in the
glass cases beneath. About the room were placed long tables, with stands
for reading and writing, and around these were a number of men busily
engaged in looking over some chosen author. Old men with grey hairs,
young men with mustaches--some in cloth, others in fustian, indicating
that men of different rank can meet here. Not a single word was spoken
during my stay, all appearing to enjoy the silence that reigned
throughout the great room. This is indeed a retreat from the world. No
one inquires who the man is who is at his side, and each pursues in
silence his own researches. The racing of pens over the sheets of paper
was all that disturbed the stillness of the occasion.

From the Library I strolled to other rooms, and feasted my eyes on what
I had never before seen. He who goes over this immense building, cannot
do so without a feeling of admiration for the men whose energy has
brought together this vast and wonderful collection of things, the like
of which cannot be found in any other museum in the world. The
reflection of the setting sun against a mirror in one of the rooms, told
me that night was approaching, and I had but a moment in which to take
another look at the portrait that I had seen the previous day, and then
bade adieu to the Museum.

Having published the narrative of my life and escape from slavery, and
put it into the booksellers' hands--and seeing a prospect of a fair
sale, I ventured to take from my purse the last sovereign to make up a
small sum to remit to the United States, for the support of my daughter,
who is at school there. Before doing this, however, I had made
arrangements to attend a public meeting in the city of Worcester, at
which the mayor was to preside. Being informed by the friends of the
slave there, that I would, in all probability, sell a number of copies
of my book, and being told that Worcester was only ten miles from
London, I felt safe in parting with all but a few shillings, feeling
sure that my purse would soon be again replenished. But you may guess my
surprise when I learned that Worcester was above a hundred miles from
London, and that I had not retained money enough to defray my expenses
to the place. In my haste and wish to make up the ten pounds to send to
my children, I had forgotten that the payment for my lodgings would be
demanded before I should leave town. Saturday morning came; I paid my
lodging bill, and had three shillings and fourpence left; and ou