front! You may conceive the consequence, Sir; I had not been long here,
not two years, before my health was gone, Sir, gone--the d--d vegetable
life sucked it out of me. The trees kept away all the air--I was nearly
suffocated, without, at first, guessing the cause. But at length, though
not till I had been withering away for five years, I discovered the
origin of my malady. I went to work, Sir; I plucked up the cursed garden,
I cut down the infernal chesnuts, I made a bowling green of the
diabolical wilderness, but I fear it is too late. I am dying by inches,--
have been dying ever since. The malaria has effectually tainted my
constitution."

Here Mr. Courtland heaved a deep sigh, and shook his head with a most
gloomy expression of countenance.

"Indeed, Sir," said Walter, "I should not, to look at you, imagine that
you suffered under any complaint. You seem still the same picture of
health, that my uncle describes you to have been when you knew him so
many years ago."

"Yes, Sir, yes; the confounded malaria fixed the colour to my cheeks; the
blood is stagnant, Sir. Would to God I could see myself a shade paler!--
the blood does not flow; I am like a pool in a citizen's garden, with a
willow at each corner;--but a truce to my complaints. You see, Sir, I am
no hypochondriac, as my fool of a doctor wants to persuade me: a
hypochondriac shudders at every breath of air, trembles when a door is
open, and looks upon a window as the entrance of death. But I, Sir, never
can have enough air; thorough draught or east wind, it is all the same to
me, so that I do but breathe. Is that like hypochondria?--pshaw! But tell
me, young gentleman, about your uncle; is he quite well,--stout,--
hearty,--does he breathe easily,--no oppression?"