Still the rays of light converged into a star on the beautiful arch of the roof; still the vault was kept stainlessly whitewashed, and the floor strewn with finest sand; and still it was the cellarer's custom only to approach the noble wine with a waxlight.

True, they were not the identical casks out of which the old monks drew their potions, but they were now, as then, filled with the produce of the vine-clad hills of Hegyalla, with the rosy wine of Menes, with the pride of OEdenburg, and the mild juice of the careful vintage of Rust.
"A hundred and fifty casks at eighteen, four-and-twenty, and thirty ducats the cask," said the agent, beginning the inventory.
Meanwhile Wendel went from one cask to another, the waxlight in his hand.

He stood a little time before each, carefully wiping off with a clean linen cloth the very slightest trace of mould.

"This was my favorite walk," said he to Anton.

"For twenty years I have attended every vintage as a purchaser.