A Wine Tragedy In

Tahiti

By “Opoa”

WINES are of many qualities, and ex hibit as many personalities as do those who drink them.

There are the coarse, plebian wines that have the robust body and the ribald humour of the labourer in the fields.

There are bourgeois wines, that mingle in their substance the turmoil of the market-place with the flavour of ambi tion.

Finally, there are those wines of rare delicacy and subtle fineness, which dis tinguish them as true patricians.

In a class by themselves are a small company of wines of virtues so exalted, of flavour so exquisite that they rank as princes of the vineyards. One of these is a golden wine of France. In it have been distilled the gentle poetry of the troubadours, the nectar of the faeries, the attar of the roses of Languedoc.

A small supply of this wine (of a very good year) was once brought to Papeete, and some of it came into the hands of an acquaintance of the writer.

This man knew the virtues of his possession. Only on the most especial occasions, and for appreciative palates, was a bottle brought to the table. One such occasion was the celebration of the birthday of a very dear member of his family.

Many were there whom the host knew to be far from critical judges of wine: but he was convinced that the flavour of this matchless vintage would capti vate the most indifferent palate.

Reverently the golden liquid was de canted into each wine glass. One after another each guest raised his glass to his lips and savoured its contents.

The sigh of ecstasy the host awaited was never breathed. Instead, a hand reached for a bottle of cognac which stood on the table. The bottle was un corked and passed from hand to hand.

The host stared, incredulous.

Tonnerre! They were pouring cognac into that princely wine! * £ Our acquaintance has since given many a dinner with the same guests about his tables; for they are cherished and valued friends.

The wine which accompanies the meat is brought from obscure vineyards in vast demijohns, and is of the quality which “biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.” The host beams over a board where contentment reigns, and sights of appreciation delight his ears.

His reputation as a connoisseur of wine—so grievously eclipsed at that memorable birthday dinner —is now re established on unshakable foundations.