doubtful point; but that generally chosen is when the fermentation has nearly ceased, when the chapeau disappears, and the wine begins to clear. A siphon is introduced, guarded by a bunch of twigs, to stop the passage of skins, seeds, and stems; this is, indeed, the only way possible, when the process has been carried on in closed vats, vaulted cisterns, or the enormous barrels primitively constructed in Germany. As soon as the lees are well drained, they are carried with all speed to the press, that the remainder of the wine may be extracted. In Burgundy and Champagne, the old wooden vice has been exchanged for a powerful iron screw, and in an hour the liquid will have ceased to run. The lees are stirred up two or three different times, and the press applied after each; then all this juice, more and more astringent, is successively added to the first drawn, of which it forms about two-thirds.

After filling the barrels, the fermentation again begins, disengaging volumes of carbonic acid gas; and for many days the barrels must be left open, or the staves would burst open with a loud explosion. After a little time, the hole is covered with vine-leaves until the absence of fermentation allows it to be closed; then the slower process goes on by which the colouring and saline matters, especially bitartate of potass, are precipitated; whilst the ether with its vinous perfume develops itself; the tannin is partly changed into gallic acid; and some very volatile compositions escape through the wood, and the whole is transformed into good wine.

At the end of six months, early in March, the wine is drawn off as far as it is clear, and put into a fresh barrel, when, with extreme care, it is clarified with four or five whites of eggs beaten up into a froth, or with the fresh blood of an ox or a sheep. Sometimes gelatine or Flemish glue dissolved in warm water is preferred; and when the process is slow, difficult, and remains incomplete, recourse is had to alum or plaster of Paris; a practice that ought to be suppressed, as tending much to injure the quality of the wine. It has been principally used in the warmer climates, the south of France, Italy, and Spain, where the vine is grown on poles or cords hung across from tree to tree: the grapes thus ripen unequally; some are too mature, and beginning to decay, when the others are only just ready; the tissues of the former reduced to a brown pulp remain in suspension in the wine. In distant ages, the ancients employed plaster to close their wine-jars, and it was always observed that under these conditions the wine was clear; hence the practice has arisen of mixing it with the wine, when it never fails in

There is some little difference in the preparation of white and sparkling wines, as the fermentation is not carried on with the skins and stems; from which result a complete absence of colouringmatter, and a great diminution of tannin. The article used for clearing them is named ichthyocolle, which is composed of thin dried layers of the bladder of the sturgeon, steeped in water, and reduced to a pulp. This, mixed with wine, and well stirred in, completes its work very thoroughly in the course of a day. It acts differently to gelatine, as, by reason of its structure in organised fibres it extends itself, and forms a wide network, seizing all the solid bodies it comes in contact

with, and precipitating the whole to the bottom of the barrel.

Nothing is more easy than to give many white wines the appearance of champagne, but the true kind will always preserve an incontestable superiority, by reason of the fineness of its perfume, its lightness, and hygienic qualities. The principal end is to retain in each bottle a quantity of carbonic acid gas, representing about a fifth of all that is produced during the course of vinification. The pressure exercised by the gas with the help of the cork is quadruple that of atmospheric air, and one of the principal difficulties is to keep in a sufficient quantity of fermentation to fill the liquid with sparkling bubbles. It is managed with great skill by the corkers, who hold the bottle with its neck downwards for a long time, then, by withdrawing the cork in the smallest degree, a rapid jet of wine suffices to expel the fermentation which has collected on the narrow neck. the quantity of sugar which gives it so sweet a flavour, that is owing to the sirup which is introduced into each bottle.

As to

Much could be said on the subject of wine adulteration, which is now carried to most scandalous lengths; liquor, in fact, being sometimes puffed up and sold as wine which is not wine at all, but a wretched composition disgraceful to the merchant who deals in it. All this, however, was lately specified in our article on the work of Dr Druitt, on wines, and to that we refer, with the simple remark that the time has fully come for applying the statute against adulterations to the more common and popular class of wines-sherry in particular, of which much of a sham character is disposed of as genuine.

HIS OWN EXECUTOR.

CHAPTER XII.-A WOMAN'S COUNSEL.

ALONG the dark and sloppy streets Harry Butt strode doggedly homewards, his friends following him closely. It was not long past midnight, and the streets were still alive with passing traffic. Here and there a long line of carriages lit up by gleaming lamps, and of horses pawing and snorting impatiently under their water-proof sheets, and of men huddled on their carriage-boxes, dark and motionless, told of some ball or party for whose fairy frequenters these padded chariots were in waiting. And here you come to a light arcade, thrown for the nonce across the footway, where a policeman in a shiny cape mounts guard, and loafers and shivering idlers keep the ground, whilst between flit in and out visions of delight in pink and blue-one might almost say in buffand cast a radiance on the pallid night.

These visions Harry avoids, and takes the dark, unlighted side of the street. He never turns his head, either to the right or to the left, but marches on, his hands clenched behind his back.

'Perhaps he will shoot himself,' whispered Lord Sertayne to his companion.

Porkington shrugged his shoulders, and looked unconcerned.

'Or throw himself into the river."
'We shall see,' rejoined his companion.

When he came to Hyde Park Corner, Harry paused and hesitated for a moment. The wind was blusterous here, and long swaths of rain

he had been made a fool of, there was some consolation in the thought that he might escape the extreme consequences of his folly.

Then all of a sudden, an idea occurred to him that made him stamp with rage, and instead of walking, he began to run as fast as he could towards his chambers. These were conspicuous from afar in the dim, dingy street, having an imposing stuccoed front, adorned with Italian pilasters. The very area railings, which, of the other houses, were of plain iron with sharp spikes, were in Hardwicke Chambers of the form of a classic balustrade. Harry watched eagerly as he approached the house for the sign of any one passing in or out of the door; but it was entirely silent and quiet. There were no lights in the windows; only a lamp burning over the halldoor.

Harry hastily opened the outer door with his key, and ran quickly up-stairs. The rooms were still and deserted, the gas turned down to its lowest point. His servant sleepily made his appearance. Mr Porkington has not been in ?' he cried.

'Yes, sir,' said the man, turning up the gas; and gone out again too: he has left a note for you.'

Harry tore open the note with trembling fingers, and read:

DEAR HARRY-As you authorised me to pay any of your liabilities out of the funds I had in hand, I have handed over to Lord Sertayne King the bonds which you intrusted to me, amounting, according to present prices, to L.82,500. There is still a sum of L.420 due to our friend, for which he is willing to wait your convenience. Better luck next time.-Your affectionate relative,

PROCUL PORKINGTON.

'The scoundrels! Where are they gone?' shouted Harry, foaming with rage and disappointment. 'Indeed, I don't know, sir. Shall I ask Mr Porkington's man?'

'Yes. Go, you fool!' cried Harry. 'Run-don't stand staring there.'

Harry's man came back with an altered mien. 'Antoine doesn't know; he says his master left orders to pack up, and that he was to follow as soon as Mr Porkington sent him word. And if you please, sir, would you let me have the trifle of wages that's due to me?'

Mr Porkington undertakes all that. He pays wages.'

That's nothing to do with me, sir. I'm your servant, and I look to you, sir, for the money. Mr P. ain't paid me nothing yet, and I don't expect he will. So I'll trouble you, sir. Five-and-twenty pounds, sir; six months' salary.'

'You must wait till morning,' said Harry, hurrying out.

He went direct to the nearest police station, and to the superintendent in charge, who was waiting unweariedly at a desk. I want a warrant,' he cried, 'against a man who has robbed me.'

'We don't grant warrants here, sir,' said the man, looking keenly at the excited applicant. 'But if it's a robbery-a plain and simple robbery -we can put our men on the track without a warrant. Please, sit down, sir, and explain the circumstances calmly.'

Harry told how he had intrusted to his friend, Mr Porkington, his foreign bonds, which were all

payable to bearer. That he had withdrawn them from the custody of his bankers, owing to a hint from Porkington that he had better be careful, as there were rumours about, affecting their stability. That he had broken the lock of his own desk, and consequently intrusted them to Porkington, who had a safe in his room where he kept his valuables. And here he shewed the superintendent Mr Porkington's note.

And did you give him authority to pay your debts with the funds he had in hand?'

'I certainly wrote him a note once-I had lost seventy pounds or so at Epsom; I couldn't go to Tattersall's myself asking him to settle for me out of some money he held for me.'

6

The inspector shook his head. Ah, sir! then there's no criminal charge against him, sir, assuming what you say to be perfectly true. You'd better consult a lawyer, sir: it's quite out of our line.'

Harry traversed the streets all night; every haunt where Procul and King might possibly be met with, he visited, determined to take the thief by the neck and strangle him if he wouldn't give up the money. But it was all in vain.

It was broad daylight when, fagged and wearied, and worn out with unavailing passion, he reached his chambers once more. Here all was in confusion. Several executions had been put in for judgments obtained against Porkington. The landAntoine were clamouring for their wages. Harry lord, too, had seized for his rent. Williams and turned on his heel and went out, whither he

didn't care.

On the stairs he met a telegraph boy with a message; seven-and-sixpence to pay. Harry paid the money, in some faint eager hope that it might be an explanation of the affair as a hoax, a joke. But no: it was dated BOULOGNE, 7 A.M.-From P. P. to Mr HENRY BUTT: 'Arrived safely after a rough passage. Send the cheque to S. K. at Baden-Baden-Poste restante? Harry threw down the telegram and ground it under his heel.

'Lost!' he muttered-'lost! Once more a vagabond. Shall I endure it? Yes; I will try one more chance. Perhaps a lawyer-perhaps Costicle can devise some scheme.'

He wended his way to the City. Dragging himself wearily along, overcome by watching and fatigue, he was hardly conscious where he was going. Everything seemed covered to him with a thick impalpable mist. The houses rocked as he passed, and the carriages, and horses, and men, seemed like one huge animal, roaring and bellowing at him.

As he crossed the road, by the General Postoffice, a huge van came up, driven at high speed. He heard nothing, saw nothing; people shouted, the red-coated men on the box tried hard to pull their horses up; Harry blundered blindly onwards; in a moment he was past the knowledge of any mortal thing; perhaps it was as well.

CHAPTER XIV.-NO TRACE.

Mrs Asphodel spent a somewhat unquiet night; she couldn't get out of her head Harry's unfortunate scrape; and knowing with whom he had to deal, she was afraid that he would find more difficulty in escaping from the clutches of his friends than she had last night supposed.

At about eleven o'clock, therefore, she ordered her phaeton to be ready; and after writing a note to be left, in case she should not find Harry at home, she drove towards Hardwicke Street, intending to pick up her young friend, and carry him off to Wimbledon, where there was a review going on that would afford an excuse for a long morning together, and some uninterrupted talk. But when she arrived at the chambers, the porter informed her that Mr Butt had left that morning-that he believed he would not return-in fact, the man said confidentially, with a sort of half-developed wink, 'it was a regular bust up.'

Sophia Asphodel sat in her phaeton, toying with the reins, as her high-mettled horses arched their necks and champed their bits at each lightest touch of her fingers. She was lost in deep thought. What had become of Harry? She had guessed for some time that Mr Porkington's affairs were reaching their crisis; but how could he have involved Harry in his ruin, if Harry had retained his wits? The people at the chambers could not give her any information about Harry; where could she get any trace of him? She had half made up her mind to drive on to Lord Sertayne's to inquire there; not that she expected to meet with anything but a rebuff in that pious, well-managed household; but then she would be doing something, and it would relieve her own mind, if it did Harry no good.

But, as she sat there hesitating, a neat-looking man, with gray whiskers, and a general air of briskness and respectability, came up to the door of the chambers, and put the same inquiry to the porter that she had just made.

The porter grinned again, and repeated his answer. The man came out, looking rather puzzled.

"I think I heard you asking for Mr Butt?' said Mrs Asphodel, leaning out from her phaeton, and beckoning Mr Costicle to her.

'Quite so, madam,' he said; 'I was inquiring for my young friend.'

'Do you know where a letter is likely to reach him?'

'I don't, indeed. I know of no address except these chambers.'

'I understood you to say that he is a friend of yours?'

'Quite so, quite so. Yes; I take a great interest in our young friend.'

'Then, will you jump up, and I will drive you to the City, or wherever you are going, for I want to talk to you about him?'

Mr Costicle cast a look of misgiving at the wellappointed, but somewhat fast-looking equipage. If Martha were to see me!' he mentally ejaculated. But, on the other hand, the glory of such a position in the eyes of Deputy Dibble would be great; and then it might really have a good effect with the vestry. I'll risk it,' said Costicle, as he sprang into the carriage with all the agility of youth, and tucked his legs under the handsome rug that Mrs Asphodel held open for him.

Where to?' she cried.

'Well, my offices are in St Cuthbert's Lane.' 'Perhaps Harry may be there. I know my way to Temple Bar; after that, you must act pilot.'

On their way, Mrs Asphodel confided to Mr Costicle her fears as to Harry's losses at play, and lest he might have been Quixotic and mad enough to

part with his money to such a sharper as Lord King.

'My dear madam,' said Costicle, 'I was on my way to warn him against that fellow when I saw you. How fortunate he has been to find also a guardian angel in you!'

Yes, we are a very nice pair of angels,' said Mrs Asphodel with a jolly laugh, that quite frightened Mr Costicle.

Mrs Asphodel drove fast and furiously, but providentially didn't kill anybody, or smash any panels.

'Now we shall know,' she cried, as they arrived at St Cuthbert's Lane; and Costicle jumped out and ran into his office.

'He hasn't been here,' he said, coming out again in a moment. 'But let us ask at the house.'

The door of the sexton's house, which was also one of the entrances to the church, was in the same line of buildings as the vestry clerk's offices. Costicle rang a bell, and Mrs Budgeon appeared.

'Mrs B. Mrs B.' he cried, has our young friend Mr Butt been here this morning?'

Mrs Budgeon drew back in a little confusion. 'I don't think he has, sir; I'll ask.—Sally, Sally!' she called.

'Yes, mother,' said a pleasant female voice from the interior.

'Has Mr Butt been here this morning?' The owner of the voice didn't reply for a moment. 'You know he hasn't, mother,' then she cried in a voice of something like reproof.

There, you see!' cried Mr Costicle, turning his palms outwards, and spreading his fingers like a fan. I don't know what to make of it.'

'Nor I,' said Mrs Asphodel, knitting her brows, and driving off. 'If I hear, I'll let you know.Sally, Sally!' she repeated to herself, still frowning; it was Sally he sent his love to that day.'

But she was obliged to go home unsatisfied, and she heard nothing more that afternoon of Harry.

CHAPTER XV.-ALL OVER.

William Costicle is sitting in his office in St Cuthbert's Lane, talking to his sister Ellen, who has come to pay him a visit. It is not his father's office, which is on the ground-floor, but the room above, which is reached by a staircase that runs along the side of the clerk's office, which is the outer office of all on the ground-floor. William's room was a back room, looking over the green churchyard; the front room over the clerk's office was a muniment room, where were kept the archives of the parish of St Cuthbert. William held this room of his rather by the sanction of the vestry than of any right, for, in reality, it was devoted to the private practice of Costicle and Costicle, which was managed entirely by William. He was working hard to establish a practice of his own, and found it an uphill task; for his father for some years had done little else but attend to the vestry business, which had increased very much during the period. Now, the income of the vestry clerk was a handsome one, but then, of course, it ceased at Orlando's death, as far as the Costicles were concerned; and although William hoped to gain the appointment when anything happened to his father, yet he was by no means assured of success. More than one of the vestrymen with whom the appointment rested had sons in the

profession of the law, and a hidden canvass was already going on in the interest of one or the other of these. There would be a hard fight for the post when a vacancy occurred, and although William had a slight advantage in being in possession of the ground, and acquainted with the duties of the office, yet that wouldn't go for much, after all. There was a considerable jealousy on the part of many against a hereditary transmission of the office. The Costicles, too, although formerly connected with the parish of St Cuthbert Orlando's father had formerly had a builder's yard there, and had been councillor for the ward-had long ceased to have much hold in that way. They had gone to live at Costicle's Grove, Chelsea, many years ago, and their interest in the parish had fallen off year by year.

William, although he was a cleverer, more capable man than his father, was not equally popular. Orlando had the airy Palmerstonian manner, the art of making a good deal out of nothing; he could tell a good story; and always had a joke ready to let off at the end of an interview, so as to dismiss his visitor in a good temper amid a cackle of laughter. Now, William was rather gloomy and anxious, and his efforts at liveliness were more appalling than his gloom. He had no tolerance for little jobs either. It is no wonder, therefore, that he did not get on with the vestry. But he was a hard-working, plodding fellow, and what he did, was done well, and by degrees he might be able to build up a practice. But the locality was against him. It was a good locality for packing-case makers and foreign warehousemen, but nobody thought of looking for a lawyer in St Cuthbert's Lane. And yet he couldn't leave it on account of the vestry business, so that altogether he was in a dissatisfied, anxious mood, like a man conscious of power, and not knowing exactly how to make it tell.

Orlando looked rather contemptuously on his son, and so, to say the truth, did his wife. Sam had been the favourite, Sam with the ready tongue, and soft winning way-Sam, who made such way with all the girls, and who could mollify the most indignant vestryman with a look. If Sam had only been a little bit steady, what a connection he would have brought together!' Orlando would say. Ellen, however, appreciated William, and saw that he was the mainstay of the family tree. When she had found that the small savings of the family-small indeed-for Orlando was a man who lived quite up to his income, had gone to pay Sam's debts, and that liabilities were incurred in his outfit to the colonies, as a last resort, which crippled the family resources, she began to disbelieve in Sam, and to distrust the influences under which he had been reared. And then she began to appreciate more fully the genuine worth of her brother William, and to take counsel with him on family affairs.

It was some domestic trouble that had brought her down to William's office that day. The household at Costicle Grove was organised on an oldfashioned scale, comfortable, but rather profuse. Modern prices had imperceptibly curtailed the family income, whilst it hadn't occurred to Orlando or his wife that there was any occasion to retrench their customary rate of living. Tradespeople, too, were different. The old-fashioned sort, who never bothered for money, as long as they knew that a

495

man was 'good,' had been replaced by a class who looked keenly after their accounts, and managed to combine the highest prices with the smallest advantage, for credit.

'We shall have to put an end to this,' said William-'this wasteful system of credit, which always breaks down when you most want it. Father will have to close up with his tradesmen, and we must deal with the Co-operative.'

'I don't know how it's to be done, William ; you don't know how these things mount up. The books quite frighten me as they come in.' 'It'll have to be done,' said William. Why, it would be better for the governor to compound with his creditors, and start afresh.'

'William, I'm sure it would kill papa to do such a thing; you know how honourably and generously he means to deal with everybody.'

'What's the good of meaning? Why doesn't he give up his dinner-parties, and his wine after dinner?'

'He's been used to that sort of thing all his life.' 'Yes; he's been used to live well at his own expense; but that's no reason why he should on doing it at other people's, for it comes to that." "That's a very harsh way of putting it.'

go

'Times are harsh. At least, I find them harsh enough.'

"Ah, William, if you could only make up your mind to propose to Mrs Baxter, how easy life would be to you then.'

Mrs Baxter was a rich widow of some forty years of age, who was supposed to be rather fond of William.

'Pooh! marry Mrs Baxter!' cried William, rising from his chair, and beginning to walk about the room; 'why, I'd rather hang myself. Put it to yourself, Ellen-why don't you marry Deputy Dibble?'

'He's never asked me,' said Ellen; 'I don't know what I might do if he did.'

'I can't understand that,' said William; 'giving up the essence of life for its flavouring.'

A lady wishes to speak to you, sir,' cried a clerk, coming in.

'Then I shall go,' said Ellen. 'I shall be de trop. Poor Mrs Baxter, I understand!'

'You don't understand anything. Don't go yet. I daresay it's only some poor creature about her water-rate. Just go into the muniment room, and look out of the window, till I have settled her business.'

But William was sufficiently surprised when he found that his visitor was a tall, elegantly dressed lady, who was undeniably handsome, but of somewhat foreign appearance.

you have heard

'I have come to see,' she said, 'if anything of Mr Butt?' No; I haven't heard anything about him for a long time. Isn't he at his chambers?' 'But you have heard your father has told you how he is missing?'

'No; my father went off to Brighton yesterday, and has not returned.'

'And you have heard nothing of him here?' 'No; certainly not.'

'And Sally, she has heard nothing of him?' 'What do you mean?' said William, rising, turning very red in the face.

'I mean Sally down there,' said Mrs Asphodel, pointing superbly to the nether regions!