It seemed that in old days it might have been a
fountain. At the end of the plot the blind side of a house
offered a high wall which had once been painted in fresco.
Though much of the coloured plaster had cracked and peeled
away, and all that remained was stained and faded, still some
traces of the original design might yet be detected: festive
wreaths, the colonnades and perspective of a palace.
The wails of the room itself were waincsotted in pannels of
dark-stained wood; the window-curtains were of coarse green
worsted, and encrusted with dust so ancient and irremovable,
that it presented almost a lava-like appearance; the carpet
that had once been bright and showy, was entirely threadbare,
and had become grey with age. There were several heavy
mahogany arm-chairs in the room, a Pembroke table, and an
immense unwieldy sideboard, garnished with a few wine-glasses
of a deep blue colour. Over the lofty uncouth mantel was a
portrait of the Marquis of Granby, which might have been a
sign, and opposite to him, over the sideboard, was a large
tawdry-coloured print, by Bunbury, of Ranelagh in its most
festive hour. The general appearance of the room however
though dingy, was not squalid: and what with its spaciousness,
its extreme repose, and the associations raised by such few
images as it did suggest, the impression on the mind of the
spectator was far from unpleasing, partaking indeed of that
vague melancholy which springs from the contemplation of the
past, and which at all times softens the spirit.
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