And there are old leather portmanteaus, like
stranded porpoises, their mouths gaping in gaunt hunger for the food with
which they used to be gorged to bulging repletion; and old brass
andirons, waiting until time shall revenge them on their paltry
substitutes, and they shall have their own again, and bring with them the
fore-stick and the back-log of ancient days; and the empty churn, with
its idle dasher, which the Nancys and Phoebes, who have left their
comfortable places to the Bridgets and Norahs, used to handle to good
purpose; and the brown, shaky old spinning-wheel, which was running, it
may be, in the days when they were hinging the Salem witches.
Under the dark and haunted garret were attic chambers which themselves
had histories. On a pane in the northeastern chamber may be read these
names:
"John Tracy," "Robert Roberts," "Thomas Prince;" "Stultus" another hand
had added. When I found these names a few years ago (wrong side up, for
the window had been reversed), I looked at once in the Triennial to find
them, for the epithet showed that they were probably students. I found
them all under the years 1771 and 1773. Does it please their thin ghosts
thus to be dragged to the light of day? Has "Stultus" forgiven the
indignity of being thus characterized?
The southeast chamber was the Library Hospital.
Pages:
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44