fear, however, that we do come in—in the matter of ‘fine golden sherries, at 22s. 9½d. a dozen,’ or ‘peculiar old-crusted port, at 1s. 9d.’—for a share of the Cette manufactures; and it is very probable that after the wine is fabricated upon the shores of the Mediterranean, it is still further improved upon the banks of the Thames.” We wish that these remarks could be made practically useful to that class of men who give dinners, and gabble about their wines. Nothing is, to our mind, more disgusting than the conduct of an Amphytrion who accompanies the introduction of each bottle by an apocryphal averment as to its age, coupled with a minute account of the manner in which it came into his possession—he having, in nine cases out of ten, purchased it at a sale. Sometimes the man goes further, and volunteers a statement of its price. Now this is, to say the very least of it, a mark of the worst possible breeding. No guest, with a palate to his mouth, will relish the wine any better, because the ninny-hammer who gives it declares that it cost him seven guineas a dozen. We don’t want to know from an entertainer, unless he be a tavern-keeper, the absolute cost of his victuals. Just fancy Lucullus, in the saloon of Apollo, recounting the items of his repast—“Flaccus, my friend, those oysters which you are devouring with so much gusto cost ten sestertii a-piece. Fabius, my fine fellow, that dish of thrushes which you have just swallowed was not got for nothing—it cost me a whole sestertium. Peg away, Plancus, at the lampreys! May Pluto seize me if a dozen of them are not worth a tribune’s salary. You like the Falernian, Furius? Ay—that’s right Anno Urbis 521—I bought it at Sylla’s sale. It just cost me its weight in silver. Davus, you dog! bring another amphora with the red seal—the same that we got from the cellars of Mithridates. Here’s that, O conscript fathers, which will make the cockles of your hearts rejoice!” Now, who will tell us that such conversation, which would be revolting even from a Lucullus, ought to be tolerated from the lips of some pert whippersnapper, who, ten years ago, would have been thankful for a bumper of Bucellas after a repast upon fried liver? We are serious in saying that it is full time to put a stop to such a nuisance, which is more common than many people would believe; and perhaps the easiest way of doing so is by doggedly maintaining that each bottle is corked. After half-a-dozen of the famous vintage have been opened, and pronounced undrinkable, the odds are that you will hear nothing more for the rest of the evening on the subject of liquor. Your suggestion as to a tumbler will be received with grateful humility, and thus you will not only receive the applause of your fellow-guests, but the approbation of your own stomach and conscience, both then and on the following morning.