We derive our name of Brandy from the Dutch _brand-wijn_, or the German brannt-wein, that is, _burnt_ or distilled _wine_; and in the 17th and 18th centuries it was generally spelt, and spoken of as brandy wine. But, also, in those centuries was it known by the name of “Nantz,” from the town (Nantes, the capital of the Loire Inferieure) whence it came. But this name was changed early last century, when the trade left Nantes, and got into the Charente district, of which Cognac was the centre; so what used to be “right good Nantz” of the old smuggling days, turned into the delicate, many-starred “Cognac” of our times. It was an eminently respectable spirit. Whiskey was practically unknown out of Scotland and Ireland. Gin was the drink of the common people, and rum was considered only fit for sailors. Even Dr. Johnson, though so fond of his tea, was also fond of brandy, as Boswell chronicles of him, when in his 70th year: “On Wednesday, April 7, I dined with him at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s. Johnson harangued upon the qualities of different liquors; and spoke with great contempt of claret, as so weak, that ‘a man would be drowned by it, before it made him drunk.’ He was persuaded to drink one glass of it, that he might judge, not from recollection, which might be dim, but from immediate sensation. He shook his head, and said, ‘Poor stuff! No, sir, claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero’ (smiling) ‘must drink brandy. In the first place the flavour of brandy is the most grateful to the palate, and then brandy will do soonest for a man what drinking _can_ do for him. There are, indeed, few who are able to drink brandy. That is a power rather to be wished for than attained.’” And two years later on he gives another illustration of the doctor’s liking for strong potations. “Mr. Eliot mentioned a curious liquor peculiar to his country, which the Cornish fishermen drink. They call it _Mahogany_; and it is made of two parts gin and one part treacle, well beaten together. I begged to have some of it made, which was done with proper skill by Mr. Eliot. I thought it very good liquor, and said it was a counterpart of what is called _Athol porridge_[63] in the Highlands of Scotland, which is a mixture of whiskey and honey. Johnson said ‘That must be a better liquor than the Cornish, for both its component parts are better.’ He also observed, ‘_Mahogany_ must be a modern name; for it is not long since the wood called mahogany was known in this country. I mentioned his scale of liquors: Claret for boys—port for men—brandy for heroes. ‘Then,’ said Mr. Burke, ‘let me have claret; I love to be a boy; to have the careless gaiety of boyish days,’ Johnson: ‘I should drink claret too, if it would give me that; but it does not; it neither makes boys men, nor men boys. You’ll be drowned in it before it has any effect upon you.’”