He usually dined rather early, at 7 or 7.30 o'clock, and Mrs. Tennyson would generally carve (or in later times Hallam), according to the old-fashioned custom. He talked freely, with an abundance of anecdote and story, and full of humour, and "chaff" (no touch of pedantry or priggism could live in his presence); and always when at home made a move for dessert to another room--the morning room at Aldworth--where he would begin his bottle (pint) of port, and with the exception of a glass or so, would finish it, talking all the time with entire geniality and abandon, and full of reminiscences of men and things. Sometimes he would recur to his grievances at the hands of his publishers, and pour out his complaints about them, until finally landed, to his entire satisfaction, with Macmillan. After dessert he would retire to his study and his after-dinner pipe, which he took quite by himself; and would then come into the drawing-room, whither the others had repaired some time, and join in general talk again and perhaps read, at some one's request, some of his own poems, till the ladies left for bed.[67] Then he would invite some favoured guest or guests to his study, and begin the confidential discussions and soliloquies which it was a priceless privilege--the most valued and treasured of privileges--to share and to listen to. At such times all his inmost thoughts and feelings, recollections and speculations of his life came out with the open simplicity of a child and the keen insight and far sight of a prophet; and one had glimpses into the mystery of things beyond one's own power of seeing, and as if seen through a telescope. * * * * * I have before stated how he more than once summed up his personal religion in the words: "There's a Something That watches over us, and our Individuality endures." On one occasion he added, "I do not say endures for ever, but I say endures after this life at any rate.[68]" When in answer to the question, What was his deepest desire of all? he said, "A clearer vision of God," it exactly expressed the continued strivings of his spirit for more light upon every possible question, which so constantly appear in his poems, which led him to join in founding the Metaphysical Society, and induced him to write the introductory sonnet in the _Nineteenth Century_. Out of all such talks, at many times and places repeated, I came to know his actual personal position, in those years at any rate of the growth of old age, concerning the most vital problems of this world and this life. Many scores of such times have fallen to my happy lot, and my life has been all the richer for them. THE FUNERAL OF DICKENS