man in London can find in his own library, however ample and luxurious that library may be. For only think of having a dozen walking bibliographical indexes,—like Watts, Nichols, and the rest of them,—ready, each in his department, to tell you just what books you should ask for out of the million at your command, and then to turn ther people want particular books and ask for them, I do not know what I want, except that I want books I have never heard of in old Spanish literature.
So kind Mr. Watts took me to the place where they stand, far in one of the recesses of that vast pile of building, and gave me the services of one of his assistants.
This person . . . .
July 21.—. . . . I worked some time in the British Museum, where the way seems lengthening as I go, under the leading of Panizzi and that living index, Watts. . . . . But I am determined not to wear myself out there much more. . . . . I dined at Senior's. . . . . Several interesting people were at table: the Bishop of H<