sir. Better take the cigar, sir,--you can always give
it to a friend, you know. Well, sir, thank ye, sir;--as you are so
good, I'll smoke it myself." And so Mr Harding ascended to the divan,
with his ticket for coffee, but minus the cigar.

The place seemed much more suitable to his requirements than the
room in which he had dined: there was, to be sure, a strong smell of
tobacco, to which he was not accustomed; but after the shell-fish, the
tobacco did not seem disagreeable. There were quantities of books,
and long rows of sofas. What on earth could be more luxurious than a
sofa, a book, and a cup of coffee? An old waiter came up to him, with
a couple of magazines and an evening paper. Was ever anything so
civil? Would he have a cup of coffee, or would he prefer sherbet?
Sherbet! Was he absolutely in an Eastern divan, with the slight
addition of all the London periodicals? He had, however, an idea that
sherbet should be drunk sitting cross-legged, and as he was not quite
up to this, he ordered the coffee.

The coffee came, and was unexceptionable. Why, this divan was a
paradise! The civil old waiter suggested to him a game of chess:
though a chess player he was not equal to this, so he declined, and,
putting up his weary legs on the sofa, leisurely sipped his coffee,
and turned over the pages of his Blackwood. He might have been so
engaged for about an hour, for the old waiter enticed him to a second
cup of coffee, when a musical clock began to play. Mr Harding then
closed his magazine, keeping his place with his finger, and lay,
listening with closed eyes to the clock. Soon the clock seemed to
turn into a violoncello, with piano accompaniments, and Mr Harding
began to fancy the old waiter was the Bishop of Barchester; he was
inexpressibly shocked that the bishop should have brought him his
coffee with his own hands; then Dr Grantly came in, with a basket full
of lobsters, which he would not be induced to leave downstairs in the
kitchen; and then the warden couldn't quite understand why so many
people would smoke in the bishop's drawing-room; and so he fell fast
asleep, and his dreams wandered away to his accustomed stall in
Barchester Cathedral, and the twelve old men he was so soon about to
leave for ever.

He was fatigued, and slept soundly for some time. Some sudden stop in
the musical clock woke him at length, and he jumped up with a start,
surprised to find the room quite full: it had been near