friend's generous and tolerant, but just, nature. He is, as I have said,
a temperate man, and dislikes as much as any one I know the whole
alcohol business; but living in a community where the struggle for
temperance has often been waged intemperately, and where there is a
lurking belief that cudgelling laws can make men virtuous, he publishes
abroad once a year his declaration of independence.

After we have been with our friend for an hour or so, and are well
warmed and happy with the occasion, he rises solemnly and goes to the
toby-closet at the end of his generous fireplace, where the apple-log
specially cut for the occasion is burning merrily, and as we all fall
silent, knowing well what is coming, he unlocks the door and takes from
the shelf a bottle of old peach brandy which, having uncorked, he
gravely smells of and possibly lets his nearest neighbour smell of too.
Then he brings from the sideboard a server set with diminutive glasses
that have been polished until they shine for the great occasion, and,
having filled them all with the ripe liquor, he passes them around to
each of us. We have all risen and are becomingly solemn as he now
proposes the toast of the year--and it is always the same toast:

"Here's to moderation--in all things!"

He takes a sip or two, and continues:

"Here's to temperance--the queen of the virtues."

So we all drink off our glasses. Our mellow old friend smacks his lips,
corks the tall bottle, and returns it to his toby-closet, where it
reposes undisturbed for another year.