Paul de Walberg. 417 



" Can this," I said to myself, " be the residence of Walberg ?'' Not 

 more astonished was I at the appearance of the antique building, than 

 at the sound of the sullen gate-bell, which I pulled with a hesitating 

 hand. It was as hollow as that of a convent, and broke strangely and 

 mournfully upon the silence around. It had an uncomfortable effect 

 upon the nerves, as if it had no business to disturb the general so- 

 lemnity. After its last long vibration had ceased, and the landscape 

 was restored to its pristine quietude, I turned round and took a hasty 

 view of what was around me. The house was shut in by gloomy 

 woods, rising sometimes one above another, sometimes descending 

 into miniature glens, and here and there drawing off into vistas, the 

 profundity of whose colouring a Salvator Rosa might] have envied. 

 Over a distant glimpse of elevated woodland a full and yellow moon 

 was majestically rising, mingling its faint and spirit-like beams with 

 the last blue of the retiring twilight. Turning again to the gate, I 

 caught a glance of a suspicious-looking face, eyeing me from a slit 

 in the wall. It was immediately withdrawn, and after a tedious in- 

 terval the gate was unbarred and cautiously unclosed. A tall toler- 

 ably-dressed porter stood at the entrance, the innate grirnness of 

 whose physiognomy struck me forcibly. However, he tried to look 

 respectful ; and, making known my business, I was conducted across 

 a small court, sadly neglected, into the interior of the building. 



Having ushered me into a spacious oak chamber, the servant left 

 me, promising to make Walberg acquainted with rny arrival. I was 

 left a long time to my own reflections, which somehow or other 

 happened to be not of a very exhilarating character. The neglected 

 appearance of the house, and the secluded place in which it lay, 

 much surprised me. At length Walberg entered the room, and I 

 eagerly advanced to greet him. He received me kindly, though I 

 thought there was something strangely wayward in his address. The 

 smile with which he used to meet me was wanting, and in its place 

 was something like a smirk of affected good-nature. His eyes too, 

 when they fell upon me, had something disagreeable ; and it was as 

 much to escape from an embarrassment which I felt gaining ground 

 over me, as for any other reason, that I eagerly enquired after his sis- 

 ter. Satisfying me regarding my enquiry, he rose and offered to 

 conduct me to the apartment in which she was. 



Mounting a wide flight of gusty stairs, we passed through a dimly 

 lighted gallery, and, on reaching its farther end, entered an old- 

 fashioned chamber, scantily furnished, and looking not over-comfort- 

 able. I found Agatha Walberg seated in the window. She rose as 

 I entered, and expressed her pleasure at my presence. My diffi- 

 dence of the sincerity of their welcome gradually evaporated, and the 

 same confidential hilarity worked itself into our conversation which 

 had so agreeably characterized our intercourse in town. There was 

 something so particularly easy and good-natured in the disposition of 

 Walberg' s ' sister, that I was inclined to envy him the enjoyment 

 which her society afforded. " Blessed with such amiable companion- 

 ship," said I to him, " you cannot find your residence so dispiriting 

 and monotonous as I at first imagined it to be.*' Further conversa- 

 tion was suspended at the instance of Walberg, who insisted that I 



APRIL, 1837. 2 E 



