Bonciani's,--I made an acquaintance, a German Jew, a picture-dealer with
a shop in a certain capital, no matter which, editor of a _bric-a-brac_
paper, and a right merry fellow. I introduce him to the reader because
he afforded me some information concerning Provence. He had a branch
establishment--never mind where, but in Provence--and he had come to
Florence to pick up pictures and _bric-a-brac_.

Our acquaintance began as follows. We sat opposite each other at table in
the evening. A large rush-encased flask is set before each guest in a swing
carriage, that enables him to pour out his glassful from the big-bellied
flask without effort. Each flask is labelled variously Chianti, Asti,
Pomino, but all the wines have a like substance and flavour, and each is
an equally good light dinner-wine. A flask when full costs three francs
twenty centimes; and when the guest falls back in his seat, with a smile of
satisfaction on his face, and his heart full of good will towards all men,
for that he has done his dinner, then the bottle is taken out, weighed, and
the guest charged the amount of wine he has consumed. He gets a fresh flask
at every meal.

"Du lieber Himmel!" exclaimed my _vis-a-vis_. "I do b'lieve I hev drunk
dree francs. Take up de flasche and weigh her. Tink so?"

"I can believe it without weighing the bottle," I replied.

"And only four sous--twenty centimes left!" exclaimed the old gentleman,
meditatively. "But four sous is four sous. It is de price of mine
paper"--brightening in his reflections--"I can but shell one copy more,
and I am all right." Brightening to greater brilliancy as he turns to me:
"Will you buy de last number of my paper? She is in my pocket. She is ver'
interesting. Oh! ver' so. Moche information for two pence."