Before the fire-place, at a convenient distance, stood a round table, covered with the relics of the evening-meal. Drinking-cups are there, and flagons, and it would seem that in that squat, flat-sided, long-necked bottle, there is some precious and much-esteemed liquor, from the tall glasses, gilt and bedizened, which stand by, and can never be destined for the conveyance of any unworthy fluid. Between the table and the fire, so near the former that the elbow could rest comfortably upon it, sat the good knight the master of the house, and his young kinsman; and between them, again, and the chimney, lay a large, shaggy hound, such as would have delighted the soul of a Landseer, or a Scott, and who may have been a remote connexion of one of those immortalized by Rubens. Stretched out like a trussed hare, with his paws before him, and his long muzzle gracefully leaning over the ankle next to the fire, the good dog seemed to be asleep; and, perhaps, had his head been in a position to accomplish such a feat, he might have nodded from time to time; but, nevertheless, he was evidently only in a state of pleasant drowsiness, for ever and anon he opened his keen eyes, and gazed into the fire, as if wondering what that extraordinary element could be, and twice lifted up his head, and looked in his master's face, to see that all was right, speedily settling himself down to his doze again. It is a sweet and pleasant thing for two old, familiar friends to spend together a long hour after the sun has gone down, and when all the world is quiet, in a warm room, with a blazing fire, and with the moderate use of the pure juice of the grape to fill the intervals of conversation. No haste is upon them, no hurry, no hateful pressure of importunate business; there they can sit as long as they choose; it matters not whether they rise the next minute, or three hours hence. They are free--in short, free from the bondage of worldly affairs, and can do what they think fit with their little treasure of time. No liberty is more pleasant than the emancipation, from all the chains, and shackles, and bars, and bonds of business; and there, when Memory, sweet Memory, takes us by the hand, and leads us back into the flower garden of other years, and points out all the blossoming things that we loved, looking as fresh and beautiful as ever, how sweet are the sensations, how entrancing would they be, were it not for the subdued consciousness that it is all a part of the dream that is passing away.