"Certainly," cried Hamilton. "You are doing well, Chestnut. These noble old wines have a variety of dominant flavors, with what I might call a changeful halo of less decisive qualities. We call the more or less positive tastes apple, peach, prune, quince; but in fact these are mere names. The characterizing taste is too delicate for competent nomenclature. It is a thing transitory, evanescent, indefinable, like the quality of the best manners. No two are alike." "Yes," said Hamilton; "and this same wine, in bottles, after a few years would quite lose character. Even two demijohns of the same wine kept in one room constantly differ, like two of a family." "As you talk of these wines," said Chestnut, "I dimly recall the names of some I used to hear. ’Constitution,’ a Boston wine, was one—" "And a good vintage, too," said Hamilton. "It was the class wine of 1802." "The class wine?" queried Chestnut. "Yes. At Harvard each class used to import a tun of wine, which, after it was bottled, was distributed among the graduates. I still have two of the bottles with ’1802,’ surrounded by ’Constitution,’ molded in the glass." "A good wine it was," added Francis. "I know of no other which has been so little hurt by being bottled." "There were others I used also to hear about. One, I think, was called ’Resurrection’—a wine buried for protection in the war; but some of the names of these wines puzzle me." "The Butlers," returned Francis, "of course represent in their numbering the successive annual importations of Major Pierce Butler for his own use. Some wines were called from the special grape which produced them, as Bual, Sercial, Vidogna. As to others, it was a quality, as in the case of the famous apple-wine; or the name of the ship in which the wine came to us, as the Harriets (pale and dark), the Padre; others again were wines long held by families, as the Francis, Willing, Butler, and Burd Madeiras." "Might I ask how long may a Madeira live, and continuously gain in value for the palate?" "Ah, that depends on the wine," said Hamilton. "I never drank a wine over seventy years old which had not something to regret—like ourselves, eh, Wilmington?" "I have nothing to regret," returned the elder man, smiling, "except that I cannot live my life over precisely as it was. I have neglected no opportunity for innocent amusement, nor—" and he paused. "For some others," added Francis, amid a burst of laughter. "I fancy," said Chestnut, "that Mr. Wilmington is of the opinion of Howell. You will find it in those letters of his which Walpole loved." "And what was that?"