I picture to myself two persons of ordinary size sitting in that great room at that great table, far apart, in neat evening costume, sipping a little sherry, silent, genteel, and glum; and think the great and wealthy are not always to be envied, and that there may be more comfort and happiness in a snug parlour, where you are served by a brisk little maid, than in a great dark, dreary dining-hall, where a funereal major-domo and a couple of stealthy footmen minister to you your mutton-chops.

They come and lay the cloth presently, wide as the main-sheet of some tall ammiral.

A pile of newspapers and letters for the master of the house; the Newcome Sentinel, old county paper, moderate conservative, in which our worthy townsman and member is praised, his benefactions are recorded, and his speeches given at full length; the Newcome Independent, in which our precious member is weekly described as a ninny, and informed almost every Thursday morning that he is a bloated aristocrat, as he munches his dry toast.

Heaps of letters, county papers, Times and Morning Herald for Sir Brian Newcome; little heaps of letters (dinner and soiree cards most of these) and Morning Post for Mr.Barnes.Punctually as eight o'clock strikes, that young gentleman comes to breakfast; his father will lie yet for another hour; the Baronet's prodigious labours in the House of Commons keeping him frequently out of bed till sunrise.
As his cousin entered the room, Clive turned very red, and perhaps a faint blush might appear on Barnes's pallid countenance.

He came in, a handkerchief in one hand, a pamphlet in the other, and both hands being thus engaged, he could offer neither to his kinsmen.
"You are come to breakfast, I hope," he said--calling it "weakfast," and pronouncing the words with a most languid drawl--"or, perhaps, you want to see my father?
He is never out of his room till half-past nine.
Harper, did Sir Brian come in last night before or after me ?" Harper, the butler, thinks Sir Brian came in after Mr.Barnes.
When that functionary had quitted the room, Barnes turned round to his uncle in a candid, smiling way, and said, "The fact is, sir, I don't know when I came home myself very distinctly, and can't, of course, tell about my father.