The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (11.1896)

Lot 99

By Ada Radford
The library in the house where I was born was a well aired
and well dusted room, but the' things we kept in it were so
connected in the mind with dust and fustiness that it was difficult
to feel happy there.
There were preserved fish of various kinds hanging from the
walls, there was a large glass case of sea birds, one of many
varieties of inland birds, cases of minerals, and, all over the mantel-
piece, and on the shelves, there were little Hindoo gods, models
of Keltic crosses, models of every imaginable thing from Cleo-
patra’s needle to the Eddystone lighthouse.
As a child I hated this room. Although it was called the
library there were few books in it. The writing-desk, where I
was often sent to do my lessons, was horribly uncomfortable and
in a bad light.
My lessons always took me a long time in this room, for al-
though I hated being there, and longed to be away, and off with
Lionel, the evil-looking gods, and the fishes glaring at me with
their glass eyes, chained me to the spot. I never felt at home,
and yet I remember that Aunt Lizzie had been all round the room
with me, and had told me the history of every object, where
father had bought it, and how much it had cost, and I could hear
my