All was still and quiet; not a sound, save the loud ticking of a timepiece,
or the occasional creak of a jarring door, disturbed the solemn silence of
the house. A nimble-handed mugger or tramp might have carried off whatever
he liked.
Passing onward, Mr. Sponge came to a red-baized, brass-nailed door, which,
opening freely on a patent spring, revealed the fine proportions of a light
picture-gallery with which the bright mahogany doors of the entertaining
rooms communicated. Opening the first door he came to, our friend found
himself in the elegant drawing-room, on whose round bird's-eye-maple table,
in the centre, were huddled all the unequal-lengthed candles of the
previous night's illumination. It was a handsome apartment, fitted up in
the most costly style; with rose-colour brocaded satin damask, the curtains
trimmed with silk tassel fringe, and ornamented with massive bullion
tassels on cornices, Cupids supporting wreaths under an arch, with open
carved-work and enrichments in burnished gold. The room, save the muster of
the candles, was just as it had been left; and the richly gilt sofa still
retained the indentations of the sitters, with the luxurious down pillows,
left as they had been supporting their backs.
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