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Coffin
?
--
Spouter
?
--
Rather
ominous
in
that
particular
connexion
,
thought
I
.
But
it
is
a
common
name
in
Nantucket
,
they
say
,
and
I
suppose
this
Peter
here
is
an
emigrant
from
there
.
As
the
light
looked
so
dim
,
and
the
place
,
for
the
time
,
looked
quiet
enough
,
and
the
dilapidated
little
wooden
house
itself
looked
as
if
it
might
have
been
carted
here
from
the
ruins
of
some
burnt
district
,
and
as
the
swinging
sign
had
a
poverty-stricken
sort
of
creak
to
it
,
I
thought
that
here
was
the
very
spot
for
cheap
lodgings
,
and
the
best
of
pea
coffee
.
It
was
a
queer
sort
of
place
--
a
gable-ended
old
house
,
one
side
palsied
as
it
were
,
and
leaning
over
sadly
.
It
stood
on
a
sharp
bleak
corner
,
where
that
tempestuous
wind
Euroclydon
kept
up
a
worse
howling
than
ever
it
did
about
poor
Paul
's
tossed
craft
.
Euroclydon
,
nevertheless
,
is
a
mighty
pleasant
zephyr
to
any
one
in-doors
,
with
his
feet
on
the
hob
quietly
toasting
for
bed
.
"
In
of
that
tempestuous
wind
called
Euroclydon
,
"
says
an
old
writer
--
of
whose
works
I
possess
the
only
copy
extant
--
"
it
maketh
a
marvellous
difference
,
whether
thou
lookest
out
at
it
from
a
glass
window
where
the
frost
is
all
on
the
outside
,
or
whether
thou
observest
it
from
that
sashless
window
,
where
the
frost
is
on
both
sides
,
and
of
which
the
wight
Death
is
the
only
glazier
.
"
True
enough
,
thought
I
,
as
this
passage
occurred
to
my
mind
--
old
black-letter
,
thou
reasonest
well
.
Yes
,
these
eyes
are
windows
,
and
this
body
of
mine
is
the
house
.
What
a
pity
they
did
n't
stop
up
the
chinks
and
the
crannies
though
,
and
thrust
in
a
little
lint
here
and
there
.
But
it
's
too
late
to
make
any
improvements
now
.
The
universe
is
finished
;
the
copestone
is
on
,
and
the
chips
were
carted
off
a
million
years
ago
.
Poor
Lazarus
there
,
chattering
his
teeth
against
the
curbstone
for
his
pillow
,
and
shaking
off
his
tatters
with
his
shiverings
,
he
might
plug
up
both
ears
with
rags
,
and
put
a
corn-cob
into
his
mouth
,
and
yet
that
would
not
keep
out
the
tempestuous
Euroclydon
.
Euroclydon
!
says
old
Dives
,
in
his
red
silken
wrapper
--
(
he
had
a
redder
one
afterwards
)
pooh
,
pooh
!
What
a
fine
frosty
night
;
how
Orion
glitters
;
what
northern
lights
!
Let
them
talk
of
their
oriental
summer
climes
of
everlasting
conservatories
;
give
me
the
privilege
of
making
my
own
summer
with
my
own
coals
.
But
what
thinks
Lazarus
?
Can
he
warm
his
blue
hands
by
holding
them
up
to
the
grand
northern
lights
?
Would
not
Lazarus
rather
be
in
Sumatra
than
here
?
Would
he
not
far
rather
lay
him
down
lengthwise
along
the
line
of
the
equator
;
yea
,
ye
gods
!
go
down
to
the
fiery
pit
itself
,
in
order
to
keep
out
this
frost
?
Now
,
that
Lazarus
should
lie
stranded
there
on
the
curbstone
before
the
door
of
Dives
,
this
is
more
wonderful
than
that
an
iceberg
should
be
moored
to
one
of
the
Moluccas
.
Yet
Dives
himself
,
he
too
lives
like
a
Czar
in
an
ice
palace
made
of
frozen
sighs
,
and
being
a
president
of
a
temperance
society
,
he
only
drinks
the
tepid
tears
of
orphans
.
But
no
more
of
this
blubbering
now
,
we
are
going
a-whaling
,
and
there
is
plenty
of
that
yet
to
come
.
Let
us
scrape
the
ice
from
our
frosted
feet
,
and
see
what
sort
of
a
place
this
"
Spouter
"
may
be
.
Entering
that
gable-ended
Spouter-Inn
,
you
found
yourself
in
a
wide
,
low
,
straggling
entry
with
old-fashioned
wainscots
,
reminding
one
of
the
bulwarks
of
some
condemned
old
craft
.
On
one
side
hung
a
very
large
oil
painting
so
thoroughly
besmoked
,
and
every
way
defaced
,
that
in
the
unequal
crosslights
by
which
you
viewed
it
,
it
was
only
by
diligent
study
and
a
series
of
systematic
visits
to
it
,
and
careful
inquiry
of
the
neighbors
,
that
you
could
any
way
arrive
at
an
understanding
of
its
purpose
.
Such
unaccountable
masses
of
shades
and
shadows
,
that
at
first
you
almost
thought
some
ambitious
young
artist
,
in
the
time
of
the
New
England
hags
,
had
endeavored
to
delineate
chaos
bewitched
.
But
by
dint
of
much
and
earnest
contemplation
,
and
oft
repeated
ponderings
,
and
especially
by
throwing
open
the
little
window
towards
the
back
of
the
entry
,
you
at
last
come
to
the
conclusion
that
such
an
idea
,
however
wild
,
might
not
be
altogether
unwarranted
.
But
what
most
puzzled
and
confounded
you
was
a
long
,
limber
,
portentous
,
black
mass
of
something
hovering
in
the
centre
of
the
picture
over
three
blue
,
dim
,
perpendicular
lines
floating
in
a
nameless
yeast
.
A
boggy
,
soggy
,
squitchy
picture
truly
,
enough
to
drive
a
nervous
man
distracted
.
Yet
was
there
a
sort
of
indefinite
,
half-attained
,
unimaginable
sublimity
about
it
that
fairly
froze
you
to
it
,
till
you
involuntarily
took
an
oath
with
yourself
to
find
out
what
that
marvellous
painting
meant
.
Ever
and
anon
a
bright
,
but
,
alas
,
deceptive
idea
would
dart
you
through
.
--
It
's
the
Black
Sea
in
a
midnight
gale
.
--
It
's
the
unnatural
combat
of
the
four
primal
elements
.
--
It
's
a
blasted
heath
.
--
It
's
a
Hyperborean
winter
scene
.
--
It
's
the
breaking-up
of
the
icebound
stream
of
Time
.
But
last
all
these
fancies
yielded
to
that
one
portentous
something
in
the
picture
's
midst
.
That
once
found
out
,
and
all
the
rest
were
plain
.
But
stop
;
does
it
not
bear
a
faint
resemblance
to
a
gigantic
fish
?
even
the
great
leviathan
himself
?
In
fact
,
the
artist
's
design
seemed
this
:
a
final
theory
of
my
own
,
partly
based
upon
the
aggregated
opinions
of
many
aged
persons
with
whom
I
conversed
upon
the
subject
.
The
picture
represents
a
Cape-Horner
in
a
great
hurricane
;
the
half-foundered
ship
weltering
there
with
its
three
dismantled
masts
alone
visible
;
and
an
exasperated
whale
,
purposing
to
spring
clean
over
the
craft
,
is
in
the
enormous
act
of
impaling
himself
upon
the
three
mast-heads
.
