The Music of Eric Zahn by H. P. Lovecraft.

I have examined maps of the city with the greatest care, yet have never again found a rude o'ersail.

These maps have not been modern maps alone, for I know that names change.

I have, on the contrary, delve deeply into all the

antiquities of the place, and have personally explored every region of whatever name, which could

possibly answer to the street I knew as the rude Osale. But despite all I have done,

it remains a humiliating fact that I cannot find the house, the street, or even a

locality where, during the last months of my impoverished life as a student of metaphysics at the

university, I heard the music of Eric Zahn. That my memory is broken, I do not wonder for my health,

physical and mental, was gravely disturbed throughout the period of my residence in the Rudo's sale.

And I recall that I took none of my few acquaintances there, but that I cannot find the place again is both singular and perplexing, for it was within a half-hour's walk of the university

and was distinguished by peculiarities which could hardly be forgotten by anyone who had been

there. I have never met a person who has seen the Rudo Sail.

The Rudo Sail lay across a dark river, bordered by precipitous brick, blear-windowed warehouses, and spanned by a ponderous

bridge of dark stone. It was always shadowy along that river, as if the smoke of neighbouring factory

shut out the sun perpetually. The river was also odorous with evil stenches which I have never

smelled elsewhere, and which may someday help

me to find it, since I should recognize them at once. Beyond the bridge were narrow cobbled

streets with rails, and then came the ascent, at first gradual, but incredibly steep, as the

rudo sail was reached. I have never seen another

street as narrow and steep as the rudo sail. It was almost a cliff, closed-all vehicles, consisting

in several places of flights of steps, and ending at the top in a lofty ivied wall, its paving was irregular, sometimes stone slab, sometimes

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