eastern beauties, peering
through their jealousies."[3]
[Footnote 3: D'Israeli--_Curiosities of Literature_.]
He has a great desire, however, to read such works in the old
libraries and chapter-houses to which they belong; for he thinks a
black-letter volume reads best in one of those venerable chambers
where the light struggles through dusty lancet windows and painted
glass; and that it loses half its zest, if taken away from the
neighbourhood of the quaintly-carved oaken book-case and Gothic
reading-desk. At his suggestion, the Squire has had the library
furnished in this antique taste, and several of the windows glazed
with painted glass, that they may throw a properly tempered light upon
the pages of their favourite old authors.
The parson, I am told, has been for some time meditating a commentary
on Strutt, Brand, and Douce, in which he means to detect them in
sundry dangerous errors in respect to popular games and superstitions;
a work to which the Squire looks forward with great interest.
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