When she saw the books the tall slave named Grace straightened and asked if I would like a ewer(1) of warm water for my toilet before she showed me to the master's room. I had shaved by the river that morning before l'd made my crossing, but I was pleased at the chance for a hot wash. When Grace returned, she said the master bade me to bring the books and leave the rest. She led the way through the narrow hall that joined the kitchen, warming room, and buttery to the cool expanse of the main house. The house was not especially large, nor by any means the grandest I had been in -some of the plantation homes along the James(2) were more like palaces- but it was perfect in proportion and exquisite in appointments.

Grace gestured with her long-fingered hand -not hands that appeared much accustomed to heavy chores, I noted- indicating I should sit upon a marble bench. "That is the master's library. He will be with you presently," Grace said, and swept away to her duties.

The home's massive entrance was to my right, the wide door surrounded by lights of beveled glass, and I sat there, watching the golden morning sunshine fracture into tiny rainbows. Because I had been staring into the bright light, I could not see him well when he at last opened the library door, for he stood in its shadow. There was an impression only; of great height, very erect bearing, and a mellow voice.

"Good day to you, sir. Would you kindly come in?"
I entered and I stopped and twirled as if I were on a pivot. lt was a double-height room, with a narrow gallery at the midpoint. Books lined every inch of it. A very large, plain, and beautiful rosewood desk stood in the center.
"Augustus Clement", he said, holding out his hand. I shifted the weight of the books into the crook of my left arm and shook his hand absently, for I was transfixed by the magnitude of his collection. "I've always imagined paradise as something like a library. Now I know what it looks like." I barely realized I