A song without words

By WALTER JAMES

Wine, properly regarded, is a song without words. It is a gift of nature that wise men through long ages have loved by instinct without the needless prompting of speech and books. But for all that most of us like to talk (and a few to write) about it because we want others to share our joy. No man likes to keep good wine to himself.

Why do we so love wine? Is there a reason for it? Few people get through life without a good many rough passages; fewer get through many days without some petty and pin-pricking irritation or annoyance. For these troubles wine is the great consoler, bestowing a soothing caress which never palls. This is due largely -- let us disdain…