- end_line
- 5877
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:26.985Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 5810
- text
- from a mysterious window of a sort of sentry-box or closet. Like some
saint in a shrine, the countenance was illuminated by two smoky candles.
I divined the man. I exhibited my diploma, and he nodded me to a little
door beyond; while a sudden burst of orchestral music admonished me. I
was now very near my destination, and also revived the memory of the
organ anthems I had heard while on the ladder of the tower at home.
Next moment, the wire-woven gauzy screen of the ventilating window in
that same tower seemed enchantedly reproduced before me. The same hot
blast of stifling air once more rushed into my lungs. From the same
dizzy altitude, through the same fine-spun, vapoury, crapey air; far,
far down upon just such a packed mass of silent human beings; listening
to just such grand harmonies; I stood within the topmost gallery of the
temple. But hardly alone and silently as before. This time I had
company. Not of the first circles, and certainly not of the
dress-circle; but most acceptable, right welcome, cheery company, to
otherwise uncompanioned me. Quiet, well-pleased working men, and their
glad wives and sisters, with here and there an aproned urchin, with
all-absorbed, bright face, vermilioned by the excitement and the heated
air, hovering like a painted cherub over the vast human firmament below.
The height of the gallery was in truth appalling. The rail was low. I
thought of deep-sea-leads, and the mariner in the vessel’s chains,
drawing up the line, with his long-drawn musical accompaniment. And like
beds of glittering coral, through the deep sea of azure smoke, there,
far down, I saw the jewelled necks and white sparkling arms of crowds of
ladies in the semicirque. But, in the interval of two acts, again the
orchestra was heard; some inspiring anthem now was played. As the
volumed sound came undulating up, and broke in showery spray and foam of
melody against our gallery rail, my head involuntarily was bowed, my
hand instinctively sought my pocket. Only by a second thought did I
check my momentary lunacy, and remind myself that this time I had no
small morocco book with me, and that this was not the house of prayer.
Quickly was my wandering mind--preternaturally affected by the sudden
translation from the desolate street to this bewildering and blazing
spectacle--arrested in its wanderings, by feeling at my elbow a meaning
nudge; when turning suddenly, I saw a sort of coffee-pot and pewter mug
hospitably presented to me by a ragged, but good-natured-looking boy.
‘Thank you,’ said I, ‘I won’t take any coffee, I guess.’
‘Coffee?--I guess?--ain’t you a Yankee?’
‘Ay, boy; true blue.’
‘Well, dad’s gone to Yankee-land, a-seekin’ of his fortin; so take a
penny mug of ale, do, Yankee, for poor dad’s sake.’
Out from the tilted coffee-pot-looking can came a coffee-coloured
stream, and a small mug of humming ale was in my hand.
‘I don’t want it, boy. The fact is, my boy, I have no penny by me. I
happened to leave my purse at my lodgings.’
‘Never do you mind, Yankee; drink to honest dad.’
‘With all my heart, you generous boy; here’s immortal life to him!’
He stared at my strange burst, smiled merrily, and left me, offering his
coffee-pot in all directions, and not in vain.
’Tis not always poverty to be poor, mused I; one may fare well without a
penny. A ragged boy may be a prince-like benefactor.
That unpurchased pennyworth of ale revived my drooping spirits
strangely. Stuff was in that barley malt; a most sweet bitterness in
those blessed hops. God bless the glorious boy!
- title
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