CHAPTER II.
AMONG the guests whom the rector met was a gentleman named Rambert, a single man of large fortune, well known in the neighborhood of Penliddy as the owner of a noble country-seat and the possessor of a magnificent library.
Mr.Rambert (with whom Mr.Carling was well acquainted) greeted him at the dinner-party with friendly expressions of regret at the time that had elapsed since they had last seen each other, and mentioned that he had recently been adding to his collection of books some rare old volumes of theology, which he thought the rector might find it useful to look over.

Mr.Carling, with the necessity of finishing his pamphlet uppermost in his mind, replied, jestingly, that the species of literature which he was just then most interested in examining happened to be precisely of the sort which (excepting novels, perhaps) had least affinity to theological writing.

The necessary explanation followed this avowal as a matter of course, and, to Mr.Carling's great delight, his friend turned on him gayly with the most surprising and satisfactory of answers: "You don't know half the resources of my miles of bookshelves," he said, "or you would never have thought of going to London for what you can get from me.

A whole side of one of my rooms upstairs is devoted to periodical literature.

I have reviews, magazines, and three weekly newspapers, bound, in each case, from the first number; and, what is just now more to your purpose, I have the _Times_ for the last fifteen years in huge half-yearly volumes.