It was about ten o'clock that night that Old Hurricane, well wrapped up in his quilted flannel dressing-gown, sat in his well-padded easy-chair before a warm and bright fire, taking his comfort in his own most comfortable bedroom. This was the hour of the coziest enjoyment to the self-indulgent old Sybarite, who dearly loved his own ease. And, indeed, every means and appliance of bodily comfort was at hand. Strong oaken shutters and thick, heavy curtains at the windows kept out every draft of air, and so deadened the sound of the wind that its subdued moaning was just sufficient to remind one of the stormy weather without in contrast to the bright warmth within. Old Hurricane, as I said, sat well wrapped up in his wadded dressing-gown, and reclining in his padded easy-chair, with his head thrown back and his feet upon the fire irons, toasting his shins and sipping his punch. On his right stood a little table with a lighted candle, a stack of clay pipes, a jug of punch, lemons, sugar, Holland gin, etc., while on the hearth sat a kettle of boiling water to help replenish the jug, if needful. On his left hand stood his cozy bedstead, with its warm crimson curtains festooned back, revealing the luxurious swell of the full feather bed and pillows, with their snow-white linen and lamb's-wool blankets, inviting repose. Between this bedstead and the corner of the fireplace stood Old Hurricane's ancient body servant Wool, engaged in warming a crimson cloth nightcap. "Fools!" muttered Old Hurricane, over his punch--"jacks! they'll all get the pleurisy except those that get drunk! Did they all go, Wool?" "Ebery man, 'oman and chile, sar!--'cept 'tis me and coachman, sar!" "More fools they! And I shouldn't wonder if you, you old scarecrow, didn't want to go too!" "No, Marse----" "I know better, sir! Don't contradict me! Well, as soon as I'm in bed, and that won't be long now, you may go--so that you get back in time to wait on me to-morrow morning." "Thanky, marse." "Hold your tongue! You're as big a fool as the rest." "I take this," said Old Hurricane, as he sipped his punch and smacked his lips--"I take this to be the very quintessence of human enjoyment--sitting here in my soft, warm chair before the fire, toasting my legs, sipping my punch, listening on the one hand to the storm without and glancing on the other hand at my comfortable bed waiting there to receive my sleepy head. If there is anything better than this in this world I wish somebody would let me know it." "It's all werry comformable indeed, marse," said the obsequious Wool. "I wonder, now, if there is anything on the face of the earth that would tempt me to leave my cozy fireside and go abroad to-night? I wonder how large a promise of pleasure or profit or glory it would take now?" "Much as ebber Congress itse'f could give, if it give you a penance for all your sarvins," suggested Wool.