established, and the demand far exceeding the possibilities of supply from the original source, other and resembling wines are sold under the name of the celebrated locality, with the bouquet or a bouquet artificially introduced. It has thus come about, in the ordinary course of business, that the dearest wines of the choicest brands are those which are the most likely to be sophisticated. The flavoring of wine, the imparting of delicate bouquet, is a high art, and is costly. It is only upon high-priced wines that such costly operations can be practiced. Simple ordinary grape-juice—as I have already stated—is so cheap when and where its quality is the highest, i. e., in good seasons and suitable climates, that adulteration with anything but water renders the adulterated product more costly than the genuine. When there is a good vintage it does not pay even to add sugar and water to the marc or residue, and press this a second time. It is more profitable to use it for making inferior brandy, or wine-oil, huile de marc or even for fodder or manure.
This, however, only applies where the demand is for simple genuine wine, a demand almost unknown in England, where connoisseurs abound who pass their glasses horizontally under their noses, hold them up to the light to look for beeswings and absurd transparency, knowingly examine the brand on the cork, and otherwise offer themselves as willing dupes, to be pecuniarily immolated on the great high altar of the holy shrine of costly humbug.
Some years ago I was at Frankfort, on my way to the Tyrol and Venice, and there saw, at a few paces before me, an unquestionable Englishman, with an ill-slung knapsack. I spoke to him, earned his gratitude at once by showing him how to dispense with that knapsack abomination, the breast-strap. We chummed, and put up at a genuine German hostelry of my selection, the Gasthaus zum Schwanen. Here we supped with a multitude of natives, to the great amusement of my new friend, who had hitherto halted at hotels devised for Englishmen. The handmaiden served us with wine in tumblers, and we both pronounced it excellent. My new friend was enthusiastic; the bouquet was superior to anything he had ever met with before, and if it could only be fined—it was not by any means bright—it would be invaluable. He then took me into his confidence. He was in the wine-trade, assisting in his father's business; the "governor" had told him to look out in the course of his travels, as there were obscure vineyards here and there, producing very choice wines, that might be contracted for at very low prices. This was one of them; here was good business. If I would help him to learn all about it, presentation cases of wine should be poured upon me forever after.
I accordingly asked the handmaiden, "Was für Wein?" etc. Her answer was, "Apfel Wein." She was frightened at my burst of laughter, and the young wine-merchant also imagined that he had made acquaintance with a lunatic, until I translated the answer, and
