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“YE who read are still among the living; but I who write shall have

long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed

strange things shall happen, and secret things be known, and many

centuries shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And,

when seen, there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and

yet a few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here

graven with a stylus of iron…”

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“THE CHATEAU into which my valet had ventured to make forcible

entrance, rather than permit me, in my desperately wounded

condition, to pass a night in the open air, was one of those piles

of commingled gloom and grandeur which have so long frowned among

the Appennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs.

Radcliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily and very lately

abandoned. We established ourselves in one of the smallest and least

sumptuously furnished apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the

building. Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique…”

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 ”I TOOK a large room, far up Broadway, in a huge

old building whose upper stories had been

wholly unoccupied for years, until I came. The

place had long been given up to dust and cobwebs,

to solitude and silence. I seemed groping among

the tombs and invading the privacy of the dead, that

first night I climbed up to my quarters. For the

first time in my life a superstitious dread came over

me; and as I turned a dark angle of the stairway

and an invisible cobweb swung its slazy woof in my

face and clung there, I shuddered as one who had

encountered a phantom…”

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“DURING the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of

the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had

been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of

country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew

on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it

was- but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of

insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the

feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because

poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the

sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible….”

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disappearnce-of-lady-frances-carfax.zip

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