MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE

 By Nathaniel Hawthorne

 A VIRTUOSO'S COLLECTION

The other day, having a leisure hour at my disposal, I stepped intoa new museum, to which my notice was casually drawn by a small andunobtrusive sign: "TO BE SEEN HERE, A VIRTUOSO'S COLLECTION. " Suchwas the simple yet not altogether unpromising announcement thatturned my steps aside for a little while from the sunny sidewalk ofour principal thoroughfare. Mounting a sombre staircase, I pushedopen a door at its summit, and found myself in the presence of aperson, who mentioned the moderate sum that would entitle me toadmittance. 

"Three shillings, Massachusetts tenor, " said he. "No, I mean half adollar, as you reckon in these days. "

While searching my pocket for the coin I glanced at the doorkeeper, the marked character and individuality of whose aspect encouraged meto expect something not quite in the ordinary way. He wore anold-fashioned great-coat, much faded, within which his meagre personwas so completely enveloped that the rest of his attire wasundistinguishable. But his visage was remarkably wind-flushed, sunburnt, and weather-worn, and had a most, unquiet, nervous, andapprehensive expression. It seemed as if this man had someall-important object in view, some point of deepest interest to bedecided, some momentous question to ask, might he but hope for areply. As it was evident, however, that I could have nothing to dowith his private affairs, I passed through an open doorway, whichadmitted me into the extensive hall of the museum. 

Directly in front of the portal was the bronze statue of a youthwith winged feet. He was represented in the act of flitting awayfrom earth, yet wore such a look of earnest invitation that itimpressed me like a summons to enter the hall. 

"It is the original statue of Opportunity, by the ancient sculptorLysippus, " said a gentleman who now approached me. "I place it atthe entrance of my museum, because it is not at all times that onecan gain admittance to such a collection. "

The speaker was a middle-aged person, of whom it was not easy todetermine whether he had spent his life as a scholar or as a man ofaction; in truth, all outward and obvious peculiarities had beenworn away by an extensive and promiscuous intercourse with theworld. There was no mark about him of profession, individualhabits, or scarcely of country; although his dark complexion andhigh features made me conjecture that he was a native of somesouthern clime of Europe. At all events, he was evidently thevirtuoso in person. 

"With your permission, " said he, "as we have no descriptivecatalogue, I will accompany you through the museum and point outwhatever may be most worthy of attention. In the first place, hereis a choice collection of stuffed animals. "

Nearest the door stood the outward semblance of a wolf, exquisitelyprepared, it is true, and showing a very wolfish fierceness in thelarge glass eyes which were inserted into its wild and crafty head. Still it was merely the skin of a wolf, with nothing to distinguishit from other individuals of that unlovely breed. 

"How does this animal deserve a place in your collection?" inquiredI. 

"It is the wolf that devoured Little Red Riding Hood, " answered thevirtuoso; "and by his side--with a milder and more matronly look, asyou perceive--stands the she-wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus. "

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed I. "And what lovely lamb is this with thesnow-white fleece, which seems to be of as delicate a texture asinnocence itself?"

"Methinks you have but carelessly read Spenser, " replied my guide, "or you would at once recognize the 'milk-white lamb' which Una led. But I set no great value upon the lamb. The next specimen is betterworth our notice. "

"What!" cried I, "this strange animal, with the black head of an oxupon the body of a white horse? Were it possible to suppose it, Ishould say that this was Alexander's steed Bucephalus. "

"The same, " said the virtuoso. "And can you likewise give a name tothe famous charger that stands beside him?"

Next to the renowned Bucephalus stood the mere skeleton of a horse, with the white bones peeping through his ill-conditioned hide; but, if my heart had not warmed towards that pitiful anatomy, I might aswell have quitted the museum at once. Its rarities had not beencollected with pain and toil from the four quarters of the earth, and from the depths of the sea, and from the palaces and sepulchresof ages, for those who could mistake this illustrious steed. 

"It, is Rosinante!" exclaimed I, with enthusiasm. 

And so it proved. My admiration for the noble and gallant horsecaused me to glance with less interest at the other animals, although many of them might have deserved the notice of Cuvierhimself. There was the donkey which Peter Bell cudgelled sosoundly, and a brother of the same species who had suffered asimilar infliction from the ancient prophet Balaam. Some doubtswere entertained, however, as to the authenticity of the latterbeast. My guide pointed out the venerable Argus, that faithful dogof Ulysses, and also another dog (for so the skin bespoke it), which, though imperfectly preserved, seemed once to have had threeheads. It was Cerberus. I was considerably amused at detecting inan obscure corner the fox that became so famous by the loss of histail. There were several stuffed cats, which, as a dear lover ofthat comfortable beast, attracted my affectionate regards. One wasDr. Johnson's cat Hodge; and in the same row stood the favorite catsof Mahomet, Gray, and Walter Scott, together with Puss in Boots, anda cat of very noble aspect--who had once been a deity of ancientEgypt. Byron's tame bear came next. I must not forget to mentionthe Eryruanthean boar, the skin of St. George's dragon, and that ofthe serpent Python; and another skin with beautifully variegatedhues, supposed to have been the garment of the "spirited sly snake, "which tempted Eve. Against the walls were suspended the horns of thestag that Shakespeare shot; and on the floor lay the ponderous shellof the tortoise which fell upon the head of Aeschylus. In one row, as natural as life, stood the sacred bull Apis, the "cow with thecrumpled horn, " and a very wild-looking young heifer, which I guessedto be the cow that jumped over the moon. She was probably killed bythe rapidity of her descent. As I turned away, my eyes fell upon anindescribable monster, which proved to be a griffin. 

"I look in vain, " observed I, "for the skin of an animal which mightwell deserve the closest study of a naturalist, --the winged horse, Pegasus. "

"He is not yet dead, " replied the virtuoso; "but he is so hardridden by many young gentlemen of the day that I hope soon to addhis skin and skeleton to my collection. "

We now passed to the next alcove of the hall, in which was amultitude of stuffed birds. They were very prettily arranged, someupon the branches of trees, others brooding upon nests, and otherssuspended by wires so artificially that they seemed in the very actof flight. Among them was a white dove, with a withered branch ofolive-leaves in her mouth. 

"Can this be the very dove, " inquired I, "that brought the messageof peace and hope to the tempest-beaten passengers of the ark?"

"Even so, " said my companion. 

"And this raven, I suppose, " continued I, "is the same that fedElijah in the wilderness. "

"The raven? No, " said the virtuoso; "it is a bird of modern date. He belonged to one Barnaby Rudge, and many people fancied that theDevil himself was disguised under his sable plumage. But poor Griphas drawn his last cork, and has been forced to 'say die' at last. This other raven, hardly less curious, is that in which the soul ofKing George I. Revisited his lady-love, the Duchess of Kendall. "

My guide next pointed out Minerva's owl and the vulture that preyedupon the liver of Prometheus. There was likewise the sacred ibis ofEgypt, and one of the Stymphalides which Hercules shot in his sixthlabor. Shelley's skylark, Bryant's water-fowl, and a pigeon fromthe belfry of the Old South Church, preserved by N. P. Willis, wereplaced on the same perch. I could not but shudder on beholdingColeridge's albatross, transfixed with the Ancient Mariner'scrossbow shaft. Beside this bird of awful poesy stood a gray gooseof very ordinary aspect. 

"Stuffed goose is no such rarity, " observed I. "Why do you preservesuch a specimen in your museum?"

"It is one of the flock whose cackling saved the Roman Capitol, "answered the virtuoso. "Many geese have cackled and hissed bothbefore and since; but none, like those, have clamored themselvesinto immortality. "

There seemed to be little else that demanded notice in thisdepartment of the museum, unless we except Robinson Crusoe's parrot, a live phoenix, a footless bird of paradise, and a splendid peacock, supposed to be the same that once contained the soul of Pythagoras. I therefore passed to the next alcove, the shelves of which werecovered with a miscellaneous collection of curiosities such as areusually found in similar establishments. One of the first thingsthat took my eye was a strange-looking cap, woven of some substancethat appeared to be neither woollen, cotton, nor linen. 

"Is this a magician's cap?" I asked. 

"No, " replied the virtuoso; "it is merely Dr. Franklin's cap ofasbestos. But here is one which, perhaps, may suit you better. Itis the wishing-cap of Fortunatus. Will you try it on?"

"By no means, " answered I, putting it aside with my hand. "The dayof wild wishes is past with me. I desire nothing that may not comein the ordinary course of Providence. "

"Then probably, " returned the virtuoso, "you will not be tempted torub this lamp?"

While speaking, he took from the shelf an antique brass lamp, curiously wrought with embossed figures, but so covered withverdigris that the sculpture was almost eaten away. 

"It is a thousand years, " said he, "since the genius of this lampconstructed Aladdin's palace in a single night. But he stillretains his power; and the man who rubs Aladdin's lamp has but todesire either a palace or a cottage. "

"I might desire a cottage, " replied I; "but I would have it foundedon sure and stable truth, not on dreams and fantasies. I havelearned to look for the real and the true. "

My guide next showed me Prospero's magic wand, broken into threefragments by the hand of its mighty master. On the same shelf laythe gold ring of ancient Gyges, which enabled the wearer to walkinvisible. On the other side of the alcove was a tall looking-glassin a frame of ebony, but veiled with a curtain of purple silk, through the rents of which the gleam of the mirror was perceptible. 

"This is Cornelius Agrippa's magic glass, " observed the virtuoso. "Draw aside the curtain, and picture any human form within yourmind, and it will be reflected in the mirror. "

"It is enough if I can picture it within my mind, " answered I. "Whyshould I wish it to be repeated in the mirror? But, indeed, theseworks of magic have grown wearisome to me. There are so manygreater wonders in the world, to those who keep their eyes open andtheir sight undimmed by custom, that all the delusions of the oldsorcerers seem flat and stale. Unless you can show me somethingreally curious, I care not to look further into your museum. "

"Ah, well, then, " said the virtuoso, composedly, "perhaps you maydeem some of my antiquarian rarities deserving of a glance. "

He pointed out the iron mask, now corroded with rust; and my heartgrew sick at the sight of this dreadful relic, which had shut out ahuman being from sympathy with his race. There was nothing half soterrible in the axe that beheaded King Charles, nor in the daggerthat slew Henry of Navarre, nor in the arrow that pierced the heartof William Rufus, --all of which were shown to me. Many of thearticles derived their interest, such as it was, from having beenformerly in the possession of royalty. For instance, here wasCharlemagne's sheepskin cloak, the flowing wig of Louis Quatorze, the spinning-wheel of Sardanapalus, and King Stephen's famousbreeches which cost him but a crown. The heart of the Bloody Mary, with the word "Calais" worn into its diseased substance, waspreserved in a bottle of spirits; and near it lay the golden case inwhich the queen of Gustavus Adolphus treasured up that hero's heart. Among these relics and heirlooms of kings I must not forget thelong, hairy ears of Midas, and a piece of bread which had beenchanged to gold by the touch of that unlucky monarch. And asGrecian Helen was a queen, it may here be mentioned that I waspermitted to take into my hand a lock of her golden hair and thebowl which a sculptor modelled from the curve of her perfect breast. Here, likewise, was the robe that smothered Agamemnon, Nero'sfiddle, the Czar Peter's brandy-bottle, the crown of Semiramis, andCanute's sceptre which he extended over the sea. That my own landmay not deem itself neglected, let me add that I was favored with asight of the skull of King Philip, the famous Indian chief, whosehead the Puritans smote off and exhibited upon a pole. 

"Show me something else, " said I to the virtuoso. "Kings are insuch an artificial position that people in the ordinary walks oflife cannot feel an interest in their relics. If you could show methe straw hat of sweet little Nell, I would far rather see it than aking's golden crown. "

"There it is, " said my guide, pointing carelessly with his staff tothe straw hat in question. "But, indeed, you are hard to please. Here are the seven-league boots. Will you try them on?"

"Our modern railroads have superseded their use, " answered I; "andas to these cowhide boots, I could show you quite as curious a pairat the Transcendental community in Roxbury. "

We next examined a collection of swords and other weapons, belongingto different epochs, but thrown together without much attempt atarrangement. Here Was Arthur's sword Excalibar, and that of the CidCampeader, and the sword of Brutus rusted with Caesar's blood andhis own, and the sword of Joan of Arc, and that of Horatius, andthat with which Virginius slew his daughter, and the one whichDionysius suspended over the head of Damocles. Here also was Arria'ssword, which she plunged into her own breast, in order to taste ofdeath before her husband. The crooked blade of Saladin's cimeternext attracted my notice. I know not by what chance, but so ithappened, that the sword of one of our own militia generals wassuspended between Don Quixote's lance and the brown blade ofHudibras. My heart throbbed high at the sight of the helmet ofMiltiades and the spear that was broken in the breast ofEpaminondas. I recognized the shield of Achilles by its resemblanceto the admirable cast in the possession of Professor Felton. Nothing in this apartment interested me more than Major Pitcairn'spistol, the discharge of which, at Lexington, began the war of theRevolution, and was reverberated in thunder around the land forseven long years. The bow of Ulysses, though unstrung for ages, wasplaced against the wall, together with a sheaf of Robin Hood'sarrows and the rifle of Daniel Boone. 

"Enough of weapons, " said I, at length; "although I would gladlyhave seen the sacred shield which fell from heaven in the time ofNuma. And surely you should obtain the sword which Washingtonunsheathed at Cambridge. But the collection does you much credit. Let us pass on. "

In the next alcove we saw the golden thigh of Pythagoras, which hadso divine a meaning; and, by one of the queer analogies to which thevirtuoso seemed to be addicted, this ancient emblem lay on the sameshelf with Peter Stuyvesant's wooden leg, that was fabled to be ofsilver. Here was a remnant of the Golden Fleece, and a sprig ofyellow leaves that resembled the foliage of a frost-bitten elm, butwas duly authenticated as a portion of the golden branch by whichAEneas gained admittance to the realm of Pluto. Atalanta's goldenapple and one of the apples of discord were wrapped in the napkin ofgold which Rampsinitus brought from Hades; and the whole weredeposited in the golden vase of Bias, with its inscription: "TO THEWISEST. "

"And how did you obtain this vase?" said I to the virtuoso. 

"It was given me long ago, " replied he, with a scornful expressionin his eye, "because I had learned to despise all things. "

It had not escaped me that, though the virtuoso was evidently a manof high cultivation, yet he seemed to lack sympathy with thespiritual, the sublime, and the tender. Apart from the whim thathad led him to devote so much time, pains, and expense to thecollection of this museum, he impressed me as one of the hardest andcoldest men of the world whom I had ever met. 

"To despise all things!" repeated I. "This, at best, is the wisdomof the understanding. It is the creed of a man whose soul, whosebetter and diviner part, has never been awakened, or has died out ofhim. "

"I did not think that you were still so young, " said the virtuoso. "Should you live to my years, you will acknowledge that the vase ofBias was not ill bestowed. "

Without further discussion of the point, he directed my attention toother curiosities. I examined Cinderella's little glass slipper, and compared it with one of Diana's sandals, and with FannyElssler's shoe, which bore testimony to the muscular character ofher illustrious foot. On the same shelf were Thomas the Rhymer'sgreen velvet shoes, and the brazen shoe of Empedocles which wasthrown out of Mount AEtna. Anacreon's drinking-cup was placed inapt juxtaposition with one of Tom Moore's wine-glasses and Circe'smagic bowl. These were symbols of luxury and riot; but near themstood the cup whence Socrates drank his hemlock, and that which SirPhilip Sidney put from his death-parched lips to bestow the draughtupon a dying soldier. Next appeared a cluster of tobacco-pipes, consisting of Sir Walter Raleigh's, the earliest on record, Dr. Parr's, Charles Lamb's, and the first calumet of peace which wasever smoked between a European and an Indian. Among other musicalinstruments, I noticed the lyre of Orpheus and those of Homer andSappho, Dr. Franklin's famous whistle, the trumpet of Anthony VanCorlear, and the flute which Goldsmith played upon in his ramblesthrough the French provinces. The staff of Peter the Hermit stoodin a corner with that of good old Bishop Jewel, and one of ivory, which had belonged to Papirius, the Roman senator. The ponderousclub of Hercules was close at hand. The virtuoso showed me thechisel of Phidias, Claude's palette, and the brush of Apelles, observing that he intended to bestow the former either on Greenough, Crawford, or Powers, and the two latter upon Washington Allston. There was a small vase of oracular gas from Delphos, which I trustwill be submitted to the scientific analysis of Professor Silliman. I was deeply moved on beholding a vial of the tears into which Niobewas dissolved; nor less so on learning that a shapeless fragment ofsalt was a relic of that victim of despondency and sinful regrets, --Lot's wife. My companion appeared to set great value upon someEgyptian darkness in a blacking-jug. Several of the shelves werecovered by a collection of coins, among which, however, I remembernone but the Splendid Shilling, celebrated by Phillips, and adollar's worth of the iron money of Lycurgus, weighing about fiftypounds. 

Walking carelessly onward, I had nearly fallen over a huge bundle, like a peddler's pack, done up in sackcloth, and very securelystrapped and corded. 

"It is Christian's burden of sin, " said the virtuoso. 

"O, pray let us open it!" cried I. "For many a year I have longedto know its contents. "

"Look into your own consciousness and memory, " replied the virtuoso. "You will there find a list of whatever it contains. "

As this was all undeniable truth, I threw a melancholy look at theburden and passed on. A collection of old garments, banging onpegs, was worthy of some attention, especially the shirt of Nessus, Caesar's mantle, Joseph's coat of many colors, the Vicar of Bray'scassock, Goldsmith's peach-bloom suit, a pair of PresidentJefferson's scarlet breeches, John Randolph's red baizehunting-shirt, the drab small-clothes of the Stout Gentleman, and therags of the "man all tattered and torn. " George Fox's hat impressedme with deep reverence as a relic of perhaps the truest apostle thathas appeared on earth for these eighteen hundred years. My eye wasnext attracted by an old pair of shears, which I should have takenfor a memorial of some famous tailor, only that the virtuoso pledgedhis veracity that they were the identical scissors of Atropos. Healso showed me a broken hourglass which had been thrown aside byFather Time, together with the old gentleman's gray forelock, tastefully braided into a brooch. In the hour-glass was the handfulof sand, the grains of which had numbered the years of the Cumeeansibyl. I think it was in this alcove that I saw the inkstand whichLuther threw at the Devil, and the ring which Essex, while undersentence of death, sent to Queen Elizabeth. And here was theblood-incrusted pen of steel with which Faust signed away hissalvation. 

The virtuoso now opened the door of a closet and showed me a lampburning, while three others stood unlighted by its side. One of thethree was the lamp of Diogenes, another that of Guy Fawkes, and thethird that which Hero set forth to the midnight breeze in the hightower of Ahydos. 

"See!" said the virtuoso, blowing with all his force at the lightedlamp. 

The flame quivered and shrank away from his breath, but clung to thewick, and resumed its brilliancy as soon as the blast was exhausted. 

"It is an undying lamp from the tomb of Charlemagne, " observed myguide. "That flame was kindled a thousand years ago. "

"How ridiculous to kindle an unnatural light in tombs!" exclaimed I. "We should seek to behold the dead in the light of heaven. But whatis the meaning of this chafing-dish of glowing coals?"

"That, " answered the virtuoso, "is the original fire whichPrometheus stole from heaven. Look steadfastly into it, and youwill discern another curiosity. "

I gazed into that fire, --which, symbolically, was the origin of allthat was bright and glorious in the soul of man, --and in the midstof it, behold a little reptile, sporting with evident enjoyment ofthe fervid heat! It was a salamander. 

"What a sacrilege!" cried I, with inexpressible disgust. "Can youfind no better use for this ethereal fire than to cherish aloathsome reptile in it? Yet there are men who abuse the sacred fireof their own souls to as foul and guilty a purpose. "

The virtuoso made no answer except by a dry laugh and an assurancethat the salamander was the very same which Benvenuto Cellini hadseen in his father's household fire. He then proceeded to show meother rarities; for this closet appeared to be the receptacle ofwhat he considered most valuable in his collection. 

"There, " said he, "is the Great Carbuncle of the White Mountains. "

I gazed with no little interest at this mighty gem, which it hadbeen one of the wild projects of my youth to discover. Possibly itmight have looked brighter to me in those days than now; at allevents, it had not such brilliancy as to detain me long from theother articles of the museum. The virtuoso pointed out to me acrystalline stone which hung by a gold chain against the wall. 

"That is the philosopher's stone, " said he. 

"And have you the elixir vita which generally accompanies it?"inquired I. 

"Even so; this urn is filled with it, " he replied. "A draught wouldrefresh you. Here is Hebe's cup; will you quaff a health from it?"

My heart thrilled within me at the idea of such a reviving draught;for methought I had great need of it after travelling so far on thedusty road of life. But I know not whether it were a peculiarglance in the virtuoso's eye, or the circumstance that this mostprecious liquid was contained in an antique sepulchral urn, thatmade me pause. Then came many a thought with which, in the calmerand better hours of life, I had strengthened myself to feel thatDeath is the very friend whom, in his due season, even the happiestmortal should be willing to embrace. 

"No; I desire not an earthly immortality, " said I. 

"Were man to live longer on the earth, the spiritual would die out ofhim. The spark of ethereal fire would be choked by the material, the sensual. There is a celestial something within us thatrequires, after a certain time, the atmosphere of heaven to preserveit from decay and ruin. I will have none of this liquid. You dowell to keep it in a sepulchral urn; for it would produce deathwhile bestowing the shadow of life. "

"All this is unintelligible to me, " responded my guide, withindifference. "Life--earthly life--is the only good. But yourefuse the draught? Well, it is not likely to be offered twicewithin one man's experience. Probably you have griefs which youseek to forget in death. I can enable you to forget them in life. Will you take a draught of Lethe?"

As he spoke, the virtuoso took from the shelf a crystal vasecontaining a sable liquor, which caught no reflected image from theobjects around. 

"Not for the world!" exclaimed I, shrinking back. "I can spare noneof my recollections, not even those of error or sorrow. They are allalike the food of my spirit. As well never to have lived as to losethem now. "

Without further parley we passed to the next alcove, the shelves ofwhich were burdened with ancient volumes and with those rolls ofpapyrus in which was treasured up the eldest wisdom of the earth. Perhaps the most valuable work in the collection, to a bibliomaniac, was the Book of Hermes. For my part, however, I would have given ahigher price for those six of the Sibyl's books which Tarquinrefused to purchase, and which the virtuoso informed me he hadhimself found in the cave of Trophonius. Doubtless these old volumescontain prophecies of the fate of Rome, both as respects the declineand fall of her temporal empire and the rise of her spiritual one. Not without value, likewise, was the work of Anaxagoras on Nature, hitherto supposed to be irrecoverably lost, and the missingtreatises of Longinus, by which modern criticism might profit, andthose books of Livy for which the classic student has so longsorrowed without hope. Among these precious tomes I observed theoriginal manuscript of the Koran, and also that of the Mormon Biblein Joe Smith's authentic autograph. Alexander's copy of the Iliadwas also there, enclosed in the jewelled casket of Darius, stillfragrant of the perfumes which the Persian kept in it. 

Opening an iron-clasped volume, bound in black leather, I discoveredit to be Cornelius Agrippa's book of magic; and it was renderedstill more interesting by the fact that many flowers, ancient andmodern, were pressed between its leaves. Here was a rose from Eve'sbridal bower, and all those red and white roses which were pluckedin the garden of the Temple by the partisans of York and Lancaster. Here was Halleck's Wild Rose of Alloway. Cowper had contributed aSensitive Plant, and Wordsworth an Eglantine, and Burns a MountainDaisy, and Kirke White a Star of Bethlehem, and Longfellow a Sprigof Fennel, with its yellow flowers. James Russell Lowell had givena Pressed Flower, but fragrant still, which had been shadowed in theRhine. There was also a sprig from Southey's Holly Tree. One ofthe most beautiful specimens was a Fringed Gentian, which had beenplucked and preserved for immortality by Bryant. From Jones Very, apoet whose voice is scarcely heard among us by reason of its depth, there was a Wind Flower and a Columbine. 

As I closed Cornelius Agrippa's magic volume, an old, mildewedletter fell upon the floor. It proved to be an autograph from theFlying Dutchman to his wife. I could linger no longer among books;for the afternoon was waning, and there was yet much to see. Thebare mention of a few more curiosities must suffice. The immenseskull of Polyphemus was recognizable by the cavernous hollow in thecentre of the forehead where once had blazed the giant's single eye. The tub of Diogenes, Medea's caldron, and Psyche's vase of beautywere placed one within another. Pandora's box, without the lid, stood next, containing nothing but the girdle of Venus, which hadbeen carelessly flung into it. A bundle of birch-rods which hadbeen used by Shenstone's schoolmistress were tied up with theCountess of Salisbury's garter. I know not which to value most, aroc's egg as big as an ordinary hogshead, or the shell of the eggwhich Columbus set upon its end. Perhaps the most delicate articlein the whole museum was Queen Mab's chariot, which, to guard it fromthe touch of meddlesome fingers, was placed under a glass tumbler. 

Several of the shelves were occupied by specimens of entomology. Feeling but little interest in the science, I noticed onlyAnacreon's grasshopper, and a bumblebee which had been presented tothe virtuoso by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

In the part of the hall which we had now reached I observed acurtain, that descended from the ceiling to the floor in voluminousfolds, of a depth, richness, and magnificence which I had never seenequalled. It was not to be doubted that this splendid though darkand solemn veil concealed a portion of the museum even richer inwonders than that through which I had already passed; but, on myattempting to grasp the edge of the curtain and draw it aside, itproved to be an illusive picture. 

"You need not blush, " remarked the virtuoso; "for that same curtaindeceived Zeuxis. It is the celebrated painting of Parrhasius. "

In a range with the curtain there were a number of other choicepictures by artists of ancient days. Here was the famous cluster ofgrapes by Zeuxis, so admirably depicted that it seemed as if theripe juice were bursting forth. As to the picture of the old womanby the same illustrious painter, and which was so ludicrous that hehimself died with laughing at it, I cannot say that it particularlymoved my risibility. Ancient humor seems to have little power overmodern muscles. Here, also, was the horse painted by Apelles whichliving horses neighed at; his first portrait of Alexander the Great, and his last unfinished picture of Venus asleep. Each of theseworks of art, together with others by Parrhasius, Timanthes, Polygnotus, Apollodorus, Pausias, and Pamplulus, required more timeand study than I could bestow for the adequate perception of theirmerits. I shall therefore leave them undescribed and uncriticised, nor attempt to settle the question of superiority between ancientand modern art. 

For the same reason I shall pass lightly over the specimens ofantique sculpture which this indefatigable and fortunate virtuosohad dug out of the dust of fallen empires. Here was AEtion's cedarstatue of AEsculapius, much decayed, and Alcon's iron statue ofHercules, lamentably rusted. Here was the statue of Victory, sixfeet high, which the Jupiter Olympus of Phidias had held in hishand. Here was a forefinger of the Colossus of Rhodes, seven feetin length. Here was the Venus Urania of Phidias, and other imagesof male and female beauty or grandeur, wrought by sculptors whoappeared never to have debased their souls by the sight of anymeaner forms than those of gods or godlike mortals. But the deepsimplicity of these great works was not to be comprehended by a mindexcited and disturbed, as mine was, by the various objects that hadrecently been presented to it. I therefore turned away with merelya passing glance, resolving on some future occasion to brood overeach individual statue and picture until my inmost spirit shouldfeel their excellence. In this department, again, I noticed thetendency to whimsical combinations and ludicrous analogies whichseemed to influence many of the arrangements of the museum. Thewooden statue so well known as the Palladium of Troy was placed inclose apposition with the wooden head of General Jackson, which wasstolen a few years since from the bows of the frigate Constitution. 

We had now completed the circuit of the spacious hall, and foundourselves again near the door. Feeling somewhat wearied with thesurvey of so many novelties and antiquities, I sat down uponCowper's sofa, while the virtuoso threw himself carelessly intoRabelais's easychair. Casting my eyes upon the opposite wall, I wassurprised to perceive the shadow of a man flickering unsteadilyacross the wainscot, and looking as if it were stirred by somebreath of air that found its way through the door or windows. Nosubstantial figure was visible from which this shadow might bethrown; nor, had there been such, was there any sunshine that wouldhave caused it to darken upon the wall. 

"It is Peter Schlemihl's shadow, " observed the virtuoso, "and one ofthe most valuable articles in my collection. "

"Methinks a shadow would have made a fitting doorkeeper to such amuseum, " said I; "although, indeed, yonder figure has somethingstrange and fantastic about him, which suits well enough with manyof the impressions which I have received here. Pray, who is he?"

While speaking, I gazed more scrutinizingly than before at theantiquated presence of the person who had admitted me, and who stillsat on his bench with the same restless aspect, and dim, confused, questioning anxiety that I had noticed on my first entrance. Atthis moment he looked eagerly towards us, and, half starting fromhis seat, addressed me. 

"I beseech you, kind sir, " said he, in a cracked, melancholy tone, "have pity on the most unfortunate man in the world. For Heaven'ssake, answer me a single question! Is this the town of Boston?"

"You have recognized him now, " said the virtuoso. "It is PeterRugg, the missing man. I chanced to meet him the other day still insearch of Boston, and conducted him hither; and, as he could notsucceed in finding his friends, I have taken him into my service asdoorkeeper. He is somewhat too apt to ramble, but otherwise a manof trust and integrity. "

"And might I venture to ask, " continued I, "to whom am I indebtedfor this afternoon's gratification?"

The virtuoso, before replying, laid his hand upon an antique dart, or javelin, the rusty steel head of winch seemed to have beenblunted, as if it had encountered the resistance of a temperedshield, or breastplate. 

"My name has not been without its distinction in the world for alonger period than that of any other man alive, " answered he. "Yetmany doubt of my existence; perhaps you will do so to-morrow. Thisdart which I hold in my hand was once grim Death's own weapon. Itserved him well for the space of four thousand years; but it fellblunted, as you see, when he directed it against my breast. "

These words were spoken with the calm and cold courtesy of mannerthat had characterized this singular personage throughout ourinterview. I fancied, it is true, that there was a bitternessindefinably mingled with his tone, as of one cut off from naturalsympathies and blasted with a doom that had been inflicted on noother human being, and by the results of which he had ceased to behuman. Yet, withal, it seemed one of the most terrible consequencesof that doom that the victim no longer regarded it as a calamity, but had finally accepted it as the greatest good that could havebefallen him. 

"You are the Wandering Jew!" exclaimed I. 

The virtuoso bowed without emotion of any kind; for, by centuries ofcustom, he had almost lost the sense of strangeness in his fate, andwas but imperfectly conscious of the astonishment and awe with whichit affected such as are capable of death. 

"Your doom is indeed a fearful one!" said I, with irrepressiblefeeling and a frankness that afterwards startled me; "yet perhapsthe ethereal spirit is not entirely extinct under all thiscorrupted or frozen mass of earthly life. Perhaps the immortalspark may yet be rekindled by a breath of heaven. Perhaps you mayyet be permitted to die before it is too late to live eternally. You have my prayers for such a consummation. Farewell. "

"Your prayers will be in vain, " replied he, with a smile of coldtriumph. "My destiny is linked with the realities of earth. Youare welcome to your visions and shadows of a future state; but giveme what I can see, and touch, and understand, and I ask no more. "

"It is indeed too late, " thought I. "The soul is dead within him. "

Struggling between pity and horror, I extended my hand, to which thevirtuoso gave his own, still with the habitual courtesy of a man ofthe world, but without a single heart-throb of human brotherhood. The touch seemed like ice, yet I know not whether morally orphysically. As I departed, he bade me observe that the inner doorof the hall was constructed with the ivory leaves of the gatewaythrough which Aeneas and the Sibyl had been dismissed from Hades.