The International Monthly, Volume 5, No. 3, March, 1852Various
History
The International Monthly, Volume 5, No. 3, March, 1852
Various
Art, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- History -- Periodicals
Feathertop, meanwhile, pursued his way along the street. Except for the
few complimentary words to the lady, and, now and then, a slight
inclination of the head, in requital of the profound reverences of the
bystanders, he seemed wholly absorbed in his pipe. There needed no other
proof of his rank and consequence, than the perfect equanimity with
which he comported himself, while the curiosity and admiration of the
town swelled almost into clamor around him. With a crowd gathering
behind his footsteps, he finally reached the mansion-house of the
worshipful Justice Gookin, entered the gate, ascended the steps of the
front door, and knocked. In the interim, before his summons was
answered, the stranger was observed to shake the ashes out of his pipe.
"What did he say, in that sharp voice?" inquired one of the spectators.
"Nay, I know not," answered his friend. "But the sun dazzles my eyes
strangely. How dim and faded his lordship looks, all of a sudden! Bless
my wits, what is the matter with me?"
"The wonder is," said the other, "that his pipe, which was out only an
instant ago, should be all alight again, and with the reddest coal I
ever saw. There is something mysterious about this stranger. What a
whiff of smoke was that! Dim and faded, did you call him? Why, as he
turns about, the star on his breast is all a blaze."
"It is, indeed," said his companion; "and it will go near to dazzle
pretty Polly Gookin, whom I see peeping at it, out of the chamber
window."
The door being now opened, Feathertop turned to the crowd, made a
stately bend of his body, like a great man acknowledging the reverence
of the meaner sort, and vanished into the house. There was a mysterious
kind of a smile, if it might not better be called a grin or grimace,
upon his visage; but of all the throng that beheld him, not an
individual appears to have possessed insight enough to detect the
illusive character of the stranger, except a little child and a cur-dog.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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