''
To the inside, after many a vain summons, I
was at length admitted by an old labourer. The
house contained every contrivance for luxury and
accommodation;---the kitchens were a model, and
there were hot closets on the office stair-case, that
dishes might not cool, as our Scottish phrase
goes, between the kitchen and the hall. But instead
of the genial smell of good cheer, these temples
of Comus emitted the damp odour of sepulchral
vaults, and the large cabinets of cast-iron looked
like the cages of some feudal Bastille. The eating-room
and drawing-room, with an interior boudoir,
were magnificent apartments, the ceilings
fretted and adorned with stucco-work, which already
was broken in many places, and looked in
others damp and mouldering; the wood panelling
was shrunk and warped, and cracked; the doors,
which had not been hung for more than two years,
were, nevertheless, already swinging loose from
their hinges. Desolation, in short, was where enjoyment
had never been; and the want of all the
usual means to preserve, was fast performing the
work of decay.
The story was a common one, and told in a
few words. Mr Treddles, senior, who bought the
estate, was a cautious money-making person; his
son, still embarked in commercial speculations,
desired at the same time to enjoy his opulence and
to increase it.
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