As I closed Cornelius Agrippa's magic volume, an old, mildewed
letter fell upon the floor. It proved to be an autograph from the
Flying Dutchman to his wife. I could linger no longer among books;
for the afternoon was waning, and there was yet much to see. The
bare mention of a few more curiosities must suffice. The immense
skull of Polyphemus was recognizable by the cavernous hollow in the
centre of the forehead where once had blazed the giant's single eye.
The tub of Diogenes, Medea's caldron, and Psyche's vase of beauty
were placed one within another. Pandora's box, without the lid,
stood next, containing nothing but the girdle of Venus, which had
been carelessly flung into it. A bundle of birch-rods which had
been used by Shenstone's schoolmistress were tied up with the
Countess of Salisbury's garter. I know not which to value most, a
roc's egg as big as an ordinary hogshead, or the shell of the egg
which Columbus set upon its end. Perhaps the most delicate article
in the whole museum was Queen Mab's chariot, which, to guard it from
the touch of meddlesome fingers, was placed under a glass tumbler.

Several of the shelves were occupied by specimens of entomology.
Feeling but little interest in the science, I noticed only
Anacreon's grasshopper, and a bumblebee which had been presented to
the virtuoso by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

In the part of the hall which we had now reached I observed a
curtain, that descended from the ceiling to the floor in voluminous
folds, of a depth, richness, and magnificence which I had never seen
equalled. It was not to be doubted that this splendid though dark
and solemn veil concealed a portion of the museum even richer in
wonders than that through which I had already passed; but, on my
attempting to grasp the edge of the curtain and draw it aside, it