IX A German First of September 483 



Bessie to bring out a ' joog o' yil ' ; all was dry, 

 and brown, and thirsty as the Sahara itself, the 

 occasional faint chirp of some half-baked grass- 

 hopper, or the electrical snapping of the dwarf 

 furze-pods, making one feel hotter than ever. Our 

 friends soon announced their approach like Christian 



Mit Ranch und Dampf, 



and in a few moments we were all reunited, in still 

 fewer we were all discussing the remains of the 

 breakfast, and gurgling the amber wine out of 

 the ' long-necks ' which had been brought up by a 

 posse of ragged peasant-boys. 



Light German wine is not worth the drinking 

 after it crosses the Channel : — loses its flavour — 

 can't stand the sea voyage — must be doctored ! 

 Bah ! Just have three or four hours' shooting in 

 England or Scotland, either if you like, under such 

 a sun, and over such a dry, burnt-up expanse of 

 stubble as that over which we had been stumbling 

 since breakfast, and then try a bottle of pure grape- 

 blood ; not your brandied, burnt - sugared, and 

 brown -papered port and sherry, but pure, simple, 

 fermented grape-juice ; and then abuse pure Rhine 

 wine if you have the conscience ! 



Would v/hisky, would sherry, would, — with 

 deep respect be it spoken — would even real strong 

 beer, brewed by the most particular of Wiltshire 

 farmers, have produced half the fun that those 

 poor half-dozen of green bottles did among us ? 



