It is not uncommon to hear of a poet that he is a poet’s poet; of a musician, he is for musicians first and laymen after. So it is scarce matter for surprise to learn that a wine there is that is preeminently the wine merchant’s wine. That this should be Sherry is all but inevitable; for he carries not his credentials with him like the rest, but trusteth chiefly to the praise and the recommendation of another, and that other the wine merchant aforesaid. And though it were too much to say of him that he has inspired a literature, there has grown up around him a copious “derangement of epitaphs,” with no little quaint
