You young bloods, with your vile concoctions of toddies, punches, and other satanic brews, are fast going to the devil--your palates, I am speaking of.

If you ever saw the inside of a distillery you would never drink another drop of whiskey.

There's poison in every thimbleful.

There's sunshine in this, sir!" and he held the glass to his eyes until the light of the candles flashed through it.
"But I've never seen the inside or outside of a distillery in my life," answered Harry with a laugh, a reply which did not in the least quench the major's enthusiasms, who went on dilating, wine-glass in hand, on the vulgarity of drinking STANDING UP--the habitual custom of whiskey tipplers--in contrast with the refinement of sipping wines SITTING DOWN--one being a vice and the other a virtue.
Richard, too, had been noticing Harry.

He had overheard, as the dinner progressed, a remark the boy had made to the guest next him, regarding the peculiar rhythm of Poe's verse--Harry repeating the closing lines of the poem with such keen appreciation of their meaning that Richard at once joined in the talk, commending him for his insight and discrimination.