The four comfortable walls gave a broad smile of welcome, which was multitudinously repeated from the well-known back of every beloved book. Softly gleamed the Argand burner from the green-topped study table; hospitably flickered the blazing Wallsend from the wide-mouthed grate; seductive was the invitation extended me by padded easy-chair, fox-skin hearthrug, and toasted slippers; crisp was the greeting of the evening's _Pall Mall_ lying on the table; and solid the promise of the latest _Contemporary_, containing, as I knew, my article on "Unrecognisable Truths in their Relation to Non-existent Phenomena." Bethinking myself, moreover, of the decanter of matchless old port-wine in the right-hand cupboard of the table, and of the box of prime Cabanas, made to my own order in Habana, in the drawer on the left, I was not so much disposed to envy Calbot his late betrothal to the beautiful Miss Burleigh, the news whereof he had triumphantly poured into my bachelor ears a week or two before. "Never mind, Drayton, old fellow," I muttered to myself, as I pushed off my boots and slid my feet into the toasted slippers; "what matter though love, courtship, and marriage be not for thee? Thou hast yet thy luxuries"--here I sank slowly into my easy-chair, "thy creature comforts"--here I got out the wine and the cigars, "and thy beloved offspring!"--here I glanced at "Unrecognisable Truths," &c., printed on the cover of the _Contemporary_. While I am pouring out and tasting a mellow glass of port, let me briefly recall what and whence I am. Snugness, comfort, and privacy are my _desiderata_. My visible possessions must be few, intrinsically valuable, and so disposed as to lie within the scope of two or three paces and an outstretched arm. My being a bachelor (and at the age of forty, I think I may add a confirmed one) enables me to indulge these and other whims conveniently and without embarrassment. My forefathers kept large establishments and had big families--and plenty of bother and discomfort into the bargain. But when my turn came, I sold out everything (except a few old heirlooms, and a part of the library, and an ancestral portrait or two), put the cash proceeds in the Funds, and myself, with my literary tastes and æsthetic culture, into the rooms which I now occupy. I might live in a much more grandiose style if I pleased, but in my opinion I am very well off as I am. I can find my way to Freemasons' Tavern on occasions; my essays are a power in the philosophic and theologic worlds; and I can count on a friend or two worth their weight in gold, morally, mentally, and materially. Poor Calbot, to be sure--but more of him anon.