The following significant story was told me by the son of the old man. I present it in nearly his own words.
"Adjoining me in the country lives an old German who nearly seventy years ago was sold in New York for his passage. A confectioner of Baltimore bought him for seven years' service, and he went with his master to fulfil his obligation. When his time was out, he turned his face towards the setting sun, and started to seek his fortune. On arriving in Pittsburg, having no money, he engaged to 'work his way' down the river on a flat-boat. He stopped at the little village, as our city then was, and opened a shop. He was skilful, and succeeded. He came to my father, and bought, on ten years' credit, a place in the country, where, in course of time, he built a house, and, with my father's assistance, planted a vineyard. He then gave up all other business but that of the vine-dresser.
"One day, in the autumn, a few years ago, I overtook the old man on horseback, on his way to town. After wishing me a cheery good-morning, he said,—
"'I am on my way to town, to sell your father my wine.'
"'He will be glad to get it; he is buying wine, and yours is made so carefully that he will be glad to have it.'
"'I mean to sell it to him for fifty cents a gallon.'
"'Oh,' said I, 'don't offer it at that. I know he is paying double that sum.'
"'Nevertheless, I mean to sell it to him for half a dollar.'
"I looked inquiringly.
"'Well, Sir, I was but a boy when I left Germany; but I was old enough to remember that a man, after a hard day's work, could go to a wine-house, and for two cents could get a tumblerful. It did him good, and he went home to his family fresher and brighter for his wine. He was never drunk, and never wasted his earnings to appease a diseased appetite. I want to see that state of things brought about here. Our poor people drink whiskey. I want them to have cheap wine in its place. Fifty cents a gallon will pay me well this year for my capital and labor, and next year I think I can sell it for forty cents.'