I looked round the room, and, seeing nothing which promised me much amusement, I sat down, and fell again into my former train of thought.
‘What is truth?’ said I.
‘Here it is,’ said the magistrate, returning at the end of a quarter of an hour, followed by the servant with a tray; ‘here’s the true thing, or I am no judge, far less a justice. It has been thirty years in my cellar last Christmas. There,’ said he to the servant, ‘put it down, and leave my young friend and me to ourselves. Now, what do you think of it?’
‘It is very good,’ said I.
‘Did you ever taste better Madeira?’
‘I never before tasted Madeira.’
‘Then you ask for a wine without knowing what it is?’
‘I ask for it, sir, that I may know what it is.’
‘Well, there is logic in that, as Parr would say; you have heard of Parr?’
‘Old Parr?’