e works of that mysterious people. Apropos of
Montepulciano's importance in the early years of Roman history, I
lighted on a quaint story related by its very jejune annalist,
Spinello Benci. It will be remembered that Livy attributes the
invasion of the Gauls, who, after besieging Clusium, advanced on
Rome, to the persuasions of a certain Aruns. He was an exile from
Clusium; and wishing to revenge himself upon his country-people, he
allured the Senonian Gauls into his service by the promise of
excellent wine, samples of which he had taken with him into
Lombardy. Spinello Benci accepts the legend literally, and
continues: 'These wines were so pleasing to the palate of the
barbarians, that they were induced to quit the rich and teeming
valley of the Po, to cross the Apennines, and move in battle array
against Chiusi. And it is clear that the wine which Aruns selected
for the purpose was the same as that which is produced to this day
at Montepulciano. For nowhere else in the Etruscan district can
wines of equally generous quality and fiery spirit be found, so
adapted for export and capable of such long preservation.'

We may smile at the historian's _naivete_. Yet the fact remains that
good wine of Montepulciano can still allure barbarians of this epoch
to the spot where it is grown. Of all Italian vintages, with the
exception of some rare qualities of Sicily and the Valtellina, it
is, in my humble opinion, the best. And when the time comes for
Italy to develop the resources of her vineyards upon scientific
principles, Montepulciano will drive Brolio from the field and take
the same place by the side of Chianti which Volnay occupies by
common Macon. It will then be quoted upon wine-lists throughout
Europe, and find its place upon the tables of rich epicures in
Hyperborean regions, and add its generous warmth to Trans-atlantic
banquets. Even as it is now made, with very little care bestowed on
cultivation and none to speak of on selection of the grape, the wine
is rich and noble, slightly rough to a sophisticated palate, but
clean in quality and powerful and racy. It deserves the enthusiasm
attributed by Redi to Bacchus:[1]

Fill, fill, let us all have our will!
But with _what_, with _what_, boys, shall we fill.
Sweet Ariadne--no, not _that_ one--_ah_ no;
Fill me the manna of Montepulciano:
Fill me a magnum and reach it me.--Gods!
How it glides to my heart by the sweetest of roads!
Oh, how it kisses me, t