CHAPTER III.

Heap high the fire, and, O ye Lares, smile; And, Innocence, with plenty hither bring Hilarity; while Friendship brims the cup With home-brewed Ale, and every welcom’d guest Forgets the storm . . . _Booker’s Sequel Poem to the Hop Garden._ I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year, With your pockets full of money, and your cellar full of beer. _Old Carol._ _HOME-BREWED ALES. — OLD RECEIPTS. — HISTORICAL FACTS. — DEAN SWIFT ON HOME-BREW. — CHRISTOPHER NORTH’S BREW-HOUSE._ Hogarth’s _Farmer’s Return_ represents the worthy man just come in from his morning round or from distant market town. As he rests awhile in the farmhouse kitchen he draws sweet solace from the pipe brought him by his daughter, while he eyes with keen expectance the jug of foaming home-brew which his buxom wife, in her hurry to serve her lord, is spilling on the tiled floor. These two old friends, firm supporters of each other, the farmers and home-brewed ale, have almost parted company. Home-brew, indeed, has become, in some places, an extinct and almost forgotten beverage. It is a curious fact, however, that between the years 1884 and 1886 there was a slight increase in the number of persons brewing their own ale. {46} [Illustration: THE FARMERS RETURN.] The late Mr. Wm. Cobbett, writing in 1821 on the subject of brewing, says, “To show Englishmen, forty years ago, that it was good for them to brew beer in their houses, would have been as impertinent as gravely to insist that they ought to endeavour not to lose their breath; for in those times, to have a _house_ and not to brew was a rare thing indeed. Mr. Ellman, an old man and a large farmer in Sussex, has recently given, in evidence before a Committee of the House of Commons, this fact: that forty years ago there was not a labourer in his parish that did not brew his own beer; and that now there is not one that does it, except by chance the malt be given him.” The decadence of the art of domestic brewing is, for some reasons, a matter for regret. The causes are not far to seek. The improved machinery of the modern brewer, which enables him to make an uniformly excellent beer, and to sell it at a low price; and the railways which now traverse every part of the country, carrying his single, double, or treble X, as the case may be, to places where half a century back no one dreamt of purchasing ale for home consumption—to these great changes is undoubtedly due the partial downfall of home-brew that has taken {47} place. Not only has the practice of domestic brewing much declined, but from the same causes there has been of late years an extraordinary and lamentable decrease in the numbers of small country brewers. Although the name of home-brew carries with it many old associations and sentiments which we abandon with regret—memories of bright March beer and mellow old October, of snug ingle-nooks and raftered ceilings, and of kind, if homely, welcome—we cannot but admit, as on a hot day we drain our tankard of Burton bitter, or of world-famed London stout, that life has still its compensations. “To make barley-water was an invention which found out itself with little more than the joyning the ingredients together,” said old Fuller, in his _Worthies of England_; “but to make mault for drinke, was a master-piece indeed.” This old writer would seem to give the maltster more credit than the brewer. In his day, however, the distinction between the two was slight, for nearly every country gentleman or farmer was both his own brewer and his own maltster. In 1610, the justices of Rutland, in settling the rate of domestic servants’ wages, adjudged that a chief woman, who could bake and brew _and make malt_, should have the sum of 24_s_. 8_d_. by the year; while a second best, who could brew but not malt, was to have 23_s_. 4_d_. The earliest connected account of domestic malting and brewing which we have been able to find, occurs in a poetical work of the thirteenth century, called the _Treatise of Walter de Biblesworth_. The treatise deals with most matters of domestic concern and every-day life, and the passage in which the malting of barley and the brewing of ale are described, is so curious that it is given below in full length from the text to be found in _National Antiquities_, vol. i. (priv. pub. Th. Wright, Ed.). “Seyoms ore entour cerveyse, Pur fere gens ben à eyse. Alumet, amy, cele lefrenole,[17] {48} E kaunt averas manges de brakole, En une cuwe[18] large e leez, Cel orge là enfoundrez; E kaunt sera enfoundré, E le ewe seyt escouloé, Mountez cel haut soler, Si le festes nette baler,[19] E là cochet votre blée, Taunke seyt ben germée, De cele houre appelleras, Brès, ke blée avant nomas. Le brès de vostre mayn muez En mounceus ou en rengeés;[20] Pus le portez en un corbel, Pur ensechier au toral.[21] Le corbel e le corbiloun Vous serviront au fusoyn. Kaunt vostre brez est molu, E de ewe chaude ben enbeu, Des bertiz[22] ver cervoyse Par art contrové teise. Ky fet miracles e merveyles, De une chaundelie deus chandelis, De homme lay fet bon clerc, A homme desconu doune merk, Homme fort fet chatoner, {49} E homme à roye haut juper,[23] Taunt de vertu de la grees De servoyse fet de brès, Ke la coyfe[24] de un bricoun Teyndre seet sanz vermilloun. Ceste matyre cy repose, Parlom ore de autre chose.” [17] Some old Englishman has written in the MS. over difficult words his interpretation of them; an interpretation frequently of great assistance, but occasionally in itself not a little puzzling. This word _lefrenole_, however, he much elucidates by annotating it “kex;” in Gloucestershire and in other parts of the country the word is still used to signify the hemlock, and may be found in many old writers. Lygones, in _A King and No King_, refers to his legs as “withered kexes.” The word was probably occasionally used to denote a candle, and this is the meaning assigned to it here. Langland, in the _Vision of Piers Ploughman_, says that glowing embers do not serve the workman’s purpose so well, “As dooth a kex or a candle That caught hath fire and blazeth.” Allusion is also made to the use of stalks of hemlock as candles in _Turn. of Tottenham_, 201. [18] Our annotator says “a mikel fat.” The word “kive” is found in later English for the same utensil. [19] Suepet klene. [20] “On hepe other on rowe” is the quaint gloss. [21] _Toral_ is noted “kulne.” [22] _Bertiz_ is probably a form of _bertzissa_, which seems to be a barbarous rendering of _wort_. [23] _Juper_ is annotated _houten_, _i.e._, to hoot or shout. [24] The word _coyfe_ here seems to signify not _cap_, but _head_ or _face_; another such use of the word is to be found in the _Chron. de Nangis_ (1377), and is mentioned in Sainte-Palaye’s _Hist. Dict. of the French Language_. It is believed that no translation of this curious old poem has been published, and a rendering is accordingly added in which literal accuracy rather than poetical elegance has been aimed at. Ale shall now engage my pen, To set at rest the hearts of men. First, my friend, your candle light,[25] Next of spiced cake take a bite; Then steep your barley in a vat, Large and broad, take care of that; When you shall have steeped your grain, And the water let out-drain, Take it to an upper floor, If you’ve swept it clean before, There couch,[26] and let your barley dwell, Till it germinates full well. Malt now you shall call the grain, Corn it ne’er shall be again. Stir the malt then with your hand, In heaps or rows now let it stand; On a tray then you shall take it, To a kiln to dry and bake it. The tray and eke a basket light Will serve to spread the malt aright. {50} When your malt is ground in mill, And of hot water has drank its fill, And skill has changed the wort to ale, Then to see you shall not fail Miracles and marvels; Lo! Two candles out of one do grow; Ale makes a layman a good clerk, To one unknown it gives a mark, Ale makes the strong go on all fours, And fill the streets with shouts and roars. The good ale from the malt at length, So draws the barley’s pride and strength, That a royster’s figure-head Needs no dye to make it red. Here, then, let the matter rest, To talk of other things were best. [25] _i.e._, you must rise betimes. [26] The word “couch” has still a technical meaning in malting. As everybody knows, the monks of old were famous for their home-brewed ales, and the brewer and cellarer, whether in mitred abbey or in the less distinguished religious houses, were officials of considerable importance. The office of cellarer was one held in especial estimation. An old glossary describes his position in the monastery as follows:—“_Pater debet esse totius congregationis_,” and in the priory of St. Swithin at Winchester special prayers were offered up for this functionary. Such a person is depicted on this page. The monk whose anxious eye proclaims the sad fact that in tasting the liquor entrusted to his charge he is exceeding his duty, is a cellarer who evidently makes the most of his opportunities. The drawing is taken from a manuscript in the Arundel collection. [Illustration: “Is it in condition?”] {51} [Illustration: Mediæval Cellarer.] Some curious entries relating to home-brew are to be found in the registry of the priory of Worcester, A.D. 1240. At each brewing “_VIII. cronn: de greu_ and x _quarteria de meis_” were used; which probably signifies eight cronns or four quarters of growte (here meaning ground malt), and ten quarters of mixed barley and oat malt. A long list then follows of the allowances of beer amongst the different officials of the house. The beer was of three different kinds, _prima_ or _melior_, _secunda_, and _tertia_. The cellarer is to have one measure of prime and one of second. In the brewhouse four measures of the prime are to be distributed, and two measures on the day on which the ale is to be moved. The servant of the church is to have the holy-water bucket full of “mixta,” _i.e._, part prime and part second, or, it may be, a mixture of all three sorts. This “mixta” seems to have been an anticipation of the “half-and-half” and “three threads” of more modern times. Each of those who help to carry the ale are to have two measures of the first and second mixed, and so the list proceeds through all the officers and servants of the priory. Ale, indeed, seems to have been their chief drink, and even the invalid (_potionandus_) about to undergo a course of physicking was allowed his measure of ale. Our doubts as to the wisdom of this dieting hardly require the confirmation they receive from the further direction that he was to have pork, fowl with stuffing, cheese, and eggs. Sometimes the records tell sad tales of the poor monks being robbed of their beer by reason of the malt failing. This misfortune is recorded in the annals of Dunstable as having happened in 1262. The annalist ruefully mentions that “in this year, about the Feast of John the Baptist, our ale failed.” Very soon after this, however, they made provision for the deficiency by purchasing from H. Chadde £20 worth of malt; the quantity is not mentioned, but at the rates of the day it would no doubt considerably exceed 100 quarters, so that for some time the monks could have known no want. In 1274 the same disaster occurred:—“At the Feast of Pentecost our malt failed.” This time the holy fathers were equal to the occasion. “We drank,” so run the annals, “five casks of wine, and it did us much good.” {52} The crimes and misdeeds of Roger Noreys, the wicked abbot of Evesham at the end of the twelfth century, seem to have culminated when he not only called the monks “puppies, vassals, and ribalds,” but, adding injury to insult, compelled them to live for many days on hard bread and “ale little differing from water.” This was too much, and the monks petitioned the archbishop against such ill-treatment. The abbot, it may be remarked, appears from the records of the House to have taken very good care of himself, though he treated the monks so ill, and it might have been said of him as it was of another ecclesiastic whose name, unfortunately, has not accompanied the verse:— Bonum vinum cum sapore Bibit abbas cum priore Sed conventus de pejore Semper solet bibere. John of Brokehampton, who became abbot of Evesham in 1282, had himself filled the office of cellarer, and amongst many other benefits conferred by him upon the House during his abbacy, he built a bakehouse and a brewhouse “not only strongly but sumptuously.” On certain special days set apart for “_doing the great O_,”[27] which was a facetious way of saying that they were holidays when nothing was done, a more liberal allowance of ale was made, and on the occasion of the election of a Canon for St. Paul’s, foreign wine and other delicacies were added to the feast. [27] “Facere O” in some places had reference to the introit beginning “O Sapientia.” Some slight idea of a monastic feast in the thirteenth century may be gathered from the accompanying illustration. The presence of women is significant, and the quaint spit, and the round-bottomed glass which one of the monks holds in his hand and which cannot be set down until empty, are noteworthy. What a gentleman’s cellar ought to contain is thus described by Alexander Neckam, a twelfth-century writer:—“In promptuario sive in celario,” he writes, “sunt cadi, utres,[28] dolea, ciphi,[29] cophini, . . . vina, scicera, cerevicia, sive celia, mustum, claretum, nectar,[30] medo {53} sive ydromellum,[31] piretum, vinum rosetum, vinum feretum, vinum falernum, vinum girofilatum.” Some old scribe has noted this work in the same way as the annotator of the _Treatise of Walter de Biblesworth_, and taking up the hints he has given, the passage may be translated:—“In the cellar are barrels, leather bottles or wine skins, tuns, beakers, baskets, . . . wines, cyder, ale, new wine, claret, piment, meed or ydromellum, perry, Mount Rose wine, Falernian, garihofilac, &c. . . .” Not a bad assortment of liquors for an Early Englishman! Our cut, taken from the Roxburghe ballads, represents a well-stocked cellar of the olden times. [28] Utres is noted ‘coutreus.’ [29] Ciphi = anaps, cophini = anapers. On this word anaps, or hanaps, see page 395. [30] Nectar or Piment was a luscious kind of drink compounded of wine, honey and spices; it was called after the pigmentarii, or apothecaries who prepared it, and was in fact a liqueur. [31] Ydromellum is explained in the _Ortus_ as _potus ex aqua et melle_, _Anglice mede or growte_ (Growte = wort in an early stage of the brewing). In _Alfric’s Colloquy_, however, it is said to be _beor_, or _mulsum_. The true explanation of this discrepancy seems to be that ydromellum, while properly signifying an inferior sort of mead, was also used by analogy to denote the sweet liquor _wort_. [Illustration] [Illustration] {54} The requisites of a brewhouse of the fourteenth or fifteenth century are described in a Latin-English Vocabulary of the period:— Brasiatrix, a brewster (a female brewer). Cima, a kymnelle (a mash tub). Fornax, a furnasse. Alveum, a trogh. Brasium, malte. Barzissa, wortte. Dragium, draf (grains). Calderium, a caldron. Taratantarum, a temse (sieve). Cuvella, a kunlion (small tub). Ydromellum, growte. Mola, a quern (handmill). Pruera, ling (a broom made of ling). That graphic old writer, Harrison, in his Preface to _Hollinshed’s Chronicles_, 1587, gives a capital description of home-brewing as it was carried on at the end of the sixteenth century; and “once in a moneth practised by my wife,” as he informs us. It may be remarked incidentally, that brewing seems to have usually fallen to the share of the housewife, whose duties in this respect are indicated in the old Durham rhyme:— I’ll no more be a nun, nun, nun, I’ll be no more a nun! But I’ll be a wife, And lead a merry life, And brew good ale by the tun, tun, tun. To return to old Harrison and his home-brew. “Nevertheless,” he says, “sith I have taken occasion to speake of bruing, I will exemplifie in such a proportion as I am best skilled in, bicause it is the usuall rate for mine owne familie, and once in a moneth practised by my wife and hir maid servants, who proceed withall after this maner, as she hath oft informed me. Having therefore groond eight bushels of good malt upon our querne, where the toll is saved, she addeth unto it half a bushel of wheat meale, and so much of otes small groond, and so tempereth or mixeth them with the malt, that you cannot easily discerne the one from the other, otherwise these later would clunter, fall into lumps, and thereby become unprofitable. The first liquor which is full {55} eightie gallons according to the proportion of our furnace, she maketh boiling hot, and then powreth it softlie into the malt, where it resteth (but without stirring) untill hir second liquor be almost ready to boile. This doone she letteth hir mash run till the malt be left without liquor, or at the leastwise the greater part of the moisture, which she perceiveth by the staie and softe issue thereof, and by this time hir second liquor in the furnace is ready to seeth, which is put also to the malt as the first woort also againe into the furnace, whereunto she addeth two pounds of the best English hops, and so letteth them seeth together by the space of two hours in summer, or an houre and a halfe in winter, whereby it getteth an excellent colour and continuance without impeachment, or anie superfluous tartnesse. But before she putteth her first woort into the furnace, or mingleth it with the hops, she taketh out a vessel full, of eight or nine gallons, which she shutteth up close, and suffereth no aire to come into it till it become yellow, and this she reserveth by it selfe unto further use, as shall appeare hereafter, calling it Brackwoort or Charwoort, and as she saith it addeth also to the colour of the drinke, whereby it yeeldeth not unto amber or fine gold in hew unto the eie. By this time also hir second woort is let runne, and the first being taken out of the furnace and placed to coole, she returneth the middle woort into the furnace, where it is striken over, or from whence it is taken againe. “When she hath mashed also the last liquor (and let the second to coole by the first) she letteth it runne and then seetheth it againe with a pound and an half of new hops or peradventure two pounds as she seeth cause by the goodness or basenesse of the hops; and when it hath sodden in summer two hours, and in winter an houre and an halfe, she striketh it also and reserveth it unto mixture with the rest when time dooth serve therefore. Finallie when she setteth hir drinke together, she addeth to hir brackwoort or charwoort halfe an ounce of arras and halfe a quarterne of an ounce of baiberries finelie powdered, and then putteth the same into hir woort with an handful of wheate floure, she proceedeth in such usuall order as common bruing requireth. Some in steed of arras and baies add so much long peper onely, but in hir opinion and my lyking it is not so good as the first, and hereof we make three hoggesheads of good beere, such (I meane) as is meet for poore men as I am to live withall whose small maintenance (for what great thing is fortie pounds a yeare computatis computandis able to performe) may indure no deeper cut, the charges whereof groweth in this manner. I value my malt at ten shillings, my wood at foure shillings which I buie, {56} my hops at twenty pence, the spice at two pence, servants wages two shillings sixpence, both meat and drinke, and the wearing of my vessell at twentie pence, so that for my twenty shillings I have ten score gallons of beer or more, nothwithstanding the loss in seething. . . . The continuance of the drinke is alwaye determined after the quantitie of the hops, so that being well hopped it lasteth longer. For it feedeth upon the hop and holdeth out so long as the force of the same endureth which being extinguished the drinke must be spent or else it dieth and becometh of no value.” A brewhouse was in the sixteenth century an essential for a gentleman’s house. Boorde, in his directions for building a country house, mentions this:—“And also” he says, “the backe-house and brew-house shall be a dystance from the place and from other buyldyng.” Strutt gives an inventory of the contents of a private brewhouse of the sixteenth century. “_Im primis_ a meshe fatt—_Item_, a great ledde (leaden vessel)—_Item_, a brasse panne set in the walle (the copper for boiling the wort)—_Item_, 6 wort leeds, callyd coolars—_Item_, a greate c’linge fatt with 2 other fattes, and other tubs and kimnelles.” The poetic soul of Thomas Tusser, which has condescended to celebrate in quaint and homely verse most subjects of domestic interest or savouring of country life, has left us a short effusion on home-brew, which, though not perhaps so complete as a novice in the art of brewing might desire for his instruction, yet contains some pithy and, doubtless, useful rules. The verses are to be found in the _Pointes of Good Huswiferie_, and run thus:— Brew somewhat for thine, Else bring up no swine. Where brewing is needful, be brewer thyself, what filleth the roofe will helpe furnish the shelfe;[32] In buying of drinke by the firkin or pot the tallie ariseth, but hog amendes not.[33] Well brewed, worth cost, Ill used, halfe lost. One bushell well brewed, outlasteth some twaine, and saveth both mault, and expenses in vaine, Too new is no profite, too stale is as bad, drinke deade, or else sower, makes laborer sad. {57} Remember, good Gill, Take paine with thy swill. Seeth grains in more water, while graines be yet hot, and stirre them in copper as poredge in pot, Such heating with straw, to make offall good store,[34] both pleseth and easeth, what would you have more? [32] _i.e._, we presume, brewing which fills the roof with steam is good economy. [33] The score at the ale-house mounts up, but your pig is none the better for it. The allusion is to feeding pigs on the spent grains. [34] The grains are to be used again to make “offall,” or small beer. Pain was not always taken by Gill with her swill, as may be seen by the sad account of the _Distracted Maid, an Ancient Garland_, in which the evil results of a pre-occupied mind are shown. One verse of this effusion will doubtless be deemed sufficient:— To tell you as I am true, When ever I bake or brew, The thoughts of Will come uppermost still, I hardly know what to do; Instead of malt I put in salt, And boils my copper dry; The perjured Act, and wicket Fact, My brains are rack’d and I am crack’d, There’s no body knows but I, There’s no body knows but I. It is interesting to compare the cost of brewing in the sixteenth century with that at the present day. Harrison’s brewing, as he has shown us, cost him a fraction over a penny the gallon. The following account of a brewing in the household of the Duke of Northumberland, in the eighth year of the reign of Henry VIII., brings out somewhat the same result, though the “painful scribe” seems to have got a little confused in his arithmetic towards the end of his account; however, a good deal must be excused to those who have to work sums in Roman numerals. “A Brewyng at Wresill and carryede to Topclif. Fyrste paide for vj quarters malt at Wresill after vs. the quarter—xxxs. Item, paide for vj lb Hopps for the saide Brewyng after j d. ob. the lb—jxd. Item, {58} paide for v score Faggotts for the saide Brewyng after v faggots j d—xxd. Item, paide for the Cariage of the saide Brewyng from Wresill to Borrowbrigg by watir—viz xij Hoggeshedes whiche makith iij Tonns after iiijs. vd. the Tonne and a penny more at all—xiijs. iiijd. Item paide for the Hire of iij Wanys for carrying of the said iij Tonne from Barrow-brigg to Topclyf after viijd for the Hire of every Wayne—ijs. “Summa xlvijs. ixd. “Whereof is made xij Hoggeshedes of Beyr. Every Hoggeshede contenyng xlviij gallons whiche is in all cccciiij xvj gallons after a Penny the Gallon and iijd. les at all which is derer by qu in every gallon save iijs iiijd. les at all—xlvijs ixd.” Not so many years later the prices of ale and beer seem to have risen unaccountably, for in the charges for the diet of Mary Queen of Scots at Tutbury, Chartley, and Fotheringaye the item is to be found “for ale bought at dyerse pryces 1148 gallons at 9d. the gallon, £43 13s. 9d.” “Three hundred and fifty-three tons 2 hogs of beare” were also bought at an average price of 39s. 11d. the ton, £706 13s. 5d. Burton ale may even at that time have commanded a higher price than ordinary ale, and the cost of transit would, no doubt, be heavy. In addition to the ale bought at “dyerse pryces,” some must have been brewed at home; for in further accounts are the following items:—“Hopps 1s., a brewinge fatte with the charges for settyng it up £4 5s. 8d. A new pompe for the brewhouse 28s. 8d.” Although brewing, as we have seen, was carried on during every month in the year for the commoner household uses, March and October were the favourite months for making strong ale, “the authenticall drinke of England, the whole barmy tribe of ale-cunners never layd their lips to the like.” The summer months were especially eschewed by those who wished to keep their liquor, and hence the old saying:— “Bow-wow, dandy-fly, Brew no beer in July.” “Oh! but my grandmother,” says Gluttony, in the _Tragical History of Doctor Faustus_, “she was a jolly gentlewoman, and well beloved in every good town and city; her name was Mistress Margery March Beer.” “_Ale_ and _beere_,” says Harrison, “beare the greatest brunt in {59} drincking, which are of so many sortes and ages as it pleases the brewar to make them. The beer that is used at noblemen’s tables, is commonly of a yeare olde, (or peradventure of twoo yeres tunning or more, but this is not general) it is also brued in Marche, and is therefore called Marche bere, but for the household it is usually not under a monethes age, eache one coveting to have the same as stale as he might, so that it was not soure.” And a serious “brunt” it was if the following obituary notice, which appeared in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ in 1810, may be taken as a sample of our fathers’ devotion to home-brew:— “At the Ewes farm-house, Yorkshire, aged 76, Mr. Paul Parnell, farmer, grazier, and maltster, who, during his lifetime, drank out of one silver pint cup upwards of £2,000 sterling worth of Yorkshire Stingo, being remarkably attached to Stingo tipple of the home-brewed best quality. The calculation is taken at 2d. per cupful. He was the bon-vivant whom O’Keefe celebrated in more than one of his Bacchanalian songs under the appellation of Toby Philpott.” The Journal of Timothy Burrell, Esquire, of Ockenden House, Cuckfield, Sussex, proves him to have been a true devotee of the rites of Ceres. With what particularity he mentions his purchases of malt and hops—“May 3, 1683. Quarter of malt, £1. . . . 23 July. For 28lbs. of hops I gave 7s. . . . October. I paid Jo. Warden for 30 bushels of malt, just 4 months, £4 3s.” Then with what care he notes the day on which he brewed, as thus—“3 May, 1702, _Pandoxavi_” and with what satisfaction the day on which he tapped the barrel,—“12 June _Relinivi_”—illustrating his manuscript as he goes along with quaint sketches of barrels, quart pots, pockets of hops and such-like. John Coachman, who seems to have been worthy Timothy’s servant for many years, frequently comes in for a remark by reason of his excessive devotion to the barley bree:—“Oct. 8th, 1698. Payd John Coachman, in full of his half year’s wages, to be spent in ale, £2 6s. 6d. I paid him for his breeches (to be drunk,) in part of his wages, 6s.” “Paid to John Coachman, in part of his wages, to be fooled away in syder or lottery, 5s.” “March 26th, 1710, I paid the saddler for John Coachman falling drunk off his box, when he was driving to Glynde, in part of his wages, £1 7s. 6d.” Rest well, honest Timothy, thy quaint pen is still, thy brewing days are over! In Dean Swift’s _Polite Conversations_ we have the following amusing dialogue on the subject of home-brew:— _Lady Smart._ Pray, my lord, did you order the butler to bring {60} up a tankard of our October to Sir John? I believe they stay to brew it. _The butler brings up the tankard to Sir John._ _Sir John Linger._ Won’t your ladyship please to drink first? _Lady S._ No, Sir John; ’tis in a very good hand; I’ll pledge you. _Col. Atwit_ (to Lord Smart). My lord, I love October as well as Sir John; and I hope you won’t make fish of one and flesh of another. _Smart._ Colonel, you’re heartily welcome. Come, Sir John, take it by word of mouth, and then give it to the Colonel. _Sir John drinks._ _Smart._ Well, Sir John, how do you like it? _Sir J._ Not as well as my own in Derbyshire; ’tis plaguy small. _Lady S._ I never taste malt liquor: but they say it is well hopp’d. _Sir J._ Hopp’d? why if it had hopp’d a little further it would have hopp’d into the river. O, my lord, my ale is meat, drink, and cloth; it will make a cat speak and a wise man dumb. _Lady S._ I was told ours was very strong. _Sir J._ Ay, madam, strong of the water; I believe the brewer forgot the malt, or the river was too near him. Faith, it is mere whip-belly vengeance; he that drinks most has the worst share. _Col._ I believe, Sir John, ale is as plenty as water at your house. _Sir J._ Why, faith, at Christmas we have many comers and goers; and they must not be sent away without a cup of Christmas ale for fear they should—— _Lady S._ I hear Sir John has the nicest garden in England; they say ’tis kept so clean that you can’t find a place where to spit. _Sir J._ O, madam; you are pleased to say so. _Lady S._ But, Sir John, your ale is terribly strong and heady in Derbyshire, and will soon make one drunk or sick; what do you then? _Sir J._ Why, indeed, it is apt to fox one; but our way is to take a hair of the same dog next morning. I take a new-laid egg for breakfast; and faith one should drink as much after an egg as after an ox. Thompson, in his _Autumn_, makes reference to the strong October brew. Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn Mature and perfect from his dark retreat Of thirty years; and now his honest front Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid Even with the vineyard’s best produce to vie. {61} Seldom, it may be imagined, even in the sphere of domestic brewing, has so small a “browst” been brewed as that described by Hone in his _Table Book_ as having been made by Widow Wood, of Beckenham Alms House. She brewed with her ordinary cooking utensils, and the fireplace of her little room; a tin kettle served her for boiler, she mashed in a common butter-firkin, ran off the liquor in a “crock,” and tunned it in a small beer barrel. She thought that poor folk might do a great deal for themselves if they only knew how; “but,” said she, “where there’s a will there’s a way.” Among modern writers Christopher North has left perhaps the best description of what a modern private brewhouse should be. “We dare say,” he says, “that many personages who never in the whole course of their polished existences dreamed or thought of dreaming of brewing anything (except mischief), will shrug their shoulders at the idea of being introduced like his Majesty George the Third, at Whitbread’s, into an odorous brewhouse, redolent of wash, wort, grains, hops, yeast, and carbonic acid gas; peeping into pumps—tumbling into vats. Silence, good exquisite! and let us inform you—(but first take that cigar out of your mouth, or you will infallibly burn the carpet)—let us inform you that a _gentleman’s brewhouse_, like his greenhouse, his hothouse, his dairy, or even his cellar, _is no such unpleasant place_. No place, indeed, can be so that has anything of the rural about it. There is our own brewhouse at Buchanan Lodge; it might pass for a summer-house. We shall describe it to you. It stands, good reader (mark us well), at the back of the house, just at the edge of the little ravine or dell, and half hid by the laburnums. It is also separated from the other offices by a lowish beech hedge. Around, below, and opposite are growing the wild cherry, the tall chestnut, the sycamore, the fir, the thorn, and the bramble, which clothe the sides of the deep glen. From its chimneys, as soon as the soft March gales begin to blow, curls the white smoke before the hour of dawn. The fire within burns brightly. Everything is clean and ‘sweet as the newly-tedded hay.’ Precisely as six o’clock strikes we march forth—ay, even we, Christopher North—with our old fishing jacket and our apron on; our old velvet study-cap close about our ears, and our thermometer in our hand. The primroses are basking in the morning rays; the dewdrops are sparkling the last upon the leaves; the unseen violets are breathing forth sweets; the blackbird trills his mellow notes in the thicket; the wren twitters in the hedge; and the redbreast hops round the door. We enter. All is right. We try our heat. ‘Donald, a leetle more cold. That will do. {62} In with the malt. Every grain, you hound.’ ‘Ech! Donald’s no the man to pench the maut.’ ‘Now stir, for life;’ and the active stirrer turns over and over the fragrant grain in the smoking liquid. All is covered up close, and the important mash (twelve bushels to the hogshead) is completed. “But of what sort of malt? ‘Another question for the swordsmen,’ for of ‘malts’ there are as many flavours, almost, as of vintages. They who think that if malt be but sweet, mealy, and well crushed—that is all—know, begging their pardons, little of the matter. We have heard brewers, who thought themselves no fools, assert that the hops alone give the ale its flavour; and that the difference between pale and high dried malt is only in colour. They might as well have argued that the lemon gives all the flavour to punch! We, Christopher North, aver, that upon the degree of dryness which has been given to the malt, the distinguishing flavour of malt liquor mainly depends. The bitter principle of the hop is only the ground or substratum upon which the skilful brewer builds his peculiar flavour of beer. As more or less of hops is put in, no doubt the saccharine principle of the malt is subdued, or is suffered to predominate. But in malt there is, besides the mere sugar which it contains in common with so many other vegetables, a flavour peculiar to itself: and this is brought out and modified by the application of more or less of the great chemical agent, heat, to the malted barley. In short, fire makes malt more or less savoury, much as it makes a brandered fowl, or a mutton steak, or a toasted oaten cake, more or less savoury.” Countless receipts have been preserved for making, flavouring, and keeping home-brew from the days of the Saxon Leechbooks down to the present time. Some of the older ones were supposed to depend for their efficacy on supernatural intervention. “If the ale be spoilt,” says an old _Saxon Leechdom_, “take lupins, lay them on the four quarters of the dwelling, and over the door, and under the threshold, and under the ale-vat, put the wort (the herb) into the ale with holy water.” In a Scotch brewer’s instructions for Scotch ale, dated 1793, may be found a mystical note: “I throw a little dry malt, which is left on purpose, on the top of the mash, with a handful of salt, _to keep the witches from it_, and then cover it up.” Perhaps the idea that witches could spoil the ale by their evil charms gave rise to the phrase “water bewitched,” signifying very weak beer or other liquor. The plant, ale-cost (ground ivy), was, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, used for “dispatching the maturation” of ale and beer. {63} Gerard, in his _Herball_ (1579), mentions the same plant under the name of ale-houve. “The women of our northern parts,” he says, “do tun the herb ale-houve into their ale, but the reason thereof I know not.” Our ancestors either must have had some means of very rapidly “maturing” their ale, or they must have been content to drink it unmatured; for it is recorded in the _Munimenta Academica Oxon._ that a brewer of Oxford was, in 1444, compelled to solemnly swear before the Chancellor that he would let his ale stand twelve hours to clear, before he carried it to hall or college for sale; and in London it was the custom to drink ale even newer, so much so, that on complaint being made, in the fourteenth year of Queen Elizabeth, that the brewers deliver ale and beer but two or three hours after it has been cleansed and tunned, an ordinance was made that the brewers should not deliver their liquors until eight hours after it had been tunned in the summer months, and six hours in the winter. Ivory shavings have been recommended for rapidly maturing beer, and it is related that a woman, who lived at Leighton Buzzard, in Bedfordshire, and had the best ale in the town, once told a gentleman she had drink just done working in the barrel, and that she would wager it was fine enough to drink out of a glass even before it was bunged. It was as she said, and the ivory shavings, that she boiled in the wort, were the cause of it. Among the many receipts given in old works for “recovering” ale or beer when it has turned sour, is one directing the housewife to put a handful or two of ground malt into the beer, stir it well together, which will make the beer work and become good again. In another receipt the brewer is directed to put a handful of oatmeal into a barrel of beer when first laid into the cellar, which will cause it to carry with it a quick and lively taste. The root of flower-de-luce or iris suspended in ale is said to be a specific against sourness. Another plan is to calcine oyster shells, beat them to powder with a like quantity of chalk, put them in a thin bag into the liquor, hanging it almost to the bottom, and in twenty-four hours the work will be effected. It may be suggested that in these cases prevention is better than cure—drink your beer while it is good, and do not give it an opportunity of getting sour. An old receipt for preserving small beer without the help of hops, is to mix a small quantity of treacle with a handful of wheat and bean flour and a little ginger, to knead the mixture to a due consistence, and put it into the barrel. “It has been a common observation,” said an old writer, “that both beer and ale are {64} apt to be foul, disturbed, and flat in bean season; the same is observed of wines in the vintage countries. Thunder is also a spoiler of good malt liquor, to prevent the effects of which, laying a solid piece of iron on each cask has hitherto been esteemed an effectual prevention of the above injuries.” In some places, too, an iron pad fitting closely over the bunghole is used, and in others an iron tray answers the same purpose. An old receipt book contains the following remarkable directions for making forty sorts of ale out of one barrel of liquor. “Have ale of good body, and when it has worked well bottle it off, but fill not the bottles within three spoonfuls; then being ripe, as you use it, fill it up with the syrup of any fruit, root, flower, or herb you have by you for that purpose, or drop in chimical oyls or waters of them, or of spices, and with a little shaking the whole mass will be tinctured and taste pleasantly of what you put in; and so you may make all sorts of physical ales with little trouble, and no incumbrance, more healthful and proper than if herbs were soaked in it or drugs, which in the pleasant entertainment will make your friends wonder how you came by such variety on a sudden.” Thus much then, of home-brew; the subject is almost inexhaustible and pleasant withal, but the laws of space are inexorable, and forbid further tarrying. As Walter de Biblesworth quaintly remarks:— Ceste matyre cy repose, Parlom ore de autre chose. [Illustration] {65} [Illustration]