' said
Doctor Unonius, thrusting Homer back in his shelf.

CHAPTER III.

'Wunnerful brandy, Sir John!' said old Squire Morshead.

He said this regularly as he dined at Penalune when, after dinner and
wine and songs, the hour came for the 'brandy-mixing' before the
guests dispersed. Sir John was a widower and confined his
hospitality to men. He had adored his wife and lost her young; and
thereafter, though exquisitely courteous to ladies when he met them--
on the hunting-field, for example--he could not endure one within the
walls of Penalune. As he put it to himself, quoting an old by-word,
'What the eye don't see the heart don't grieve.' It scarcely needs
to be added that the heart _did_ grieve; but this was his way, albeit a
strange one, of worshipping what he had lost.

For the rest, he was a hale, cheerful, even jovial gentleman, now
well past fifty; clear of eye, sound of wind and limb, standing six
feet two in his stockings; fearing no man, on good terms with all,
but liking his neighbours best, and no more eccentric than a country
squire has the right, if not even the obligation to be. Unless it
were in the saddle, you could scarcely see him to better advantage
than at this ceremony of brandy-mixing--for a ceremony it was; no
pushing of a decanter, but a slow solemn ladling by the host himself
from an ample bowl. Moreover, the Penalune brandy was famous.

'It has lain,' said he--'let me see--thirty-five years in cellar, to
my own knowledge. My father never told me how or when he came by it.
Smuggled, you may be sure.'

The talk ran on smuggling and its decline. A Mr St Aubyn, of
Clowance, lamented this decline as symptomatic--'the national fibre's
deteriorating, mark my words.' A Mr Trelawny was disposed to agree
with him. 'And, after all,' he said, 'the game was a venial one; a
kind of sport. Hang it, a Briton must be allowed his sporting
instincts!' 'By the same argument, no doubt, you would justify
poaching?' put in Sir John, with a twinkle. Mr Trelawny would by no
means allow this. 'It would interest me, sir, to hear you define the
moral difference between smuggling and poaching,' said Doctor
Unonius. 'I don't go in for definitions, sir,' Mr Trelawny answered.
'I'm a practical man and judge things by their results. Look at your
Polpeor folk--smugglers all, or the sons of smugglers--a fine
upstanding, independent lot as you would wish to see; whereas your
poacher nine times out of