Wine is a strange fluid. It has its good and its baddays."
"I am willing to say its moods," added Hamilton.
"I suppose," continued the older man, "that you will be entirelyskeptical if I assure you that for women to go into a wine-room ispretty surely to injure the wine."
"Indeed, is that so?" returned Chestnut. "I am not surprised. InFrance women are not allowed to enter the great cheese-caves."
"Wine is very sensitive," said Francis. "I give you this story for whatit is worth:
"A planter in the South told me that once two blacks were arrangingbottles in his wine-room, and quarreled. One stabbed the other. Thefellow died, and his blood ran over the floor; and from that day thewines in that room were bitter. You know that bitterness is one form ofthe sicknesses to which Madeira is liable."
This amazing tale was received with entire tranquillity by all saveChestnut, whose education was progressing. Meanwhile another decanterwent round.
"I congratulate you," cried Wilmington, as he set down his glass. "Aperfect grape-juice--new to me too. High up, sir; very high up"; andrefilling his glass, he sent on the coaster. "Observe, Chestnut, therefinement of it; neither the sweet nor the bouquet is too obvious. Itis like a well-bred lady. Observe what a gamut of delicate flavors; noneare excessive. And then at last there remains in the mouth a sort offugitive memory of its delightfulness."
"As one remembers the lady when she is gone," said Francis.
"Thanks," said the old gentleman, bowing.
"Am I wrong," said Chestnut, "in fancying that there is here a faintflavor of orange-water?"
"Well, well!" said Wilmington. "And this man says he has no palate!That is the charm of these lovely wines: they are many things to manylovers--have for each a separate enchantment. I thought it was arose-water taste; but no matter, you may be correct. But Hamilton cangive you a better wine. No grape-juice can compete with the bestMadeiras. In wine and man the noblest social flavors come with years. Itis pure waste to ask to dinner any man under forty."
"And now fill your glasses," said Hamilton. "Are you all charged? Yourhealth, gentlemen! I waited for this wine;" and he bent his head toeach in turn.
"That good old formula, 'Are you all charged?' is going out," saidChestnut. "I used to hear it when I came in to dessert at my father'stable."
"One rarely hears it nowadays," remarked Francis. "But at the GreenTree Insurance Company's dinners it is still in habitual use. When thecloth is off, the President says, 'Are you all charged, gentlemen?' andthen, 'Success to the Mutual Assurance Company.' You know, Chestnut,its insurance sign--still to be seen on our older houses--is a greentree. The Hand in Hand Insurance Company refused to insure houses infront of which were trees, because in the last century the fire-engineswere unable to throw a stream over or through them. The Mutual acceptedsuch risks, and hence has been always known popularly in Philadelphia asthe Green Tree. After a pause, the Vice-President rises and repeats theformal query, 'Are you all charged?' The directors then stand up, andhe says, 'The memory of Washington.' We have a tradition that the newsof the great general's death in 1799 came while the Board of Directorswas dining. From that time until now they have continued to drink thattoast."
"I like that," said Chestnut. "These ancient customs seem to survivebetter here than elsewhere in America."
"That is true," returned Hamilton. "And what you say reminds me of someodd rules in the Philadelphia Library, which Franklin founded in 1731.We have--at our own cost, of course--a supper of oysters roasted in theshell at a wood fire in the room where we meet. A modest bowl of rumpunch completes the fare. Old Ben was afraid that this repast woulddegenerate into a drinking-bout such as was too common in his time. Hetherefore ingeniously arranged a table so high that it was impossible tosit at it, and this shrewd device seems to have answered."
"When I became a director of the library," said Francis, "my predecessorhad been ill for two years. As a consequence, he was fined a shillingfor non-attendance at each meeting. This, with the charges for suppers,and for the use of the library as a stockholder, had accumulated a debtof some fifty dollars. Now, as Franklin found it difficult to collectsuch debts from estates, he made it a rule that the new director, whilepleased with the freshness of his novel honor, should pay the bill ofthe man he succeeded; and accordingly I paid my predecessor's debts."
"How like Poor Richard!" said Wilmington.
"I was consoled," added Francis, "by the reflection that I always hadthe sad privilege of leaving my successor a similar obligation."
"Agreeable, that," murmured Wilmington. "But we are trifling, my dearFrancis. What is next, Hamilton? Ah, a new wine. That is a wineindeed! A Madeira. Stay! I have drunk it before. A Butler wine, isn't it?"
"Yes. I misplaced the decanters; this should have come later."
"I see now," said Chestnut. "What is that curious aftertaste? Prunes?Is n't it prunes?"
"Certainly," cried Hamilton. "You are doing well, Chestnut. These nobleold wines have a variety of dominant flavors, with what I might call achangeful halo of less decisive qualities. We call the more or lesspositive tastes apple, peach, prune, quince; but in fact these are merenames. The characterizing taste is too delicate for competentnomenclature. It is a thing transitory, evanescent, indefinable, likethe quality of the best manners. No two are alike."
"Yes," said Hamilton; "and this same wine, in bottles, after a few yearswould quite lose character. Even two demijohns of the same wine kept inone room constantly differ, like two of a family."
"As you talk of these wines," said Chestnut, "I dimly recall the namesof some I used to hear. 'Constitution,' a Boston wine, was one--"
"And a good vintage, too," said Hamilton. "It was the class wine of1802."
"The class wine?" queried Chestnut.
"Yes. At Harvard each class used to import a tun of wine, which, afterit was bottled, was distributed among the graduates. I still have twoof the bottles with '1802,' surrounded by 'Constitution,' molded in theglass."
"A good wine it was," added Francis. "I know of no other which has beenso little hurt by being bottled."
"There were others I used also to hear about. One, I think, was called'Resurrection'--a wine buried for protection in the war; but some of thenames of these wines puzzle me."
"The Butlers," returned Francis, "of course represent in their numberingthe successive annual importations of Major Pierce Butler for his ownuse. Some wines were called from the special grape which produced them,as Bual, Sercial, Vidogna. As to others, it was a quality, as in thecase of the famous apple-wine; or the name of the ship in which the winecame to us, as the Harriets (pale and dark), the Padre; others againwere wines long held by families, as the Francis, Willing, Butler, andBurd Madeiras."
"Might I ask how long may a Madeira live, and continuously gain in valuefor the palate?"
"Ah, that depends on the wine," said Hamilton. "I never drank a wineover seventy years old which had not something to regret--likeourselves, eh, Wilmington?"
"I have nothing to regret," returned the elder man, smiling, "exceptthat I cannot live my life over precisely as it was. I have neglected noopportunity for innocent amusement, nor--" and he paused.
"For some others," added Francis, amid a burst of laughter.
"I fancy," said Chestnut, "that Mr. Wilmington is of the opinion ofHowell. You will find it in those letters of his which Walpole loved."
"And what was that?"
"It is long since I read it. I am not quite sure I can repeat itaccurately. He contends in a humorous vein for the moral value ofwine--I think he is speaking of Canary. 'Of this,' he says, 'may beverified that merry induction--that good wine makes good blood; goodblood causeth good thoughts; good thoughts bring forth good works; goodworks carry a man to heaven: _ergo_, good wine carrieth a man toheaven.'"
"It sounds like one of Shakspere's fools," said Hamilton.
"I should like to read that book," added Wilmington.
"It is at your service," replied Chestnut; "and what else he says ofwine is worth reading."
"Then let us get nearer to good works," laughed their host. "Here is apleasant preacher. Try this."
"Ah," said Wilmington; "a new friend! Curious, that. Observe, Chestnut,the just perceptible smoke-flavor--a fine, clean-tasting, middle-agedwine--a gentleman, sir, a gentleman!