na when the Americans deluged the Chinese market
with their orders for Young Hyson tea. The Chinese very promptly met the
whole demand; and Fortune in his "Wanderings" has told us how. He found
his way to a Young Hyson manufactory, where coarse old Congou leaves were
being chopped, and carefully manipulated by those ingenious merchants the
Chinese. But it is in human nature for other folks than the Chinese to be
ingenious in such matters. We may, therefore, make up our minds that,
since the demand for wine from certain celebrated vineyards, largely
exceeds all possibility of genuine supply, since, also, every man who asks
is satisfied, it is inevitable that the great majority of wine-drinkers
are satisfied with a factitious article. The chances are against our very
often meeting with a glass of port that has not taken physic. So, let us
never drink dear wine, nor ask a chemist what is in our bottles. Enough
that they contain for us delightful poison.

That name for wine, "delightful poison," is not new. It is as old as the
foundation of Persepolis. Jemsheed was fond of grapes, Ferdusi tells, and
once, when grapes went out of season, stored up for himself some jars of
grape-juice. After a while he went to seek for a refreshing draught; then
fermentation was in progress; and he found his juice abominably nasty. A
severe stomach-ache induced him to believe that the liquor had acquired,
in some way, dangerous qualities, and, therefore, to avoid accidents, he
labeled each jar, "Poison." More time elapsed, and then one of his wives,
in trouble of soul, weary of life, resolved to put an end to her
existence. Poison was handy: but a draught transformed her trouble into
joy; more of it stupefied, but did not kill her. That woman kept a secret:
she alone exhausted all the jars. Jemsheed then found them to be empty.
Explanations followed. The experiment was tried once more, and wine, being
so discovered, was thereafter entitled "the delightful poison." What
Jemsheed would have said to a bottle of port out of our friend Hoggin's
cellar--but I tread on sacred ground.

Of good wine health requires none, though it will tolerate a little. Our
prospect, therefore, when the bottle passes briskly, is encouraging. Is
the wine good, we may expect some indigestion; is it bad, who can tell
what disorders we may not expect? Hoggins, I know, drinks more than a
quart without disordering his stomach. He has long been a supporter of the
cause we a