Babylon, who, as being most accustomed to them, held the bunch of keys, opened the great door, and then they were in the first cellar--the first of a suite of five. Racksole was struck not only by the icy coolness of the place, but also by its vastness. Babylon had seized a portable electric handlight, attached to a long wire, which lay handy, and, waving it about, disclosed the dimensions of the place. By that flashing illumination the subterranean chamber looked unutterably weird and mysterious, with its rows of numbered bins, stretching away into the distance till the radiance was reduced to the occasional far gleam of the light on the shoulder of a bottle. Then Babylon switched on the fixed electric lights, and Theodore Racksole entered upon a personally- conducted tour of what was quite the most interesting part of his own property. To see the innocent enthusiasm of Felix Babylon for these stores of exhilarating liquid was what is called in the North ‘a sight for sair een’. He displayed to Racksole’s bewildered gaze, in their due order, all the wines of three continents--nay, of four, for the superb and luscious Constantia wine of Cape Colony was not wanting in that most catholic collection of vintages. Beginning with the unsurpassed products of Burgundy, he continued with the clarets of Médoc, Bordeaux, and Sauterne; then to the champagnes of Ay, Hautvilliers, and Pierry; then to the hocks and moselles of Germany, and the brilliant imitation champagnes of Main, Neckar, and Naumburg; then to the famous and adorable Tokay of Hungary, and all the Austrian varieties of French wines, including Carlowitz and Somlauer; then to the dry sherries of Spain, including purest Manzanilla, and Amontillado, and Vino de Pasto; then to the wines of Malaga, both sweet and dry, and all the ‘Spanish reds’ from Catalonia, including the dark ‘Tent’ so often used sacramentally; then to the renowned port of Oporto. Then he proceeded to the Italian cellar, and descanted upon the excellence of Barolo from Piedmont, of Chianti from Tuscany, of Orvieto from the Roman States, of the ‘Tears of Christ’ from Naples, and the commoner Marsala from Sicily. And so on, to an extent and with a fullness of detail which cannot be rendered here. At the end of the suite of cellars there was a glazed door, which, as could be seen, gave access to a supplemental and smaller cellar, an apartment about fifteen or sixteen feet square. ‘Anything special in there?’ asked Racksole curiously, as they stood before the door, and looked within at the seined ends of bottles. ‘Ah!’ exclaimed Babylon, almost smacking his lips, ‘therein lies the cream of all.’ ‘The best champagne, I suppose?’ said Racksole.