WALTER VISITS ANOTHER OF HIS UNCLE’S FRIENDS.—MR. COURTLAND’S
STRANGE COMPLAINT.—WALTER LEARNS NEWS OF HIS FATHER, WHICH
SURPRISES HIM.—THE CHANGE IN HIS DESTINATION.
God’s my life, did you ever hear the like, what a strange man is
this!
What you have possessed me withall, I’ll discharge it amply.
—Ben Jonson’s Every Man in his Humour.
Mr. Courtland’s house was surrounded by a high wall, and stood at the outskirts of the town. A little wooden door buried deep within the wall, seemed the only entrance. At this Walter paused, and after twice applying to the bell, a footman of a peculiarly grave and sanctimonious appearance, opened the door.
In reply to Walter’s inquiries, he informed him that Mr. Courtland was very unwell, and never saw “Company.”—Walter, however, producing from his pocket-book the introductory letter given him by his father, slipped it into the servant’s hand, accompanied by half a crown, and begged to be announced as a gentleman on very particular business.
“Well, Sir, you can step in,” said the servant, giving way; “but my master is very poorly, very poorly indeed.”
“Indeed, I am sorry to hear it: has he been long so?”
“Going on for ten—years, sir!” replied the servant, with great gravity; and opening the door of the house which stood within a few paces of the wall, on a singularly flat and bare grass-plot, he showed him into a room, and left him alone.
The first thing that struck Walter in this apartment, was its remarkable lightness. Though not large, it had no less than seven windows. Two sides of the wall, seemed indeed all window! Nor were these admittants of the celestial beam-shaded by any blind or curtain,—
“The gaudy, babbling, and remorseless day”
made itself thoroughly at home in this airy chamber. Nevertheless, though so light, it seemed to Walter any thing but cheerful. The sun had blistered and discoloured the painting of the wainscot, originally of a pale sea-green; there was little furniture in the apartment; one table in the centre, some half a dozen chairs, and a very small Turkey-carpet, which did not cover one tenth part of the clean, cold, smooth, oak boards, constituted all the goods and chattels visible in the room. But what particularly added effect to the bareness of all within, was the singular and laborious bareness of all without. From each of these seven windows, nothing but a forlorn green flat of some extent was to be seen; there was not a tree, or a shrub, or a flower in the whole expanse, although by several stumps of trees near the house, Walter perceived that the place had not always been so destitute of vegetable life.
While he was yet looking upon this singular baldness of scene, the servant re-entered with his master’s compliments, and a message that he should be happy to see any relation of Mr. Lester.