On the walls were several
engravings of views in Rome, ancient and modern; and there were two
bookcases filled with literature which had evidently known the
second-hand stall,--most of the Latin poets, a few Italian books,
and some English classics. Not a trace anywhere of the habits and
predilections not unfairly associated with the youth of the shop,
not even a pipe or a cigar-holder. It was while sitting alone here
one evening, half musing, half engaged in glancing over the
advertisements in a paper two days old, that the assistant had been
attracted by the insertion just quoted. He read and re-read it,
became more thoughtful, sighed slightly. Then he moved to the table
and took some note-paper out of a writing-case. Still he seemed to
be in doubt, hesitated in pressing a pen against his thumb-nail, was
on the point of putting the note-paper away again. Ultimately,
however, he sat down to write. He covered four pages with a letter,
which he then proceeded deliberately to correct and alter, till he
had cut it down by about half. Then came another period of doubt
before he decided to make a fair copy. But it was finally made, and
the signature at the foot was: Julian Casti.
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