The sketch-book of Geoffrey Crayon, gent[pseud.] together with Abbotsford and other selections from the writings of Washington Irving .. . ; while on the hightester of an old-fashioned bedstead grinned a human skull,flanked on each side by a dried cat. 9. I approached to regard more narrowly this mysticchamber, which seemed a fitting laboratory for a necromancer,when I was startled at beholding a human countenance staringat me from a dusky corner. It was that of a small, shrivelledold man, with thin cheeks, bright eyes, and gray wiry pro-jecting eyebrows. I at first doubted whether it were not
The sketch-book of Geoffrey Crayon, gent[pseud.] together with Abbotsford and other selections from the writings of Washington Irving .. . ; while on the hightester of an old-fashioned bedstead grinned a human skull,flanked on each side by a dried cat. 9. I approached to regard more narrowly this mysticchamber, which seemed a fitting laboratory for a necromancer,when I was startled at beholding a human countenance staringat me from a dusky corner. It was that of a small, shrivelledold man, with thin cheeks, bright eyes, and gray wiry pro-jecting eyebrows. I at first doubted whether it were not amummy curiously preserved, but it moved, and I saw thatit was alive. It was another of these black-cloaked old men,and, as I regarded his quaint physiognomy, his obsolete garb,and the hideous and sinister objects by which he was sur-rounded, I began to persuade myself that I had come uponthe arch mago who ruled over this magical fraternity. LONDON ANTIQUES 117 10. Seeing me pausing before the door, he rose and invitedme to enter. I obeyed, with singular hardihood, for how didI know whether a wave of his wand might not metamorphose. ?rtaBfe-fr^^ ^^^.:-Ck«J-rrf|SS&^^^^ Charterhouse from the Play Ground me into some strange monster, or conjure me into one of thebottles on his mantel-piece? He proved, however, to beanything but a conjurer, and his simple garrulity soon dis-pelled all the magic and mystery with which I had envelopedthis antiquated pile and its no less antiquated inhabitants. 11. It appeared that I had made my way into the centre ofan ancient asylum for superannuated tradesmen and decayedhouseholders, with which was connected a school for a limitednumber of boys. It was founded upwards of two centuriessince on an old monastic establishment, and retained some-what of the conventual air and character. The shadowy lineof old men in black mantles who. had passed before me in thehall, and whom I had elevated into magi, turned out to be thepensioners returning from morn
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