r, and variety from the quality of his wines. A
generous vintage brings out generous sentiments. Good fellowship,
hospitality, liberal politics, and the milk of human kindness, may be
uncorked simultaneously with a bottle of old Madeira; while a pint of
thin Sauterne is productive only of envy, hatred, malice, and all
uncharitableness. We grow sententious on Burgundy--logical on
Bordeaux--sentimental on Cyprus--maudlin on Lagrima Christi--and witty
on Champagne.

Port was my father's favorite wine. It warmed his heart, cooled his
temper, and made him not only conversational, but expansive. Leaning
back complacently in his easy-chair, with the glass upheld between his
eye and the window, he discoursed to me of my journey, of my prospects
in life, and of all that I should do and avoid, professionally
and morally.

"Work," he said, "is the panacea for every sorrow--the plaster for every
pain--your only universal remedy. Industry, air, and exercise are our
best physicians. Trust to them, boy; but beware how you publish the
prescription, lest you find your occupation gone. Remember, if you wish
to be rich, you must never seem to be poor; and as soon as you stand in
need of your friends, you will find yourself with none left. Be discreet
of speech, and cultivate the art of silence. Above all things, be
truthful. Hold your tongue as long as you please, but never open your
lips to a lie. Show no man the contents of your purse--he would either
despise you for having so little, or try to relieve you of the burden
of carrying so much. Above all, never get into debt, and never fall in
love. The first is disgrace, and the last is the devil! Respect
yourself, if you wish others to respect you; and bear in mind that the
world takes you at your own estimate. To dress well is a duty one owes
to society. The man who neglects his own appearance not only degrades
himself to the level of his inferiors, but puts an affront upon his
friends and acquaintances."

"I trust, sir," I said in some confusion, "that I shall never incur the
last reproach again."

"I hope not, Basil," replied my father, with a smile. "I hope not. Keep
your conscience clean and your boots blacked, and I have no fear of you.
You are no hero, my boy, but it depends upon yourself whether you become
a man of honor or a scamp; a gentleman or a clown. You have, I see,
registered a good resolution to-day. Keep it; and remember that
Pandemonium will get paved without your