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- 2026-01-30T07:57:45.581Z
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- text
- jerk, I burst open the scuttle. And ah! what a change. As from the
gloom of the grave and the companionship of worms, men shall at last
rapturously rise into the living greenness and glory-immortal, so, from
my cobwebbed old garret, I thrust forth my head into the balmy air, and
found myself hailed by the verdant tops of great trees, growing in the
little garden below--trees, whose leaves soared high above my topmost
slate.
Refreshed by this outlook, I turned inward to behold the garret, now
unwontedly lit up. Such humped masses of obsolete furniture. An old
escritoire, from whose pigeon-holes sprang mice, and from whose secret
drawers came subterranean squeakings, as from chipmunks' holes in the
woods; and broken-down old chairs, with strange carvings, which seemed
fit to seat a conclave of conjurors. And a rusty, iron-bound chest,
lidless, and packed full of mildewed old documents; one of which, with
a faded red ink-blot at the end, looked as if it might have been the
original bond that Doctor Faust gave to Mephistopheles. And, finally,
in the least lighted corner of all, where was a profuse litter of
indescribable old rubbish--among which was a broken telescope, and a
celestial globe staved in--stood the little old table, one hoofed foot,
like that of the Evil One, dimly revealed through the cobwebs. What
a thick dust, half paste, had settled upon the old vials and flasks;
how their once liquid contents had caked, and how strangely looked the
mouldy old book in the middle--Cotton Mather's _Magnalia_.
Table and book I removed below, and had the dislocations of the one and
the tatters of the other repaired. I resolved to surround this sad
little hermit of a table, so long banished from genial neighborhood,
with all the kindly influences of warm urns, warm fires, and warm
hearts, little dreaming what all this warm nursing would hatch.
I was pleased by the discovery that the table was not of the ordinary
mahogany, but of apple-tree-wood, which age had darkened nearly to
walnut. It struck me as being an appropriate piece of furniture for
our cedar-parlor--so called, from its being, after the old fashion,
wainscoted with that wood. The table's round slab, or orb, was so
contrived as to be readily changed from a horizontal to a perpendicular
position; so that, when not in use, it could be snugly placed in a
corner. For myself, wife, and two daughters, I thought it would make
a nice little breakfast and tea-table. It was just the thing for a
whist-table, too. And I also pleased myself with the idea that it would
make a famous reading-table.
In these fancies, my wife, for one, took little interest. She
disrelished the idea of so unfashionable and indigent-looking a
stranger as the table intruding into the polished society of more
prosperous furniture. But when, after seeking its fortune at the
cabinet-maker's, the table came home, varnished over, bright as a
guinea, no one exceeded my wife in a gracious reception of it. It was
advanced to an honorable position in the cedar-parlor.
But, as for my daughter Julia, she never got over her strange emotions
upon first accidentally encountering the table. Unfortunately, it was
just as I was in the act of bringing it down from the garret. Holding
it by the slab, I was carrying it before me, one cobwebbed hoof thrust
out, which weird object at a turn of the stairs, suddenly touched my
girl, as she was ascending; whereupon, turning, and seeing no living
creature--for I was quite hidden behind my shield--seeing nothing
indeed, but the apparition of the Evil One's foot, as it seemed, she
cried out, and there is no knowing what might have followed, had I not
immediately spoken.
- title
- Chunk 3