feel some tired; but if folks get what suits 'em, we don't
begrudge the time nor the work. But I do feel thirsty," said the poor
lady, "and I think a glass of srub would do my throat good; it's dreadful
dry. Mr. Peckham, would you be so polite as to pass me a glass of srub?"

Silas Peckham bowed with great alacrity, and took from the table a small
glass cup, containing a fluid reddish in hue and subacid in taste. This
was srub, a beverage in local repute, of questionable nature, but
suspected of owing its tint and sharpness to some kind of syrup derived
from the maroon-colored fruit of the sumac. There were similar small
cups on the table filled with lemonade, and here and there a decanter of
Madeira wine, of the Marsala kind, which some prefer to, and many more
cannot distinguish from, that which comes from the Atlantic island.

"Take a glass of wine, Judge," said, the Colonel; "here is an article
that I rather think 'll suit you."

The Judge knew something of wines, and could tell all the famous old
Madeiras from each other, "Eclipse," "Juno," the almost fabulously scarce
and precious "White-top," and the rest. He struck the nativity of the
Mediterranean Madeira before it had fairly moistened his lip.

"A sound wine, Colonel, and I should think of a genuine vintage. Your
very good health."

"Deacon Soper," said the Colonel, "here is some Madary Judge Thornton
recommends. Let me fill you a glass of it."

The Deacon's eyes glistened. He was one of those consistent Christians
who stick firmly by the first miracle and Paul's advice to Timothy.

"A little good wine won't hurt anybody," said the Deacon. "Plenty,
--plenty,--plenty. There!" He had not withdrawn his glass, while the
Colonel was pouring, for fear it should spill, and now it was running
over.

--It is very odd how all a man's philosophy and theology are at the mercy
of a few drops of a fluid which the chemists say consists of nothing but
C4, O2, H6. The Deacon's theology fell off several points towards
latitudinarianism in the course of the next ten minutes. He had a deep
inward sense that everything was as it should be, human nature included.
The little accidents of humanity, known collectively to moralists as sin,
looked very venial to his growing sense of universal brotherhood and
benevolence.

"It will all come right," the Deacon said to himself,--"I feel a joyful
conviction that everything is for the best. I am favored with a blessed