daylight and candlelight, and amused in his quiet way at the scene and
the intense interest of the chief actors in it, which, like other things
he did not comprehend, had for him the charm of oddness. I went over
and stood by him while the porter dropped the tester-glass into the cool
depths of cask after cask, and solemn counsel was held and grave
decisions reached. I was enchanted with one meagre, little old gentleman
of frail and refined figure, who bent over his wine with closed eyes, as
if to shut out all the sense-impressions he did not need, while the rest
waited to hear what he had to say.

"Needs a milk fining," muttered the old gentleman, with eyes shut as if
in prayer.

"Wants its back broke with a good lot of eggshell," said a short, stout
man with a snuff-colored coat, the collar well up the back of his head.

"Ach!" murmured Schmidt. "The back to be hurt with eggshell! What hath
he of meaning?"

"Pshaw!" said a third: "give it a little rest, and then the white of an
egg to every five gallons. Is it bual?"

"Is it gruel?" said our senior sarcastically.

"Wants age. A good wine for one's grandchildren," murmured my old friend
with shut eyes.

"What is it he calls gruel?" whispered Schmidt. "How nice is a picture
he makes when he shuts his eyes and the light of the candle comes
through the wine, all bright ruby, in the dark here! And ah, what is
that?" for Wholesome, who had been taking his wine in a kindly way, and
having his say with that sense of being always sure which an old taster
affects, glancing out of one of the little barred cellar-windows which
looked out over the wharf, said abruptly, "Ha! ha! that won't do!"

Turning, I saw under the broad-brimmed hat in the clear gray eyes a
sudden sparkle of excitement as he ran hastily up the cellar-stairs.
Seeing that something unusual was afloat, I followed him quickly out on
to the wharf, where presently the cause of his movement was made plain.

Beside the wharf was a large ship, with two planks running down from her
decks to the wharf. Just at the top of the farther one from us a large
black-haired, swarthy man was brutally kicking an aged negro, who was
hastily moving downward, clinging to the hand-rail. Colored folks were
then apt to be old servants--that is to say, friends--and this was our
pensioned porter, Old Tom. I was close behind Wholesome at the door of
the counting-house. I am almost sure he said "Damnation!" At all events,
he thre