ford's turn to have a little froth; and having sucked it
up with the air of a man drinking nectar, he set down his glass with a
shake of the head, saying:

'There's no such wine as that to be got now-a-days.'

'Capital wine!--Excellent!' exclaimed Sponge, who was a better judge of ale
than of champagne. 'Pray, where might you get it?'

'Impossible to say!--Impossible to say!' replied Jawleyford, throwing up
his hands with a shake, and shrugging his shoulders. 'I have such a stock
of wine as is really quite ridiculous.'

'_Quite_ ridiculous,' thought Spigot, who, by the aid of a false key, had
been through the cellar.

Except the 'Shell and Tortoise' and 'Wintle,' the estate supplied the
repast. The carp was out of the home-pond; the tench, or whatever it was,
was out of the mill-pond; the mutton was from the farm; the
carrot-and-turnip-and-beet-bedaubed stewed beef was from ditto; while the
garden supplied the vegetables that luxuriated in the massive silver
side-dishes. Watson's gun furnished the old hare and partridges that opened
the ball of the second course; and tarts, jellies, preserves, and custards
made their usual appearances. Some first-growth Chateaux Margaux 'Wintle,'
again at 66_s._, in very richly cut decanters accompanied the old 36_s._
port; and apples, pears, nuts, figs, preserved fruits, occupied the
splendid green-and-gold dessert set. Everything, of course, was handed
about--an ingenious way of tormenting a person that has 'dined.' The
ladies sat long, Mrs. Jawleyford taking three glasses of port (when she
could get it); and it was a quarter to eight when they rose from the table.

Jawleyford then moved an adjournment to the fire; which Sponge gladly
seconded, for he had never been warm since he came into the house, the heat
from the fires seeming to go up the chimneys. Spigot set them a little
round table, placing the port and claret upon it, and bringing them a plate
of biscuits in lieu of the dessert. He then reduced the illumination on the
table, and extinguished such of the lamps as had not gone out of
themselves. Having cast an approving glance around, and seen that they had
what he considered right, he left them to their own devices.

'Do you drink port or claret, Mr. Sponge?' asked Jawleyford, preparing to
push whichever he preferred over to him.

'I'll take a little port, _first_, if you please,' replied our friend--as
much as to say, 'I'll finish off with claret.'

'You'll find tha