hum of quiet animation which seems always to exhale along with the aroma
of the Chinese leaf. From the urn, where the house matron mounts guard
up to the Sixth Form end of the table, where the head of the house is
jotting down the list of absentees from the roll-call, the cloth is
thickly studded with the viands in tins and jars, rich and various in
colour, with which the schoolboy adds succulence to his meal. We open a
door out of the dim corridor, and enter a room with three more houses
seated round its walls. The sense of animation rises with the warmth and
brightness of the fire which roars in the grate. We collect the lists,
and move on to another and another room, till we have seen the last of
the eleven houses in a severely simple servants'-hall on the basement
floor. Thence we return to the wind and rain outside.

If we came here at dinner-time, we should see the housemaster at the head
of his table, and his wife or members of his family at the other end. The
scene would be quite wanting in the picturesque, but no sense of comfort
would make amends for it. For it is dark, especially in the centre of
the corridor, and the carver of those vast joints never knows when he
will strike his elbow against the walls or passers-by; while the
incidence of draughts is clearly enough defined by here and there a coat-
collar turned up in self-defence; for neither the glass front door, nor
the wooden porch, nor our massive porter can effectually keep out the
weather. Dinner here is a stern bit of the day's work, to be discharged
with a serious fortitude.

We have described how we eat, but said nothing yet of what was eaten. Yet
our practical narrative cannot ignore the matter. Certain delicate
subjects, however, are best treated dialectically, and perhaps we could
not here do better than record a dialogue which we think we must have
overheard between Grumbler and Cheerful, two dramatic characters not