Lights blazed in profusion; lamps more accustomed had now become better behaved; and the whole strength of the plate was called in requisition, sadly puzzling the unfortunate cook to find something to put upon the dishes. She, however, was a real magnanimous-minded woman, who would undertake to cook a lord mayor's feast--soups, sweets, joints, entrees, and all. Jawleyford was nearly silent during the dinner; indeed, he was too far off for conversation, had there been any for him to join in; which was not the case, for Amelia and Sponge kept up a hum of words, while Emily worked Robert Foozle with question and answer, such as: "Were your sisters out to-day?" "Yes, my sisters were out to-day." "Are your sisters going to the Christmas ball?" "Yes, my sisters are going to the Christmas ball," &c. &c. Still, nearly daft as Robert was, he was generally asked where there was anything going on; and more than one young la--but we will not tell about that, as he has nothing to do with our story. By the time the ladies took their departure, Mr. Jawleyford had somewhat recovered from the annoyance of his disappointment; and as they retired he rang the bell, and desired Spigot to set in the horse-shoe table, and bring a bottle of the "green seal," being the colour affixed on the bottles of a four-dozen hamper of port ("curious old port at 48_s_.") that had arrived from "Wintle & Co." by rail (goods train of course) that morning. "There!" exclaimed Jawleyford, as Spigot placed the richly cut decanter on the horse-shoe table. "There!" repeated he, drawing the green curtain as if to shade it from the fire, but in reality to hide the dulness the recent shaking had given it; "that wine," said he, "is a quarter of a century in bottle, at the very least." 'Indeed,' observed Sponge: 'time it was drunk.' 'A quarter of a century?' gaped Robert Foozle. 'Quarter of a century if it's a day,' replied Jawleyford, smacking his lips as he set down his glass after imbibing the precious beverage. 'Very fine,' observed Sponge; adding, as he sipped off his glass, 'it's odd to find such old wine so full-bodied.' 'Well, now tell us all about your day's proceedings,' said Jawleyford, thinking it advisable to change the conversation at once. 'What sport had you with my lord?' 'Oh, why, I really can't tell you much,' drawled Sponge, with an air of bewilderment. 'Strange country--strange faces--nobody I knew, and--' 'Ah, true,' replied Jawleyford, 'true. It occurred to me after you were gone, that perhaps you might not know any one. Ours, you see, is rather an out-of-the-way country; few of our people go to town, or indeed anywhere else; they are all tarry-at-home birds. But they'd receive you with great politeness, I'm sure--if they knew you came from here, at least,' added he. Sponge was silent, and took a great gulp of the dull 'Wintle,' to save himself from answering. 'Was my Lord Scamperdale out?' asked Jawleyford, seeing he was not going to get a reply.