About Wanganui.

Patea Mail, 2 March 1882, Page 3

About Wanganui.

A Wanderer’s Notes.

I have already described a few first impressions. To-day I went forth again. How very hot the place is ! Imagine a sudden bend of a great river; place in the bend a town, and on the other side imagine barren burnt-up slopes. Place yourself in the centre of the town, and on either side of you are the great arid sandhills I described before. Where shall we turn ? The sun beats down with more than tropical violence. “ Cari e Inglesi ” (dogs and Englishmen), runs the proverb, “ walk in the sun.” Well, I, am no Englishman (save by the unfortunate accident of birth), and I go to Mr, Soler ant 7 -his vineyard. .Through a quickset hed, e, full 20 feet high, one perceives acres of vines trained horizontally about 8 feet 1 from the ground. Here is grateful shade ; rich glowing fuchsia bells, roses, and grand trees of yellow plums, peaches, and all other fruit. Six hundred pounds of grapes make a quarter-cask (28 gallons) of wine; ‘ Maoris bring in tons of grapes, which all go into the press. I tasted red Burgundy st. This wine got two prizes at the Melbourne Exhibition. It has no resemblance to Burgundy, either in “nose,” aroma, or astringency. It was like Grenache ; or a mixture of brandy, port, and claret. No one accustomed to French or German wines would call it high class. 1 should, however, imagine it perfectly genuine, and very likely to improve on acquaintance. The price, 80s a dozen, docs not seem high when we consider it is seven years old.

But lot ns look at the matter practically. Here is wine sold at 15s a gallon. Far better liquor f.o.b. at Bordeaux would cost I suppose about 2s a gallon ; or at Adelaide 4s a gallon. What, then, is the use of attempting to foster such an industry ? Let me try to give you a notion of the price of wine in Italy. I stayed some days at a village inn at Pompeii. The charge was 4 lire a day for all meals, bedrooms, etc ; or just £1 a week. This included wine ad libitum , and one man used to drink regularly three bottles of Lachrima Christi a day. You can guess that it could not have been worth more than 2d a bottle. I consider it as good as most Australian or New Zealand wines. If we are to become a wine drinking county, the wine must be cheap. But then, how about the revenue derived at present from imported spirits ? Clearly, any large production of New Zealand wines would be useless until the price is lowered to about 3d a bottle ; equally clearly, any great sale would so rob the present customs receipts as to necessitate an excise duty calculated to yield anequivalent revenue. And the Englishman, as Mr Soler very well remarked, takes his pleasure sadly. He likes to stand round a bar with his elbows on wet beer drippings, and drink standing, like a horse at a manger. What does he care for bloomy fruit, and wine fresh from the-cool cellar; followed by the fragrant Mocha, and a cigarette ? “All his life,” said Mr Boler, “he wants to make money, money. Well, at the end he must die, why not enjoy a little ?” I thought of the laureate’s words : “Death is the end of life; ah, why should life all labor be ?”

Back I go to my hotel and find a dining-room at a high close temperature, with hot roast beef and hot haricot chops, and never a dish of peaches, or a nice watermelon. The total amount of wine made by Mr Soler is about two or three thousand gallons a year. He

does not like selling it until about seven years old, and therefore has to proceed cautiously. I fancy a demand exists or nearly ton times what he makes; but as I say, wine will never be an industry until its price is one-fourth what it is now. I tasted also some splendid apple wine, which is an experiment and not yet sold ; so I do not know the price. It was pinkish, very grateful to the palate, and creamed magnificently. I should recommend any visitor to see Mr Soler’s place and buy some of his fruit. In a few months he hopes to have a sort of tea garden, and eventually a license to sell wine retail. If ever ho gets this, then I advise the consumption of some of the brew. It is pleasant, and a novelty; better, too, on its merits than publichouse sherry ; and the cool quiet of the vineyard deludes one into the fancy that it is a great wine. Why have you no orchards at Patea, with plums, nectarines, figs, peaches, and grapes ? Because you are barbarians, and care for none of those things. Meat three times a day, and potations of raw whiskey—these be your gods !