The Bishop drank only from this flagon, pouring its contents
himself into the goblet which he held to the light before he drank from
it, enjoying the rich glow of colour, and the beauty of the engraving.
His guests sometimes wondered what specially choice kind of wine the
Bishop kept for his own, exclusive use. If they asked, he told them.
"The kind used at the marriage feast at Cana in Galilee, when the
supply of an inferior quality had failed. This, my friends, is pure
water, wholesome, refreshing, and not costly. I drink it from glass
which gives to it the colour of the juice of the grape, partly in order
that my guests may not feel chilled in their own enjoyment of more gay
and luscious beverage; partly because I enjoy the emblem.
"The gifts of circumstance, life, and nature, vary, not so much in
themselves, as in the human vessels which contain them. If the heart
be a ruby goblet, the humblest form of pure love filling it, will
assume the rich tint and fervour of romance. If the mind be, in
itself, a thing of vivid tints and glowing colours, the dullest thought
within it will take on a lustre, a sparkle, a glow of brilliancy.
Thus, whensoever men or matters seem to me dull or wearisome, to myself
I say: 'Symon! Thou art this day, thyself, a pewter pot.'"
Then the Bishop would fill up his goblet and hold it to the light.
"Aye, the best wine!" he would say. "'Thou hast kept the best wine
until now.
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