"It is long since I read it. I am not quite sure I can repeat it accurately. He contends in a humorous vein for the moral value of wine—I think he is speaking of Canary. ’Of this,’ he says, ’may be verified that merry induction—that good wine makes good blood; good blood causeth good thoughts; good thoughts bring forth good works; good works carry a man to heaven: _ergo_, good wine carrieth a man to heaven.’" "It sounds like one of Shakspere’s fools," said Hamilton. "I should like to read that book," added Wilmington. "It is at your service," replied Chestnut; "and what else he says of wine is worth reading." "Then let us get nearer to good works," laughed their host. "Here is a pleasant preacher. Try this." "Ah," said Wilmington; "a new friend! Curious, that. Observe, Chestnut, the just perceptible smoke-flavor—a fine, clean-tasting, middle-aged wine—a gentleman, sir, a gentleman! Will never remind you to-morrow of the favor he did you last night." "Needs time," said Francis, "and a careful fining—a little egg-shell and the white of one egg." "One might risk it," said Wilmington. "But I would rather use a milk fining. It is more delicate, and the wine recovers sooner, unless the dose of milk be too large. But above all, Hamilton, be careful about the moon. A summer fining might be better, but touch it lightly." "What on earth has the moon to do with it?" said Chestnut. "If you want to spoil a Madeira," answered Wilmington, "fine it at the change of the moon. I spoiled my dark Harriet that way. Always fine a wine during the decline of the moon." "I shall call this wine ’Smoke,’" said Hamilton. "Its name is really Palido. Certainly it has a great future. No better wine ever coasted along the shores of this table, and it has seen many vinous voyages. And now for a very interesting vintage. A little more bread, John. ’With the sun.’" Wilmington ate a morsel of bread, rinsed a glass in the bowl before him, filled it to the brim, and slowly emptied it. Then he set it down deliberately. "That is not Madeira, Hamilton; that is sherry. Some mistake." "What!" cried Francis. "Wrong for once! It is Madeira, and old,—too old, I should say." "I thought I should puzzle you. I have but little of it left, and it is new to all of you. Two generations have disputed its parentage." "I might be mistaken," said Wilmington. "There are Madeiras so like some rare sherries as to puzzle any palate." "I myself," said Hamilton, "have an inherited belief that it is Madeira. It is difficult to tell, at times, a very old Madeira from a very aged sherry. The Burd wine was remarkable because no one could decide this question. I have heard an old friend remark that the age of all great wines brought them together as to taste. Thus a certain Charles March grape-juice and Blue Seal Johannisberger were scarcely to be told apart."