s followed by the proper filtration and racking both of Ports and
Madeiras, and whether milk or egg were best for the purpose--Kennedy
recounting his experience of different vintages both here and abroad,
the others joining in, and all with the same intense interest that a
group of scientists or collectors would have evinced in discussing some
new discovery in chemistry or physics, or the coming to light of some
rare volume long since out of print--everybody, indeed, taking a hand
in the discussion except Latrobe, whose mouth was occupied in the slow
sipping of his favorite Madeira--tilting a few drops now and then on
the end of his tongue, his eyes devoutly closed that he might the better
relish its flavor and aroma.

It was all an object lesson to Harry, who had never been to a dinner of
older men--not even at his father's--and though at first he smiled at
what seemed to him a great fuss over nothing, he finally began to take
a broader view. Wine, then, was like food or music, or poetry--or
good-fellowship--something to be enjoyed in its place--and never out of
it. For all that, he had allowed no drop of anything to fall into his
own glass--a determination which Todd understood perfectly, but which he
as studiously chose to ignore--going through all the motions of filling
the glass so as not to cause Marse Harry any embarrassment. Even the
"1817" was turned down by the young man with a parrying gesture which
caught the alert eyes of the major.

"You are right, my boy," the bon vivant said sententiously. "It is a
wine for old men. But look after your stomach, you dog--or you may wake
up some fine morning and not be able to know good Madeira from bad. You
young bloods, with your vile concoctions of toddies, punches, and other
satanic brews, are fast going to the devil--your palates, I am speaking
of. If you ever saw the inside of a distillery you would never drink
another drop of whiskey. There's poison in every thimbleful. There's
sunshine in this, sir!" and he held the glass to his eyes until the
light of the candles flashed through it.

"But I've never seen the inside or outside of a distillery in my life,"
answered Harry with a laugh, a reply which did not in the least quench
the major's enthusiasms, who went on dilating, wine-glass in hand, on
the vulgarity of drinking STANDING UP--the habitual custom of whiskey
tipplers--in contrast with the refinement of sipping wines SITTING
DOWN--one being a vice and the othe