"Halloo! halloo!" says the parrot, awakened by a leap of the fire; for,
the back-log has broken in half, and Pisgah sees, by the increased
light, the very hair-powder gleam on the portrait of General Washington.
But now the cloth is removed, and the old-fashioned table folds up its
leaves; they sip some remarkable sherry, which grandfather regards with
a wheezy sort of laugh, and after they have played one game of draughts,
Mr. Pisgah looks at his gold chronometer, and asks if he has still the
great room above the porch and plenty of bedclothes.
This is what Mr. Pisgah sees upon the film of his tears--wealth,
happiness, manliness! When he dashes the tears themselves to the
pavement with an oath, what rises upon his eye and his heart?
Paris--grand, luxurious, pitiless, and he, at twilight, flung upon the
world, with neither kindred nor country--a thing unwilling to live,
unfit to die!
He strolled along the quay to the Morgue; the beautiful water of St.
Michel fell sibilantly cold from the fountain, and Apollyon above, at
the feet of the avenging angel, seemed a sermon and an allegory of his
own prostration. How all the folks upon the bridge were stony faced! It
had never before occurred to him that men were cold-blooded creatures.
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