For many a long year he had sat on this horse, drinking the old wine out of the same old glasses with his brother, who sat in the rickety armchair, which cracked under his weight, laughing and telling anecdotes of their boyhood.

He never got such wine anywhere else, and no room ever appeared so brilliant in his eyes as the low-vaulted cellar with its two smoky lights.
"I declare, it's a shame," said the young Consul, "that you have never had your half of that cask of port.

However, I will send you some wine out to Bratvold one of these days, so that you may have some, till we can get it tapped." "But you are always sending me wine, Christian Frederick.

I am sure I have had my half, and more too, long ago." "Nonsense, Dick! I declare, I believe you keep a wine account." "No, I am sure I don't." "Well, if you don't, I do; and I dare say you've remarked that in your account for last year--" "Yes; that's enough of that.

Here's to your health, Christian Frederick," broke in Uncle Richard, hastily.