Short Fiction Edgar Allan Poe (books for men to read .txt) đ
- Author: Edgar Allan Poe
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The winters in the latitude of Sullivanâs Island are seldom very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18â â, there occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for several weeksâ âmy residence being, at that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked the door and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts.
Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to prepare some marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of his fitsâ âhow else shall I term them?â âof enthusiasm. He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with Jupiterâs assistance, a scarabaeus which he believed to be totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the morrow.
âAnd why not tonight?â I asked, rubbing my hands over the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarabaei at the devil.
âAh, if I had only known you were here!â said Legrand, âbut itâs so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that you would pay me a visit this very night of all others? As I was coming home I met Lieutenant Gâ âžș, from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here tonight, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the loveliest thing in creation!â
âWhat?â âsunrise?â
âNonsense! no!â âthe bug. It is of a brilliant gold colorâ âabout the size of a large hickory-nutâ âwith two jet black spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other. The antennae areâ ââ
âDey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you,â here interrupted Jupiter; âde bug is a goole bug, solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wingâ âneber feel half so hebby a bug in my life.â
âWell, suppose it is, Jup,â replied Legrand, somewhat more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, âis that any reason for your letting the birds burn? The colorââ âhere he turned to meâ ââis really almost enough to warrant Jupiterâs idea. You never saw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the scales emitâ âbut of this you cannot judge till tomorrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the shape.â Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found none.
âNever mind,â said he at length, âthis will answer;â and he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing with the pen. While he did this, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a loud growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him much attention during previous visits. When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled at what my friend had depicted.
âWell!â I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, âthis is a strange scarabaeus, I must confess; new to me; never saw anything like it beforeâ âunless it was a skull, or a deathâs-headâ âwhich it more nearly resembles than anything else that has come under my observation.â
âA deathâs-head!â echoed Legrand. âOhâ âyesâ âwell, it has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a mouthâ âand then the shape of the whole is oval.â
âPerhaps so,â said I; âbut, Legrand, I fear you are no artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form any idea of its personal appearance.â
âWell, I donât know,â said he, a little nettled, âI draw tolerablyâ âshould do it at leastâ âhave had good masters, and flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead.â
âBut, my dear fellow, you are joking then,â said I, âthis is
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