In his way to St. James’s street, where the wine-merchant lived, Sir Philip Baddely picked up several young men of his acquaintance, who were all eager to witness a trial of _taste_, of epicurean taste, between the baronet and Clarence Hervey. Amongst his other accomplishments our hero piqued himself upon the exquisite accuracy of his organs of taste. He neither loved wine, nor was he fond of eating; but at fine dinners, with young men who were real epicures, Hervey gave himself the airs of a connoisseur, and asserted superiority even in judging of wine and sauces. Having gained immortal honour at an entertainment by gravely protesting that some turtle would have been excellent if it had not been done _a bubble too much_, he presumed, elate as he was with the applauses of the company, to assert, that no man in England had a more correct taste than himself.--Sir Philip Baddely could not passively submit to this arrogance; he loudly proclaimed, that though he would not dispute Mr. Hervey’s judgment as far as eating was concerned, yet he would defy him as a connoisseur in wines, and he offered to submit the competition to any eminent wine-merchant in London, and to some common friend of acknowledged taste and experience.--Mr. Rochfort was chosen as the common friend of acknowledged taste and experience; and a fashionable wine-merchant was pitched upon to decide with him the merits of these candidates for bacchanalian fame. Sir Philip, who was just going to furnish his cellars, was a person of importance to the wine-merchant, who produced accordingly his choicest treasures. Sir Philip and Clarence tasted of all in their turns; Sir Philip with real, and Clarence with affected gravity; and they delivered their opinions of the positive and comparative merits of each. The wine-merchant evidently, as Mr. Hervey thought, leaned towards Sir Philip. “Upon my word, Sir Philip, you are right--that wine is the best I have--you certainly have a most discriminating taste,” said the complaisant wine-merchant. “I’ll tell you what,” cried Sir Philip, “the thing is this: by Jove! now, there’s no possibility now--no possibility now, by Jove! of imposing upon me.” “Then,” said Clarence Hervey, “would you engage to tell the differences between these two wines ten times running, blind-fold?” “Ten times! that’s nothing,” replied Sir Philip: “yes, fifty times, I would, by Jove!” But when it came to the trial, Sir Philip had nothing left but oaths in his own favour. Clarence Hervey was victorious; and his sense of the importance of this victory was much increased by the fumes of the wine, which began to operate upon his brain. His triumph was, as he said it ought to be, bacchanalian: he laughed and sang with anacreontic spirit, and finished by declaring that he deserved to be crowned with vine-leaves. “Dine with me, Clarence,” said Rochfort, “and we’ll crown you with three times three; and,” whispered he to Sir Philip, “we’ll have another trial after dinner.”