ress
of my companion's convalescence, I took to wandering about the
neighborhood within a circle of four or five miles, inspecting the
proceedings of the agriculturists, and making acquaintance with the
country-people. On one of these excursions, seeing a high wall and an
iron-gate, I turned out of my road to take a peep at the interior
through the rails; but I found them so overgrown with creepers of one
sort or another, that it was not easy to distinguish any thing but a
house which stood about a hundred yards from the entrance. Finding,
however, that the gate was not quite closed, I gave it a push; and
although it moved very stiffly on its hinges, and grated along the
ground as it went, I contrived to force an aperture wide enough to put
in my head. What a scene of desolation was there! The house, which was
built of dark-colored bricks, looked as if it had not been inhabited for
a century. The roof was much decayed, the paint black with age, the
stone-steps green with moss, and the windows all concealed by discolored
and dilapidated Venetian blinds. The garden was a wilderness of weeds
and overgrown rose-bushes; and except one broad one, in a right line
with the main-door of the house, the paths were no longer
distinguishable. After surveying this dismal scene for some time, I came
away with a strange feeling of curiosity. "Why should this place be so
entirely deserted and neglected?" thought I. It was not like a fortress,
a castle, or an abbey, allowed to fall into ruins from extreme age,
because no longer appropriate to the habits of the period. On the
contrary, the building I had seen was comparatively modern, and had
fallen to decay merely for want of those timely repairs and defenses
from the weather that ordinary prudence prescribes. "Perhaps there is
some sad history attached to the spot," I thought; "or perhaps the race
to whom it belonged have died out; or maybe the cause of its destruction
is nothing more tragical than a lawsuit!"

As I returned, I inquired of a woman in the nearest village if she could
tell me to whom that desolate spot belonged.

"To a Spaniard," she answered; "but he is dead!"

"But to whom does it belong now?" I asked. "Why is it suffered to fall
into ruin?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, and re-entering the hovel,
at the door of which she had been standing.

During dinner that day I asked the host of the inn if he knew the place,
and could satisfy my curiosity. He k