with geometrical diagrams, and endless other surprising hangings and
upholstery of science.

The chamber itself bore evident marks of antiquity. One part of the
rough-finished wall was sadly cracked, and covered with dust, looked dim
and dark. But the aged inmate, though wrinkled as well, looked neat and
hale. Both wall and sage were compounded of like materials,--lime and
dust; both, too, were old; but while the rude earth of the wall had no
painted lustre to shed off all fadings and tarnish, and still keep fresh
without, though with long eld its core decayed: the living lime and dust
of the sage was frescoed with defensive bloom of his soul.

The weather was warm; like some old West India hogshead on the wharf,
the whole chamber buzzed with flies. But the sapient inmate sat still
and cool in the midst. Absorbed in some other world of his occupations
and thoughts, these insects, like daily cark and care, did not seem one
whit to annoy him. It was a goodly sight to see this serene, cool and
ripe old philosopher, who by sharp inquisition of man in the street, and
then long meditating upon him, surrounded by all those queer old
implements, charts and books, had grown at last so wondrous wise. There
he sat, quite motionless among those restless flies; and, with a sound
like the low noon murmur of foliage in the woods, turning over the
leaves of some ancient and tattered folio, with a binding dark and
shaggy as the bark of any old oak. It seemed as if supernatural lore
must needs pertain to this gravely, ruddy personage; at least far
foresight, pleasant wit, and working wisdom. Old age seemed in no wise
to have dulled him, but to have sharpened; just as old dinner-knives--so
they be of good steel--wax keen, spear-pointed, and elastic as
whale-bone with long usage. Yet though he was thus lively and vigorous
to behold, spite of his seventy-two years (his exact date at that time)