ve me these men's houses for real
enjoyment, though you never get anything very choice there,--(how
can a man produce old wine who gives his oldest every
day?)--seldom much elbow room or orderly arrangement. The high
arts of gastronomy and scientific drinking so much valued in our
highly civilized community, are wholly unheeded by him, are
altogether above him, are cultivated in fact by quite another set
who have very little of the genuine spirit of hospitality in
them, from those tables, should one by chance happen upon them,
one senses, certainly with a feeling of satisfaction and
expansion, chiefly physical, but entirely without the expansion
of heart which one gets at the scramble of the hospitable man. So
that we are driven to remark, even in such everyday matters as
these, but it is the invisible, the spiritual, which after all
gives value and reality even to dinners; and, with Solomon, to
prefer the most touching _diner Russe_, the dinner of herbs where
love is, though I trust that neither we nor Solomon should object
to well-dressed cutlets with our salad, if they happened to be
going.

Readers will scarcely need to be told that one of the first
things Tom did, after depositing his luggage and unpacking his
wine, was to call at Hardy's rooms, where he found his friend
deep as usual in his books, the hard-worked atlases and
dictionaries of all sorts taking up more space than ever. After
the first hearty greeting, Tom occupied his old place with much
satisfaction.

"How long have you been up, old fellow?" he began; "you look
quite settled."

"I only went home for a week. Well, what have you been doing in
the vacation?"

"Oh, there was nothing much going on; so, amongst other things,
I've nearly floored my little-go work."

"Bravo! you'll find the comfort of it now. I hardly thought you
would take to the grind so easily."

"It's pleasant enough for a spurt," said Tom; "but I shall never
manage a horrid perpetual grind like yours. But what in the world
have you been doing to your walls?"

Tom might well ask, for the corners of Hardy's room were covered
with sheets of paper of different sizes, pasted against the wall
in groups. In the line of sight, from about the height of four to
six feet, there was scarcely an inch of the original paper
visible, and round each centre group there were outlying patches
and streamers, stretching towards floor or ceiling, or away
nearly to the bookcases or fireplace.

"