tertainments and the
rich daily repast, seemed to have no wants, and devoted herself to the
service, or more properly, to the accommodation, of others. Doctor
Richard took the liberty, as a physician of extensive practice, to use
but little ceremony, and was as much the popular as the pampered despot
of the whole district, and especially of the Sonnenkamp household. He
was talkative at the table, eating but little, and drinking so much the
more to make up for it. He praised the wines, knew them all, how long
they had been kept, and when they were mellow. He inquired about an old
brand, and Sonnenkamp ordered it to be brought; the physician found it
harsh, rough, and immature. Herr Sonnenkamp would often look up
dubiously to the physician, before partaking of some dish, but he would
say in anticipation:--

"Eat, eat, it won't hurt you."

"The really best thing in the world would be to drink," Sonnenkamp
said, jestingly.

"It's a shame that you never knew the 'precious Borsch,'" cried the
doctor, "who once uttered that illustrious saying, 'The stupidest thing
in the world is, that one can't also drink what he eats.'" Turning to
Eric, he continued:--

"Your friend Pranken doesn't speak well of our Rhine-land, but this
ill-humor is only an epidemic catarrh while getting acclimated, which
every one must catch. I hope you will not be so long in getting over
it. Look at this bottle of wine,--all is corked up here that poetry,
the scenic art, and creative art can do to enchant and enliven us; the
drinker feels that he is not a common pack-horse, and though,
theoretically, he does not know what elements of the beautiful are
contained in such a bottle, he has no need to know, he tastes it; he
drinks in, in fact, the beautiful."

"Provided there is no adulteration," the architect suggested.

"Very true," the doctor cried in a loud voice; "we used to have very
few cases of delirium-tremens, now so common in our district; and
delirium-tremens is not from the wine, but from the alchohol in it. Do
you know anything about wine?" he asked, turning to Eric, and, as if
actual president, calling upon him for his opinion.

"Not any."

"And yet you have probably composed drinking-songs, where the chorus
always comes in, 'We will be merry, let us be merry, we've been merry,'
and after the first bottle, the merry gentlemen can't stand on their
rhimed feet any longer."

A glance towards Roland brought the doctor to his senses; it wa