One sunshiny morning, in the good old times of the town of Boston, a young carver in wood, well known by the name of Drowne, stood contemplating a large oaken
log, which it was his purpose to convert into the figure-head of a vessel.
With lips compressed and clouded brow, he strode up and down the oaken
floor, the very genius and impersonation of asceticism, while the great bell still thundered and clanged above his head.
The rust on the ponderous iron-work of its oaken
door looked more antique than anything else in the New World.
Around the walls stood several oaken
bookcases, the lower shelves of which were filled with rows of gigantic folios and black-letter quartos, and the upper with little parchment-covered duodecimos.
Thy sword cannot stand against an oaken
staff such as mine.
Ogg's and its neighborhood were there; and it would have been worth while to come even from a distance, to see the fine old hall, with its open roof and carved oaken
rafters, and great oaken
folding-doors, and light shed down from a height on the many-colored show beneath; a very quaint place, with broad faded stripes painted on the walls, and here and there a show of heraldic animals of a bristly, long-snouted character, the cherished emblems of a noble family once the seigniors of this now civic hall.
As I kept passing and repassing the filling or woof of marline between the long yarns of the warp, using my own hand for the shuttle, and as Queequeg, standing sideways, ever and anon slid his heavy oaken
sword between the threads, and idly looking off upon the water, carelessly and unthinkingly drove home every yarn: I say so strange a dreaminess did there then reign all over the ship and all over the sea, only broken by the intermitting dull sound of the sword, that it seemed as if this were the Loom of Time, and I myself were a shuttle mechanically weaving and weaving away at the Fates.
That bravely and uninjured takes the jam which would have snapped all their oaken
handspikes and iron crowbars.
When they entered the oaken
parlour, Godfrey threw himself into his chair, while Nancy laid down her bonnet and shawl, and stood on the hearth near her husband, unwilling to leave him even for a few minutes, and yet fearing to utter any word lest it might jar on his feeling.
chair, to be sure, may tempt him with its roominess.
Clara treated it with still greater reverence, often taking occasion to smooth its cushion, and to brush the dust from the carved flowers and grotesque figures of its oaken
back and arms.
The doors, too, were arched and low, some with oaken
portals and quaint benches, where the former inhabitants had sat on summer evenings.