The Spouter-Inn

           Enteringthatgable-endedSpouter-Inn,youfoundyourselfinawide,low,stragglingentrywithold-fashionedwainscots,remindingoneofthebulwarksofsomecondemnedoldcraft.Ononesidehungaverylargeoilpaintingsothoroughlybesmoked,andeverywaydefaced,thatintheunequalcrosslightsbywhichyouviewedit,itwasonlybydiligentstudyandaseriesofsystematicvisitstoit,andcarefulinquiryoftheneighbors,thatyoucouldanywayarriveatanunderstandingofitspurpose.Suchunaccountablemassesofshadesandshadows,thatatfirstyoualmostthoughtsomeambitiousyoungartist,inthetimeoftheNewEnglandhags,hadendeavoredtodelineatechaosbewitched.Butbydintofmuchandearnestcontemplation,andoftrepeatedponderings,andespeciallybythrowingopenthelittlewindowtowardsthebackoftheentry,youatlastcometotheconclusionthatsuchanidea,howeverwild,mightnotbealtogetherunwarranted.

           Butwhatmostpuzzledandconfoundedyouwasalong,limber,portentous,blackmassofsomethinghoveringinthecentreofthepictureoverthreeblue,dim,perpendicularlinesfloatinginanamelessyeast.Aboggy,soggy,squitchypicturetruly,enoughtodriveanervousmandistracted.Yetwasthereasortofindefinite,half-attained,unimaginablesublimityaboutitthatfairlyfrozeyoutoit,tillyouinvoluntarilytookanoathwithyourselftofindoutwhatthatmarvellouspaintingmeant.Everandanonabright,but,alas,deceptiveideawoulddartyouthrough.It’stheBlackSeainamidnightgale.It’stheunnaturalcombatofthefourprimalelements.It’sablastedheath.It’saHyperboreanwinterscene.It’sthebreaking-upoftheiceboundstreamofTime.Butlastallthesefanciesyieldedtothatoneportentoussomethinginthepicture’smidst.Thatoncefoundout,andalltherestwereplain.Butstop;doesitnotbearafaintresemblancetoagiganticfish?eventhegreatleviathanhimself?

           Infact,theartist’sdesignseemedthis:afinaltheoryofmyown,partlybased

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