"And a bottle of sound port to follow?"

Port upon home-brewed beer! But I had dared it often enough in my
Oxford days, and a long evening lay before me, with a snug armchair, and
a fire fit to roast a sheep. I assented.

He withdrew to fetch up the meal, and I looked about me with curiosity.
The room was a long one--perhaps fifty feet from end to end, and not
less than ten paces broad. It was wainscotted to the height of four
feet from the ground, probably with oak, but the wood had been so larded
with dark blue paint that its texture could not be discovered.
Above this wainscot the walls were covered with a fascinating paper.
The background of this was a greenish-blue, and upon it a party of
red-coated riders in three-cornered hats blew large horns while they
hunted a stag. This pattern, striking enough in itself, became
immeasurably more so when repeated a dozen times; for the stag of one
hunt chased the riders of the next, and the riders chased the hounds,
and so on in an unbroken procession right round the room. The window at
the bottom of the room stood high in the wall, with short blue curtains
and a blue-cushioned seat beneath. In the corner to the right of it
stood a tall clock, and by the clock an old spinet, decorated with two
plated cruets, a toy cottage constructed of shells and gum, and an
ormolu clock under glass--the sort of ornament that an Agricultural
Society presents to the tenant of the best-cultivated farm within thirty
miles of somewhere or other. The floor was un-carpeted save for one
small oasis opposite the fire. Here stood my table, cleanly spread,
with two plated candlesticks, each holding three candles. Along the
wainscot extended a regiment of dark, leather-cushioned chairs, so
straight in the back that they seemed to be standing at attention.
There was but one easy-chair in the room, and this was drawn close to