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 Medoc, 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.

'Yes,' said Babylon, 'the best champagne is there--a very special
Sillery, as exquisite as you will find anywhere. But I see, my friend,
that you fall into the common error of putting champagne first among
wines. That distinction belongs to Burgundy. You have old Burgundy in
that cellar, Mr Racksole, which cost me--how much do you think?--eighty
pounds a bottle.

Probably it will never be drunk,' he added with a sigh. 'It is too
expensive even for princes and plutocrats.'

'Yes, it will,' said Racksole quickly. 'You and I will have a bottle up
to-morrow.'

'Then,' continued Babylon, still riding