hundred years old.
Alas! Alas! exclaimed Trimalchio. This wine lives longer
than man! Wherefore let us sing, 'moisten your lungs.'
Wine is life.

Wordsworth's question, in his Poets Epitaph,

Art thou a man of purple cheer,
A rosy man, right plump to see?

might have been answered in the affirmative by the Reverend Doctor
Opimian. The worthy divine dwelt in an agreeably situated vicarage, on
the outskirts of the New Forest. A good living, a comfortable patrimony,
a moderate dowry with his wife, placed him sufficiently above the cares
of the world to enable him to gratify all his tastes without minute
calculations of cost. His tastes, in fact, were four: a good library, a
good dinner, a pleasant garden, and rural walks. He was an athlete in
pedestrianism. He took no pleasure in riding, either on horseback or in
a carriage; but he kept a brougham for the service of Mrs. Opimian, and
for his own occasional use in dining out.

[Illustration: The Rev. Doctor Opimian. 047-16]

Mrs. Opimian was domestic. The care of the doctor had supplied her with
the best books on cookery, to which his own inventive genius and the
kindness of friends had added a large, and always increasing manuscript
volume. The lady studied them carefully, and by diligent superintendence
left the doctor nothing to desire in the service of his table. His
cellar was well stocked with a selection of the best vintages, under his
own especial charge. In all its arrangements his house was a model of
order and comfort; and the whole establishment partook of the genial
physiognomy of the master. From the master and mistress to the cook, and
from the cook to the torn cat, there was about the inhabitants of the
vicarage a sleek and purring rotundity of face and figure that denoted
community of feelings, habits, and diet; each in its kind, of course,
for the doctor had his port, the cook her ale, and the cat his milk, in
sufficiently liberal allowance. In the morning while Mrs. Opimian found
ample occupation in the details of her household duties and the care of
her little family, the doctor, unless he had predestined the whole day
to an excursion, studied in his library. In the afternoon he walked; in
the evening he dined; and after dinner read to his wife and family, or
heard his children read to him. This was his home life. Now and then he
dined out; more frequently than at any other place with his friend and
neighbour,