It might be said of our fellow-townsman--and it was--that he lived and breathed and had his being in the shadow of his grandfather. Among the ribald and the irreverent stories circulated was one to the effect that he talked of him in his sleep. He talked of him pretty assiduously when awake; there wasn't any doubt of that. As you entered his home you were confronted in the main hall by a large oil portrait of an elderly gentleman of austere mien, wearing a swallow-fork coat and a neck muffler and with his hair brushed straight back from the forehead in a sweep, just as Andrew Jackson brushed his back. You were bound to notice this picture, the very first thing. If by any chance you didn't notice it, Quintus Q. found a way of directing your attention to it. Then you observed the family resemblance. Quintus Q., standing there alongside, held his hand on his hip after exactly the same fashion that his grandfather held _his_ hand on _his_ hip in the pictured pose. It was startling really--the reproduction of this trait by hereditary impulse. Quintus Q. thought there was something about the expression of the eyes, too. If during the evening some one mentioned horses--and what assemblage of male Kentuckians ever bided together for any length of time without some one mentioning horses?--the host's memory was instantly quickened in regard to the white stallion named _Fairfax. Fairfax_ achieved immortality beyond other horses of his period through Quintus Q. Some went so far as to intimate that Mr. Montjoy made a habit of serving hams upon his table for a certain and especial purpose. You had but to refer in complimentary terms to the flavour of the curly shavings-thin slice which he had deposited upon your plate. “Speaking of hams,” he would say--“speaking of hams, I am reminded of my grandfather, the old General--General Braxton Montjoy, you remember. The General fought one of his duels--he fought four, you know, and acted as second in three others--over a ham. Or perhaps I should say over the process of smoking a ham with hickory wood. His antagonist was no less a person than a cousin of President Thomas Jefferson. The General thought his veracity had been impugned and he, called the other gentleman out and shot him through the shoulder. Afterwards I believe they became great friends. Ah, sir, those were the good old days when a Southern gentleman had a proper jealousy of his honour. If one gentleman doubted another gentleman's word there was no exchange of vulgar billingsgate, no unseemly brawling upon the street. The Code offered a remedy. One gentleman called the other gentleman out. Sometimes I wish that I might have lived in those good old days.” Sometimes others wished that he might have, too, but I state that fact in parenthesis.