portion of its population was about to run away from it, Oxford was looking at its best.
The confused talk at Mr. Bouncer's breakfast-table was somewhat settling down into more regular conversation, as pipes and cigars were lighted, and a perfumed cloud began to float through the room and mingle its scent with the aroma of coffee and spiced ale. Huz
and Buz were making themselves happy with platefuls of chicken-bones, and their master was lolling at his ease, with his legs stretched over the arm of his easy-chair. Verdant Green and the greater portion of the guests lingered at the table, while others looked out of the windows, enjoying a smoke and the prospect—the latter including pleasant glimpses of the young ladies who appeared at the opened windows of rooms whose owners were, in that respect, more fortunate than was little Mr. Bouncer.
But what was said on that occasion by himself and his friends must be told in another chapter.
