the Côte-d'Or cellar. Rue de Champagne, 17."
Similar biographical sketches are given of
other lords of other summer-houses which
wink at you with their venetian blinds
behind their fences of trellis work covered
with creeping plants.

The ground-plan of the Halle-aux-Vins is
formed of square blocks, consisting of magazins,
divided at right angles by the streets
we have traversed. The magazins are
appropriately  named after the rivers of France along
whose banks are the most famous vineyards.
The Magazin du Rhone, Magazin de L'Yonne,
Magazin de la Marne, Magazin de la Seine,
and Magazin de la Loire, will serve as guides
to the nomenclature of the rest of the
establishment. Five principal masses of
building are thus divided by clean-swept
streets, whose most conspicuous ornaments,
besides the little thrifty fir-trees, arbor-vitæ,
and junipers in tubs, are groups of all sorts
of casks lying about in picturesque attitudes,
as if they had purposely arranged themselves
in tableaux for the sake of having their
portraits drawn; and drays, which are simply
long-inclined planes balancing on the axle of
the wheel, on which the casks are held by a
rope tightened by a four-handled capstan.
The elevation of the Halle-aux-Vins is
pyramidal in principle. The ground-floor of
the blocks is crossed by galleries from which
you enter cobwebby rather than mouldy
cellars, whose more apt denomination would be
the Bordeaux word chais. Each gallery, a
sort of rectangular tunnel some three
hundred and fifty metres long, is lighted by the
sunshine from a grating above, and is
traversed by a wooden railway for tubs to roll
on straight and soberly. Great precautions
are taken against fire. The galleries are closed
at each end by double doors of iron grating.
The sapeurs pompiers, in various ways, make
their vicinity if not their presence felt.

Other storehouses, built over the ground-floor
so as to form a second story, are tastefully
surrounded with terraces, on which you
are strictly forbidden to smoke. These upper
magazins are approached from the streets by
inclined planes of road-way for the use of
vehicles; pedestrians, by stepping up light
iron staircases, may more readily breathe
the air of the terrace, while sounds of tapping
and wine-coopering mingle with the hum of
the adjacent city, with the passing music of
some military band, or with the roar and the
scream of the captive creatures which are
stared at by the crowd in the Jardin des
Plantes. Vinous and spirituous smells float
in the atmosphere from the full casks which
lie about, in spite of the coating of plaster
with which their ends are covered; and
we draw nigh to the vaulted magazins of
eau de vie, where every brandy-seller has
his own proper numbered store, lighted
from above by little square skylights, and
where roam groups of inquisitive tasters,
or spirit-rappers, anxious to pry into secrets
that are closely veiled from the vulgar herd.
The sanctum of the shrine is the Depotoir
Public, or public gauging and mixing
apparatus of cylindrical receivers, and
glass-graduated brandyometers, and cranes for
raising the barrels to the top of the
cylinders. In this presence-chamber of alcoholic
majesty, etiquette is strictly observed.
Conformably with the rules and regulations of
the Entrêpot, the conservator apprises
Messieurs the merchants that they are required
to mind their P's and Q's. It is no more
allowable to meddle with the machinery
or to intrude behind the mystic cylinders,
than it is to make playthings of the furniture
which adorns the altar of a cathedral.

There are paradoxical facts connected with
the Halle-aux-Vins which none but the
thoroughly initiated can solve. Perhaps it may
afford a clue to know that there are two
emporia of wine and spirit at Paris; one,
the Halle within the barrière, and, therefore
subject to the octroi tax, and more
immediately connected with the supply of
the city itself—the other, Bercy, close by,
but outside the barrière, and consequently
filled with the goods yet untouched by the
troublesome impost. Large as it is, the
Entrepôt is not large enough; were it twice
as big, it would all be hired. For, of all
trades in Paris, the wine-trade is the most
considerable. There are now nearly seven
hundred wholesale merchants, and about
three thousand five hundred retail dealers,
without reckoning the épiciers, or grocers
who usually sell wines, spirits, and liqueurs
in bottle; taking no account of the
innumerable houses where they give to eat,
and also give to drink. Not only is it the
mission of Parisian commerce to moisten
the throats of the metropolis, but it is the
natural intermediary of the alcoholic
beverages that are consumed in the vineyard-less
districts of France.  The twentieth part
of the produce of the empire travels to
Paris. But as the imposts on their arrival
are very heavy and moreover press only
on the local consumption, means have been
taken to store the merchandise in such a
way as not to pay the duty till the
moment of its sale to the consumer. Hence,
there is established on the bank of the
Seine where Bercy stands, an assemblage
of a thousand or twelve hundred cellars and
warehouses—a sort of inland bonding-place
—outside the limits of the octroi tax. These
are hired by the merchants of the city as
receptacles for their stock in hand.

The buildings of the Halle-aux-Vins, within
the fiscal boundary, cost altogether thirty
millions of francs, estimating the value of
the site at one third of that sum. The
speculation, however, has not hitherto responded
to the hopes that were entertained at the
time when it was founded. Whether the
rentals (which vary from two francs and a
half to five francs the superficial mètre), are