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The Carpet-Bag

           ItseemedthegreatBlackParliamentsittinginTophet. Ahundredblackfacesturnedroundintheirrowstopeer; andbeyond,ablackAngelofDoomwasbeatingabookinapulpit. Itwasanegrochurch;andthepreacher’stextwasabouttheblacknessofdarkness,andtheweepingandwailingandteeth-gnashingthere. Ha,Ishmael,mutteredI,backingout,Wretchedentertainmentatthesignof‘TheTrap!’ 

           Movingon,Iatlastcametoadimsortoflightnotfarfromthedocks,andheardaforlorncreakingintheair; andlookingup,sawaswingingsignoverthedoorwithawhitepaintinguponit,faintlyrepresentingtallstraightjetofmistyspray,andthesewordsunderneath "TheSpouterInn:PeterCoffin." 

           Coffin? Spouter? Ratherominousinthatparticularconnexion,thoughtI. ButitisacommonnameinNantucket,theysay,andIsupposethisPeterhereisanemigrantfromthere. Asthelightlookedsodim,andtheplace,forthetime,lookedquietenough,andthedilapidatedlittlewoodenhouseitselflookedasifitmighthavebeencartedherefromtheruinsofsomeburntdistrict,andastheswingingsignhadapoverty-strickensortofcreaktoit,Ithoughtthatherewastheveryspotforcheaplodgings,andthebestofpeacoffee. 

           Itwasaqueersortofplaceagable-endedoldhouse,onesidepalsiedasitwere,andleaningoversadly. Itstoodonasharpbleakcorner,wherethattempestuouswindEuroclydonkeptupaworsehowlingthaneveritdidaboutpoorPaul’stossedcraft. Euroclydon,nevertheless,isamightypleasantzephyrtoanyonein-doors,withhisfeetonthehobquietlytoastingforbed. "InofthattempestuouswindcalledEuroclydon,"saysanoldwriterofwhoseworksIpossesstheonlycopyextant "itmakethamarvellousdifference,whetherthoulookestoutatitfromaglasswindowwherethefrostisallontheoutside,orwhetherthouobservestitfromthatsashlesswindow,wherethefrostisonbothsides,andofwhichthewightDeathistheonlyglazier." 

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