There is something very artistic in the way your picture-dealer, having brushed away the dust from a Mieris or a Gerard Dow, places the work in a favorite light before you, and then stands to watch the effect on your countenance. So, too, will your man of rare manuscripts and illuminated missals offer to your notice some illegible treasure of the fourth century; but these are nothing to the mysterious solemnity of him who, uncorking a bottle of rare wine, waits to note the varying sensations of your first enjoyment down to your perfect ecstasy. I tried to perform my part of the piece with credit: I looked long at the amber-colored liquor in the glass; I sniffed it and smiled approvingly; the host smiled too, and said, “Ja!” Not another syllable did he utter, but how expressive was that “Ja!” “Ja!” meant, “You are right, Potts, it is the veritable wine of 1764, bottled for the Herzog Ludwig's marriage; every drop of it is priceless. Mark the odor, how it perfumes the air around us; regard the color--the golden hair of Venus can alone rival it; see how the oily globules cling to the glass!” “Ja!” meant all this, and more. As I drank off my glass, I was sorely puzzled by the precise expression in which to couch my approval; but he supplied it and said, “Is it not Gôttlich?” and I said it _was_ Gôttlich; and while we finished the two bottles, this solitary phrase sufficed for converse between us, “Gôttlich!” being uttered by each as he drained his glass, and “Gôttlich!” being re-echoed by his companion.