But this was only part of the effect
perhap, was6 tery little done in the way of modernising details; and,here had beenetter so; for there was something queer and by-gone inthe very walls and cellings-in the shape of doors and windowsin theodd diagonal site of the chimney-pieces-in the beams and ponderouscormices-not to mention the singular solidity of all the woodwork, fromthe banisters to the window-frames, which hopelessly defied disguise,and would have emphatically proclaimed their antiquity through anyconceivable amount of modern finery and varnish.An effort had, indeed, been made, to the extent of papering thedrawing-rooms; but somehow, the paper looked raw and out of keepinand the old woman, who kept a little dirt-pie of a shop in the lane, andwhose daughter-a girl of two and flfty-was our solitary handmaidcoming in at sunrise, and chastely receding again as soon as she hadmade all ready for tea in our state apartment,this woman, I say,remembered it, when old Judge Horrocks(who, having earned the reputaon of a particularly hanging judge, ended by hanging himself, as theoroner's jury found, under an impulse of temporary insanity, with ahilds skipping-rope, over the massive old bannisters)resided there, en-tertaining good company, with fine venison and rare old port. In thosehalcyon days, the drawing- rooms were hung with gilded leather, anddare say, cut a good figure, for they were really spacious roomsThe bedrooms were wainscoted, but the front one was not gloomy;nd in it the cosiness of antiquity quite overcame its sombre associations.But the back bedroom, with its two queerly-placed melancholy win-dows, staring vacantly at the foot of the bed, and with the shadowy re-ess to be found in most old houses in Dublin, like a large ghostly closet,which, from congeniality of temperament, had amalgamated with thebedchamber, and dissolved the partition. At night-time, this alcowe-asour maid was wont to call it-had, in my eyes, a specially sinister andsuggestive character. Tom 's distant and solitary candle glimmered vainlyinto its darkness. There it was always overlooking him-always itself im-penetrable. But this was only part of the effect. The whole room wascant tell how, repulsive to me. There was, I suppose, in its proportionsand features, a latent discord-a certain mysterious and indescribable re-lation, which jarred indistinctly upon some secret sense of the fitting andthe safe, and raised indefinable suspicions and apprehensions of theimagination. On the whole, as I began by saying, nothing could have in-duced me to pass a night alone in it.
had never pretended to conceal from poor Tom my superstitiousWeakness; and he, on the other hand, most unaffectedly ridiculed mytremors. The sceptic was, however, destined to receive a lesson, as youshall heare had not been very long in occupation of our respective dormitor-ics, when I began to complain of uneasy nights and disturbed sleewas,I suppose, the more impatient under this annoyance, as I was usu-ally a sound sleeper, and by no means prone to nightmares. It was nowhowever, my destiny, instead of enjoying my customary repose, everynight to sup full of horrors. After a preliminary course of disagreeableand frightful dreams, my troubles took a definite form, and the same vis-ion, without an appreciable variation in a single detail, visited me at least(on an average) every second night in the week.Now, this dream, nightmare, or infernal illusion-which youplease--of which I was the miserable sport, was on this wiseI saw, or thought I saw, with the most abominable distinctness, although at the time in profound darkness, every article of furniture andaccidental arrarnt of the chamber in which I lay. This, as you knowis incidental to ordinary nightmare. Well, while in this clairvoyant condi-on, which seemed but the lighting up of the theatre in which was to beexhibited the monotonous tableau of horror, which made my nights in-supportable, my attention invariably became, I know not why, fixedupon the windows opposite the foot of my bed; and, uniformly with thesame effect, a sense of dreadful anticipation always took slow but surepossession of me. I became somehow conscious of a sort of horrid butundefined preparation going forward in some unknown quarter, and bysome unknown agency, for my torment; and, after an interval, which al-ways seemed to me of the same length, a picture suddenly flew up to thewindow, where it remained fixed, as if by an electrical attraction, and mydiscipline of horror then commenced, to last perhaps for hours. The pic-ture thus mysteriously glued to the window-panes, was the portrait ofan old man, in a crimson flowered silk dressing-gown, the folds of whichI could now describe, with a countenance embodying a strange mixtureof intellect, sensuality, and power, but withal sinister and full of malignant omen. His nose was hooked, like the beak of a vulture; his eyeslarge, grey, and prominent, and lighted up with a more than mortalcruelty and coldness. These features were surmounted by a crimsonvelvet cap, the hair that peeped from under which was white with age,while the eyebrows retained their original blackness. Well I remembeevery line, hue, and shadow of that stony countenance, and well I mayThe gaze of this hellish visage was fixed upon me, and mine returned itwith the inexplicable fascination of nightmare, for what appeared to meto be hours of agony. At last
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