The gentleman addressed looked up. His face, on which were many furrows of laughter, grew slowly merry at the remembrance of the jest he was called on to repeat. "Oh, some of us were rather heavily discussing the duck-shooting on the Chesapeake. Wharton does not shoot, and, getting tired of the talk, said quietly, ’Did it ever happen to any of you to go out after Russia duck and get nothing but canvas back?" "For a moment we were all caught by the verbal likelihood of it; but when the laugh came it broke up the duck talk, to Wharton’s delight." "Ah, he said charming things; and now they are mostly forgotten," said the host. "Well, well," cried Wilmington, "so are the dinner and the wine of last year; but one would have been worse off without them. What was it he said of Colonel M——? Oh, yes. How the merry ghost of a jest haunts one, and at last recalls the substance! The colonel had been in the army, and later settled on a sugar-plantation. Wharton said of him, quoting Burns, "’His ’prentice han’ he tried on man, and then he made the lasses O!"’" "Delightful!" cried Chestnut. "Here is the terrapin," said Hamilton; and the supper went on with luxurious simplicity. Next came the ducks, which the host adroitly carved. Then the cloth was removed, the shining candelabra replaced on the polished mahogany table, and a crust of bread on a plate set by each guest. Meantime the talk continued, while Chestnut looked on, much amused at the gravity which of a sudden fell upon the party. "Olives?" "No," said Wilmington, declining. "Nothing cleans the palate like bread. For red wines, a peach helps one’s taste. Your table is perfect, Hamilton;" and, turning to the servant, "It does you credit, Uncle John. How many a fellow must have rolled under it when it was young! Ah, your old decanters and those coasters could tell some queer tales." "A pretty word, ’coaster,’" remarked Chestnut. "Coasters delivering wine at the human harbors around the table." "It is not in the dictionaries," said Francis. "Odd, that," returned Hamilton. "You may like to know, Chestnut, that at this table Washington, Lafayette, and Franklin have dined." "All Madeira men, I doubt not," said Wilmington; "that accounts for a good deal." "Perhaps," said the host, smiling. "Ah, I see you glancing at the cigars, Chestnut. But, alas! they are forbidden until the Madeira has been tasted." "Cigars!" exclaimed Wilmington. "The mere odor in a room destroys the palate." "I have never held to this belief," said Francis, addressing Chestnut. "But it is common among the lovers of wine. I would like to put Wilmington on oath as to this strange opinion. At least he will permit me to ask him if he believes that smoking affects the taste of all wines?" "There is but one wine," returned Wilmington. "And his name is Madeira, of course," laughed Francis. "But there are other juices of the grape which cannot be quite set aside as bastards."