The aged butler delicately lifted a flask from its encampment of straw,
and bore it to that section of the apartment where the light was
clearest. 'I wonder if the boss would miss it, if we should just smell
of this here bottle,' said the faithful servitor. Turning it his hand,
it flashed brilliant rays on every side. Entangled among these played
vivid and beautiful pictures, changeable as auroras, yet perfect, during
their brief instant of existence, as the imaginations of Raphael, or the
transcripts of Claude.
Here then you saw a sunny hill, and troops of vintagers dispersed along
its sides, whose outlines wavered in the afternoon heats. But you
rapidly outlived this scene, and now the broad plains of Hungary lay
before your gaze. Speeding over the contracted domains of the Tokay, you
entered upon the Sarmatian wastes, where the wild vines fought for life
with the icy soil and the chill winds of the desert. Uncouth proprietors
urged on the unwilling peasants to the acrid press, and rolled out
barrels of the 'Rackcheekzi' and the 'Quiteenough-thankzi' vintage,
curiously labeled to a New York destination. Soon you beheld Water
Street, and long low cellars, where groups of boys cleansed now the
clouded flask, and now the imperfectly preserved cork.
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