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    The Intelligence Office (From "Mosses from an Old Manse")
    The Intelligence Office (From "Mosses from an Old Manse")
    The Intelligence Office (From "Mosses from an Old Manse")
    Ebook36 pages29 minutes

    The Intelligence Office (From "Mosses from an Old Manse")

    By Nathaniel Hawthorne

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    The Intelligence Office (From "Mosses from an Old Manse")
    Author

    Nathaniel Hawthorne

    Nathaniel Hawthorne was born is Salem, Massachusetts in 1804. His father died when he was four years old. His first novel, Fanshawe, was published anonymously at his own expense in 1828. He later disowned the novel and burned the remaining copies. For the next twenty years he made his living as a writer of tales and children's stories. He assured his reputation with the publication of The Scarlet Letter in 1850 and The House of the Seven Gables the following year. In 1853 he was appointed consul in Liverpool, England, where he lived for four years. He died in 1864.

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      The Intelligence Office (From "Mosses from an Old Manse") - Nathaniel Hawthorne

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Intelligence Office (From Mosses From An Old Manse), by Nathaniel Hawthorne

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: The Intelligence Office (From Mosses From An Old Manse)

      Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne

      Posting Date: December 8, 2010 [EBook #9229] Release Date: November, 2005 First Posted: September 6, 2003 Last Updated: February 6, 2007

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICE ***

      Produced by David Widger. HTML version by Al Haines.

      MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE

      By Nathaniel Hawthorne

      THE INTELLIGENCE OFFICE

      Grave figure, with a pair of mysterious spectacles on his nose and a pen behind his ear, was seated at a desk in the corner of a metropolitan office. The apartment was fitted up with a counter, and furnished with an oaken cabinet and a Chair or two, in simple and business-like style. Around the walls were stuck advertisements of articles lost, or articles wanted, or articles to be disposed of; in one or another of which classes were comprehended nearly all the Conveniences, or otherwise, that the imagination of man has contrived. The interior of the room was thrown into shadow, partly by the tall edifices that rose on the opposite side of the street, and partly by the immense show-bills of blue and crimson paper that were expanded over each of the three windows. Undisturbed by the tramp of feet, the rattle of wheels, the hump of voices, the shout of the city crier, the scream of the newsboys, and other tokens of the multitudinous life that surged along in front of the office, the figure at the desk pored diligently over a folio volume, of ledger-like size and aspect, He looked like the spirit of a record—the soul of his own great volume made visible in mortal shape.

      But scarcely an instant elapsed without the appearance at the door of some individual from the busy population whose vicinity was manifested by so much buzz, and clatter, and outcry. Now, it was a thriving mechanic in quest of a tenement that should come within his moderate means of rent; now, a ruddy Irish girl from the banks of Killarney, wandering from kitchen to kitchen of our land, while her

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