that sobered him and terrified him into
departure.

In the year 1610, Champagne met with great
approval (especially as the wine was given
away—some people, like Sheridan, can take
any given quantity) at the coronation of Louis
the Thirteenth. Thenceforth it became the
king, or the queen, of French wines.
Champagne was crowned with Louis the Thirteenth,
and of the two, Champagne made the better
monarch.

In the history of all success there is a period
when malice, jealousy, and rivalry stand at bay,
and bear down on their enemy for a last
determined struggle. Champagne had to bear this
final charge of the imperial guard of envy,
hatred, and all uncharitableness. The French
doctors of medicine began, in 1652, a discussion
on the sanatory and injurious effects of
Champagne, which never ended until 1778. Doctors
were born, grew up, and died, and so did their
patients; and still, while the world let the
corks fly gaily, reckless of all consequences,
the inexhaustible doctors went on shaking their
periwigged heads, doubtful, very doubtful,
whether Champagne did or did not injure the
nerves and produce gout. At last a verdict
was pronounced. Aesculapius adopted the wine,
and branded it as safe thenceforth for ever. It
has been brandied since by non-Aesculapians,
but it has not become the safer for that. Then
broke out its eulogists into a flood of praise.
Venner declared that it excelled all wines, and
ought to be reserved for himself and the peers
and princes of Prance. Beaudius even declared
it " vinum Dei."

We all know a glass of good dry
Champagne. It is indeed what Dr. Druitt sensibly
calls " a true stimulant to mind and body, rapid,
volatile, transitory, and harmless." It should
be firm and clear, says the doctor, with high
grapy bouquet and flavour, which survives
the charming tide of effervescence. It should
be lighter and sweeter than dry Sillery, and
should have a slight pineapple aroma. It
should slightly cream on the surface, not froth;
and should send up bright, clear, sparkling
bubbles of carbonic acid gas. The inimitable
aroma should leave an agreeable memory on the
palate.—In fact, it should be as unlike what you
generally get, as possible.

The Champagne vine grows in the departments
of the Ardennes, the Marne, the Aube,
and the Haute Marne. The best wine comes
from the Marne—" the vineyards of the river,"
as they are called. This district the vine-
growers divide into four divisions—the river,
the mountain of Rheims, the estate of St.
Thierry, and the valleys of Norrois and
Tardenois.

In the first-class of champagne stands Sillery,
pale amber, with dry taste, rich body, and fine
bouquet. The best is the Vin du Roi, grown
in the vineyards of Verzenay and Mailly, which
stud the north-eastern slopes of a chain of hills
that separate the Marne from the Vesle. These
vineyards formerly belonged to the Marquis de
Sillery, who has thus delightfully immortalised
his name. The wine was long known as the wine
de la Marechale, from the Marechale d'Estrées,
who watched over its careful manufacture; but
the marquis has long since ungallantly expelled
the memory of la Marechale. Sillery is allowed
to be the most spirituous and choice, besides
being the strongest, most durable, and most
wholesome, of the Champagne wines. It is
unquestionably the highest manifestation of the
divinity of Bacchus in all France. Ay scatters
its vines down a calcareous declivity, open to the
south, and casting green shadows of its clustering
leaves on the waters of the Marne. The
district extends from Bisseuil to the borders of the
department of Aisne. The still and creaming
Ay wines when made well, and in a good year,
are supreme. The still, as usual with this class
of wines, is the best. They are consumed in
Paris and London, but not in America. Mareuil
comes next, and Pierry, which produces a
drier wine that keeps better than Ay. A
slightly flinty taste marks Pierry. Then
follow Dizy and Epernay, which are sometimes
equal, sometimes inferior to, Ay. The '' Closet"
wines of Epernay hold their own with those
of Ay.

The second-class Champagnes comprise those
of Hautvilliers (nine miles from Rheims); these
Champagnes formerly ranked high, but have now
degenerated, or are less carefully made. Then
come the wines of Cramant, Avize, Oger, and
Ménil, all near Epernay, and all made of white
grapes, which are much used to give stability
to the wines of Ay.

In the third-class come lesser sorts, Chouilly,
Monthelon, Grauve, Mancy, and other vineyards
near Rheims. The first two classes are
bearable, the rest have no body unless mixed.

The effervescing wines are seldom mixed.
None of the white wines can be mixed except
with the growth of neighbouring districts, but
with the red they do anything. The best of the
red is the Clos, or St. Thierry, which has a
Burgundy and Champagne quality blended.
The mountain wines (little known in England),
Verzy, Verzenay, and Mailly, are of good
quality. Bouzy has a particularly delicate
flavour, and Mont-Sougeon will keep well for
forty years.

The grey wine is obtained by treading the
grapes for a quarter of an hour before they go
to press. For the pink they tread still longer,
but the rose coloured Rheims wines (always
inferior) are made by a tinge of very strong red
wine, or by cream of tartar, and a liquor of
elderberries manufactured at Fromes.

The best red wines are fit to use, the second
year, but they will keep well for six or seven. The
ordinary Champagnes are in perfection the third
year of bottling. The best wines gain in delicacy
for from ten to twenty years, and are often
found good even at thirty and forty.

Good Champagne did not drop from the clouds
nor flow from the rocks. It was produced by hard
labour, patient skill, and deep observation. In
the first place, the Champagne soil is special,