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THE next morning my aunt called me into the library, a room I had not seen before. It was a handsome apartment, at the back of the house, well though soberly furnished, and lined with book-cases. These cases contained more volumes than I had ever seen together in all my life. In the one near the fire-place by which my aunt was seated I read the titles "Cook's Voyages," "Hakluyt's Voyages," "Sandys's Travels," and sundry others which made my heart beat with the anticipation of a feast-an anticipation, by the way, which was not realized till long afterward. My aunt, who had seated herself near the fire, with a small table at her side, very quickly recalled my thoughts and eyes to herself.
"Attend to me, Olivia," said she, drawing a written paper from her portfolio. "These are my rules, which I shall proceed to read to you."