1741. A writer at that date says:—“The Ale-wives, whose province of

making this Ale it commonly falls under to manage from the beginning to the end, are most of them as curious in their brewing it, as the Dairy women in making their butter, for as it is a White Ale it soon sullies by dirt . . . . ; the wort is brewed by the hostess, but the fermentation is brought on by the purchase of what they call ‘ripening,’ or a composition, as some say, of flower of malt and white of eggs . .” This luscious liquid has been described as “not the sparkling beverage brewed from malt and hops, but a milky-looking compound, of which, judging from the flavour, milk, spice and gin seemed to be among the ingredients. It does not improve by keeping, and is brewed only in small quantities for immediate consumption. It is kept in large bottles, and you will scarcely pass a public-house from Darmouth to Plymouth without seeing evidence of its consumption by the empty bottles piled away outside the premises.” At the present time a considerable quantity of white ale is made in and about Tavistock. It is now, however, brewed in a simpler manner than of yore, and consists simply of common ale with eggs and flour {164} added. The labourers of that part of the country much affect it, and as it is highly nutritious it is regarded by many of them as “meat, drink and cloth” combined. A bloated habit of body is said to arise from a too faithful adherence to this luscious fluid. A former great connoisseur of this West-country ale, one Bone Phillips, lies buried just outside the church door at Kingsbridge; the following lines were inscribed over his grave at his request:— Here lie I at the church door, Here be I because I’m poor, The further in the more you pay, Here lie I as warm as they. While on the subject of epitaphs, the following may be quoted as having some bearing on the subject specially treated of in this chapter:— Poor John Scott lies buried here; Tho’ once he was both _hale_ and _stout_, Death stretched him on his bitter bier: In another world he _hops_ about. An ale of a similar nature to white ale goes in Cornwall by the rather uneuphonious title of “Laboragol.” Somewhat similar to the foregoing was grout[47] ale, which is said by Halliwell, on the authority of Dean Milles’ MS. glossary, to have been different from white ale, of a brownish colour, and known only to the people about Newton Bussel, who kept the method of preparing it a secret. A physician, a native of that place, informed him that the preparation was made of “malt almost burnt in an iron pot, mixed with some of the barm which rises on the first working in the keeve, a small quantity of which invigorates the whole mass and makes it very heady.” {165} [47] The word grout properly signifies ground meal or malt. Kennett says that in Leicestershire the infusion of malt and water before it is fully boiled is called grout, and after it is tunned up it is called wort. Ray explains it as wort of the last running. Pegge says it is only drank by poor people, who are on that account called “grouters.” See Halliwell’s Dict. of Arch. and Prov. Words. In the old play, _Tom Tyler and his Wife_, growt is used to signify a kind of ale. This jolly growt is jolly and stout I pray you stout it still-a, While mentioning some few of the places specially noted for their ales, our ancient seats of learning must not be forgotten. Who has not heard of Trinity audit, and of that scarcely less famous liquor, Brasenose Ale? Many who have tasted the former have had no words to express their feelings; some have said that it is as superior to all other mortal brews as Chateau Lafitte is to vin ordinaire. These may seem words of extravagant praise; but let the reader who has never tasted this famous drink reserve his judgment on the point until he has, and above all let him lose no time in putting his judgment to the test. Trinity audit would justify the eulogy of the host in the _Beaux’ Stratagem_—“As smooth as oil, sweet as milk, clear as amber, strong as brandy; fancy it Burgundy, only fancy it, and it is worth ten shillings a quart.” Oh, in truth, it gladdens the heart to see What may spring from the Ale of Trinitie,— A scholar—a fellow,—a rector blithe, (Fit to take any amount of tithe)— Perhaps a bishop—perhaps, by grace, One may mount to the Archiepiscopal place, And wield the crosier, an awful thing, The envy of all, and—the parsons’ King! O Jove! who would struggle with learning pale, That could beat down the world by the strength of Ale! For _me_,—I avow, could my thoughtless prime Come back with the wisdom of mournful time, I’d labour—I’d toil—by night and day, (Mixing liquors and books away,) Till I conquer’d that high and proud degree, M. A. (Master of Ale) of Trinitie.[48] [48] A Panegyric on Ale addressed to W. L. Birkbeck, Esq., by Barry Cornwall. Brasenose College, Oxford, has long been noted for its ale. As each Shrovetide comes round, the college butler, as a condition of the tenure of his office, presents a barrel of the strongest nappy, and celebrates the event in verse, handing on to generations yet unborn the name and fame of the Brasenose brew. The earlier of these ale poems, which are in reality the effusions of some poetical undergraduate, had a fleeting existence, but some years ago Mr. Prior, who was then and still continues, {166} the butler of the College, published a collection of them in a small volume, entitled _Brasenose Ale_. In his little book, which we commend to the perusal of all good ale-knights, occur the following lines, written by R. J. B., in 1835:— Lo! Prior hastens with his motley crew, To pour the foaming liquor to our view: Clasps his firm hand in all a Butler’s pride The cup no Brasenose Fellow e’er denied: Yet secret triumph o’er his brow has cast That Ale the sweetest, as that brew the last! “Away, ye lighter drinks! ye swipes, away, Where masters bully, and where boys obey,” The brewer cried; and taught the Ale to live With all the charms that malt and hops could give. Warm’d at his touch, behold the vapours rise In all their genuine fragrance to the skies: No beer-shops bev’rage, such as Cockneys buy, Foul to the taste, and loathsome to the eye; No dingy mixture, vulgarly call’d swipes; No quassia juice, promoter of the gripes; But true proportions of good hops and malt, Mingled with care, then stow’d within the vault: The hue that tells its potency—the scent That breathes as if from blest Arabia sent. Still o’er his Ale fond Prior hangs confest, And joy and triumph swell his manly breast. * * * * * Such, glorious liquor of the olden time, When to be drunk with Ale was deem’d no crime; When in the morn and eve and mid-day stood Upon our fathers’ boards old English food; Such hast thou been, ’mid war and change the same, Link’d with the poet’s and the scholar’s name, Mellow’d by age—but still with flavour higher, The pride of Brasenose, and the boast of Prior. How Brasenose College came by its peculiar name is a much disputed point. There is a legend that in the far-off time of long ago certain students of the temporary university at Stamford, the iron ring of whose door-knocker was fitted in a nose of brass, migrated to Oxford, {167} and there set up a brazen nose over the entrance of their college as a souvenir of their former abode. Equally plausible is the tradition that upon the site of the college brewery once stood King Alfred’s brasinium (brewhouse), and that the name, clinging to the place through all the changes and chances of a thousand years, now appears under the slightly modified form of Brasenose. If the latter theory be correct, the Shrovetide feast and the yearly ode in praise of Brasenose Ale may be attributed to the desire to keep green the memory of the famous brewhouse of the good King, and the mighty liquor therein brewed for the royal table. The merits of a celebrated Oxford butler, John Dawson of Christ Church, are commemorated in the following elegy:— Dawson, the butler’s dead. Although I think Poets were ne’er infus’d with single drink I’ll spend a farthing, Muse; a wat’ry verse Will serve the turn to cast upon his hearse. If any cannot weep amongst us here, Take off his cap, and so squeeze out a tear: Weep, O ye Barrels! make waste more prodigal Than when our Beer was good, that John may float To Styx in beer, and lift up Charon’s boat With wholsome waves; and as the conduits ran, With claret at the Coronation, So let your channels flow with single tiff, For John, I hope is crown’d: take off your whiff, Ye men of rosemary, and drink up all, Rememb’ring ’tis a Butler’s funeral; Had he been master of good double Beer My Life for his, John Dawson had been here. For a hundred years or more the town of Nottingham has been famous for its ales, and the song “Nottingham Ale” commemorates the many virtues of this justly celebrated “barley-wine.” Amongst others, it has virtues ecclesiastical:— Ye bishops and deacons, priests, curates and vicars, Come taste, and you’ll certainly find it is true, That Nottingham Ale is the best of all liquors, And who understand the good creature like you? It dispels every vapour, saves pen, ink, and paper; For when you’re disposed in the pulpit to rail {168} It will open your throats, you may preach without notes, When inspired with full bumpers of Nottingham Ale. This song, which was a great favourite at the end of last century, was composed by one Gunthorpe, a naval officer, by way of payment for a cask of the “particular,” received as a present from his brother, who was a Nottingham Brewer. To go further north, Newcastle, besides its coals, has long had the reputation for what, if we are to believe the townsmen of the place, is the best, the stoutest, the brightest “Stingo” that the heart of man can desire. As every Jack will have his Jill, so famous ale ever finds its appropriate verses. The song _Newcastle Beer_, of which a verse is, given below, extols the wonders wrought by English beer in general, and by that of Newcastle in particular:— ’Twas Stingo like this made Alcides so bold, It brac’d up his nerves, and enliven’d his powers; And his mystical club, that did wonders of old, Was nothing, my lads, but such liquor as ours. The horrible crew That Hercules slew, Were Poverty—Calumny—Trouble—and Fear; Such a club would you borrow, To drive away sorrow, Apply for a jorum of Newcastle Beer. _Warrington Ale_, a song of last century, describes in glowing terms the good ale of that Lancashire town, and the poet, if he is to be believed, is evidently a man of some experience in various drinks:— D’ye mind me, I once was a Sailor, And in different countries I’ve been; If I lie, may I go for a tailor, But a thousand fine sights I have seen. I’ve been crammed with good things like a wallet, And I’ve guzzled more drink than a whale; But the very best stuff to my palate Is a glass of your Warrington Ale. De Foe in his _Tour through Great Britain_ eulogises the Lancashire ale of the period. In travelling through the northern parts of the county, “though it was but about the middle of August, and in some places the harvest hardly got in, we saw the mountains covered with {169} snow, and felt the cold very acute and piercing, but we found, as in all these northern countries, the people had a happy way of mixing the warm and the cold together; for the store of good ale which flows plentifully in the most mountainous parts of this country, seems abundantly to make up for all the inclemencies of the season, or difficulties of travelling.” A certain very strong ale called Morocco is, or was, made at Levens Hall, in the County of Cumberland. Beef, or other meat, is an ingredient of this mighty brew, but the exact receipt is kept a secret. There is a tradition that the method of brewing Morocco was brought by a Crusader named Howard from certain unknown regions beyond the seas, and it is said that the receipt was buried during the Parliamentary wars, and was only unearthed many years afterwards. It is always brought in an immense and curiously wrought glass to everyone who dines at Levens for the first time, and the visitor is expected on no account to refuse the glass, but to take it and say, “To the health of the Lady of Levens.” To go a little further north, the ales of Edinburgh are justly celebrated, old Scotch ale being as favourite a beverage as old Burton. Scotch brewers are great believers in malt and hops, and at the present day brew excellent light ales, as well as the mightier brew which has given them their world-wide reputation. A curious ale is mentioned in the _Buik of Chroniclis of Scotland_ (fifteenth century). Owing to a very severe winter in the reign of William the Lion, liquids of many kinds were frozen solid, and ale was sold by _weight_:— So furious ouir all part wes that frost Of bestiall that thair wes mony lost; The starkest aill of malt that mycht be browin, Thocht it war keipit neuir so clois and lowin, It wald congeill _and freis into hard yis_. The thing of all men thocht wes then most nys That this be weycht, and nocht mesour, wes sauld That tyme for drink as that my author told. The wanderings of the _Penniless Pilgrim_ took him to Scotland, and he wonders much at the powers of ale-suction shown by the natives. “The Scots,” he says, “doe allow almost as large measure of their miles as they doe of their drinke, for an English gallon either of ale or wine is but their quart.” After rising from a repast, he tells how “the {170} servants of the house have enforced me into the seller or Buttery, where (in the way of kindnesse) they will make a man’s belly like a sowse-tub, and inforce mee to drinke as if they had a commission under the devil’s great seale, to murder men with drinking, with such a deal of complimentary oratory as, ‘off with your lap,’ ‘wind up your bottome,’ ‘up with your toplash,’ and many other eloquent phrases, which Tully and Demosthenes never heard of; that in conclusion I am persuaded three days fasting would have been more healthfull to mee, then two hours feeding and swilling in that manner.” Christopher North, in his _Noctes Ambrosianæ_, mentions some of the famous Scotch ales of his day. After alluding to the ales of Berwick and of Giles, he says:— “Maitland and Davison—again—has inspired my being with a _new_ feeling, for which no language I am acquainted with can supply an adequate name. That feeling impels me to say these simple words on behalf of the Spirit of Ale in general—speaking through me, its organ—_Ale loquitur_—“If not suffered by Fate to fix my abode in barrels of Berwick or Giles, where I have long reigned alternate years, in all my glory, scarcely should I feel myself priviledged to blame my stars, were I ordered for a while to sojourn in one of Maitland—and Davison.” A notice of Scoth ales, however short, would be incomplete without some reference to the great Scotch national poet, who sometimes, at any rate, would seem to have owed his inspiration to the “barley bree.” The song of Burns, _O, Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut_, is too well known to need repetition here. Who does not remember the chorus of this admirable chanson-à-boire:— We are na fou, we’re no that fou, But just a drappie in our e’e, The cock may craw, the day may daw, And aye we’ll taste the barley bree! The occasion which the song was intended to celebrate is not so commonly known. The “three merry boys,” Willie, Rob, and Alan were respectively William Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh, our poet, and Alan Masterton, who was a schoolmaster and musical amateur. The place of meeting was a small farm named Laggan, belonging to Nicol. The inspiring ale was Nicol’s, the song was Burns’, and the music was Alan Masterton’s. “We had such a joyous meeting,” says Burns, “that Mr. Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, to celebrate the business.” {171} To pass to the Principality, Welsh ales were in Saxon times well known and highly esteemed. In the laws of Hywel Dda two kinds of ale are mentioned—Bragawd[49], which was paid as tribute to the King by a free township, and Cwrwf, which was more common, and was paid by the servile township in cases where the former kind ran short. It may be hence gathered that in early times the highly-flavoured Bragawd was held in greater estimation than the Cwrwf; yet the latter has out-lived the former, and is still to be had in various parts of Wales, where it is consumed with great gusto by Cambria’s patriotic sons. [49] Bragawd or Bragot. See p. 379. The neighbouring county of Hereford, now a great cider-drinking locality, had in former times at least one town with a reputation for good ale. “Lemster bread and Weobley ale” had passed into a proverb before the seventeenth century. The saying seems, however, to have been affected chiefly by the inhabitants of the county, who, perhaps, were not quite impartial. Ray, writing in 1737, ventures to question the pre-eminence ascribed to the places mentioned. For wheat he gives Hesten, in Middlesex, “and for ale Derby town, and Northdown in the Isle of Thanet, Hull in Yorkshire, and Sandbich in Cheshire, will scarcely give place to Weobley.” Herrick mentions this celebrated Northdown ale in the lines:— That while the wassaile bowle here With North-down ale doth troule here, No sillable doth fall here, To marre the mirth at all here. Norfolk was once celebrated for a strong ale, bearing the euphonious name of _Norfolk Nog_. It is mentioned in Vanbrugh’s _Journey to London_, “Here, John Moody,” says Sir Francis, “get us a tankard of good hearty stuff presently.” “Sir,” is the reply, “here’s Norfolk Nog to be had next door.” Swift also knew something of this brew, and mentions that “Walpole laid a quart of nog on it.” “Clamber-skull” is probably a variety of this strong Norfolk ale, and earned its name from the rapidity with which it mounted to the heads of its votaries. Norfolk still holds a high place as an ale-producing county, and the ales of Great Yarmouth and Norwich are justly celebrated. Banbury produced a mighty ale in the seventeenth century, if we may judge from the couplet in _Wit Restored_:— Banbury ale a half-yard pot The devil a tinker dares stand to ’t. {172} It must have been strong indeed, for according to the old proverb— Cobblers and tinkers Are your true ale drinkers. Dorsetshire, amongst the southern counties, has long been noted for a fine pale ale. This is the liquor mentioned in _English Ale_ (1737) as— Bright amber priz’d by the luxurious town, The pale hu’d Dorchester—— Its strength may be judged from the entry in John Byrom’s diary of about the same period (1725):—“I found the effect of last night’s drinking that foolish Dorset, which was pleasant enough, but it did not agree with me at all, for it made me very stupid all day.” These are the words of a man who has evidently loved not wisely but too well. Cox, in his _History of Dorsetshire_ (1700), states that “since by the French wars the coming of French wine is prohibited, the people here have learned to brew the finest malt liquors in the kingdom, so delicately clean and well tasted that the best judges . . . . prefer it to the ales most in vogue, as Hull, Derby, Burton, &c.” Great quantities of Dorchester beer were consumed in London during the seventeenth and the early part of the eighteenth centuries, but from that time the trade with London, for some reason—probably the expense of transit—gradually fell away. The excellence of the Dorset beer depended in a great measure upon the fact that the water of the neighbourhood possessed peculiarly good qualities for brewing purposes, and, that advantage being of a permanent character, there seems to be no reason why the Dorchester ales of the present day should not regain throughout the country the position they had at the beginning of last century. In the south and south-western portions of England they are held in very high esteem. Barnstaple was famous for its ales in the middle of the last century; a writer in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ of Jan., 1753, says that they are as good as Derby ales, though not quite so famous. Mum, a popular drink early in the last century, was a strong ale brewed chiefly from wheat-malt with the addition of various aromatic herbs. Mum-houses were in existence in 1664, for Mr. Samuel Pepys records that on a certain occasion he went “with Mr. Norbury near hand to the Fleece, a mum-house in Leadenhall, and there drank _mum_, and by-and-by broke up.” A receipt of the date 1682, describes the brewing of mum as follows:— {173} “To make a vessel of sixty-three gallons, we are instructed that, the water must be first boiled to the consumption of a third part, then let it be brewed according to art with seven bushels of wheat-malt, one bushel of oat-malt, and one bushel of ground beans. When the mixture begins to work, the following ingredients are to be added: three pounds of the inner rind of the fir; one pound each of the tops of the fir and the birch; three handfuls of _Carduus Benedictus_, dried; two handfuls of flowers of _Rosa solis_; of burnet, betony, marjoram, avens, pennyroyal, flowers of elder, and wild thyme, one handful and a half each; three ounces of bruised seeds of cardamum; and one ounce of bruised bayberries. Subsequently ten new-laid eggs, not cracked or broken, are to be put into the hogshead, which is then to be stopped close, and not tapped for two years, a sea voyage greatly improving the drink.” The origin of the word “mum” is somewhat disputed, but the best derivation seems to be from the name of Christopher Mummer, who is said to have been the first to brew it. Others assign to the word an origin from _mummeln_, to mutter, and this seems to have been Pope’s idea when he wrote the lines:— The clamorous crowd is hushed with mugs of mum, Till all, turned equal, send a general hum. Others, again, find the derivation in the word mum, meaning silence. Brunswick is always given as its birthplace, and it was certainly known as early as the sixteenth century, for in an old work, _De generibus ebriosorum et ebrietate vitanda_ (1515), “mommom sive mommum Brunsvigen” is mentioned as one of the drinks of Germany. An old book, _England’s Improvement by Sea and Land_ (1677), contains a remarkable proposition for bringing over the mum trade from Brunswick, and establishing it at Stratford-on-Avon. The old writer, from whom the receipt before-quoted is taken, lays considerable stress on the fact that “the ingredients in its composition are very rare and choice simples, there being scarcely any disease in nature against which some of them is not a sure specific,” the implication apparently being that the combination of these ingredients would largely increase their healing power. In one of the 400 letters addressed by Sir Richard Steele to his wife we find him writing under date December 6th, 1717:—“I went to bed last night after taking only a little broth; and all the day before a little tea and bread and butter, with two glasses of mum and a piece of bread. {174} at the House of Commons. Temperance and your company, as agreeable as you can make it, will make life tolerable if not easy, even with the gout.” A particular variety of this beverage was known as Hamburgh mum, and a catch in its praise of the early part of last century mentions it as hailing from that city:— There’s an odd sort of liquor New come from Hamborough, ’Twill stick a whole wapentake Thorough and thorough; ’Tis yellow, and likewise As bitter as gall, And as strong as six horses, Coach and all. As I told you ’twill make you, As drunk as a drum; You’d fain know the name on’t, But for that my friend, _mum_. Readers of Sir Walter Scott will remember that Mr. Oldbuck is described at breakfast as despising the modern slops of tea and coffee and substantially regaling himself “more majorum, with cold roast beef and mum.” An Act of Parliament, which was passed annually during the greater part of the first half of this century, prescribed certain duties on “malt, mum, cyder and perry,” and a tale is told that when Mr. Perry, editor of the _Morning Chronicle_, was indicted for libel, he conducted his own case, and by his able defence secured a verdict of “Not guilty.” Cobbett, who was shortly afterwards tried on a similar charge, also conducted his own defence, but was convicted. Erskine remarked that Cobbett had tried to be Perry, when he should have been mum. In the eighteenth century patriotic sentiment was invoked to support the failing popularity of mum, as may be gathered from the old work _Political Merriment, or Truths to some Tune_ (1714), in which these lines occur:— Now, now true Protestants rejoice, Stand by your laws and King, Now you’ve proclaimed the nation’s choice, Let traitorous rebels swing; {175} Let Royal George, the Papists scourge, To England quickly come; His health till then, let honest men, Drink all in Brunswick Mum. But all would not avail, and the liquor is now as dead as Christopher Mummer, the first inventor of it. There is a tradition lingering in the northern parts of this island, that the Picts possessed the secret of making an ale from heather. Sir David Smith, in a MS. in the possession of the Duke of Northumberland, mentions a large trough cut in the solid rock at Kutchester, near the Roman wall. “The old peasants,” he says, “have a tradition that the Romans made a beverage somewhat like beer, of the bells of heather, and that this trough was used in the process of making it.” The tradition in Caithness runs that three Picts—an old blind man and his two sons—survived the rest of their race; that these alone of all mankind possessed the secret of making heather ale; that they guarded their secret with jealous care, and that they were in consequence much persecuted by their conquerors. At last the old Pict, in answer to the frequent importunities of his persecutors, promised to tell the secret, on condition that his two sons should be put to death. This was done, but the task was as far from accomplishment as ever, and nothing could be got from the old man but the truly Delphic words which are handed down in the couplet:— Search Brockwin well out and well in, And barm for heather crop you’ll find within. The secret died with him. * * * * * True or false, this is the legend as related in the north, and certain it is that _a_ heather beer was made until quite recently in some parts of Scotland and Ireland. The heather, however, is used as a flavouring rather than as an actual basis for making the drink. The blossoms of the heather are carefully gathered and cleansed, and are then placed in the bottom of vessels; wort of the ordinary kind is allowed to drain through the blossoms, and gains in its passage a peculiar and agreeable flavour, which is well known to all who are familiar with heather honey. Pennant, in his _Voyage to the Hebrides_, mentions heather _ale_, and says that the proportions were two-thirds of the plant to one of hops (hops being sometimes added); and Mr. Weld, in his _Two Months in the Highlands_, {176} says that “although the art of brewing the Pictish heather ale is lost, old grouse shooters have tasted a beverage prepared by shepherds, on the moors, principally from heather flowers, though honey or sugar, to produce fermentation, was added.” In some parts of Ireland there is a tradition that the Danes possessed the knowledge of making an intoxicating liquor from heather bells; this drink the peasants speak of as beoir-lochlonnach (_i.e._, strong at sea), an epithet by which the savage Northmen were known to the Celtic races. It is possible that there is some connection between this heather ale and the ale formerly made by the Swedes and flavoured with the _Myrica gale_. Reference to this plant is made in a Swedish law of the fifteenth century, in which it is forbidden to gather the blossoms before a certain period. The probability of this connection seems to be increased by the fact that in Yorkshire, a county which contains many descendants of the old Northmen, a beer is still made called “gale beer,” and is flavoured with the blossoms of a species of heather found growing on the moors in that part of the country. As late as the commencement of this century an ale flavoured with heather, and differing little from the heather ale described, was brewed in many parts of Ireland. The practice, it is believed, is now almost if not quite extinct. Irish moss ale is made in the following manner:—Take one ounce of Irish moss, one ounce of hops, one ounce of ginger, one ounce of Spanish juice, and one pound of sugar. Ten gallons of water are added and the mixture is boiled, fermented, and bottled. The consideration of the name of this liquor and the actual constituents may possibly remind readers of the old tale of that very clever person who made soup out of a stone with the assistance of a few such trifles as beef, vegetables, and flavourings. Beer powders have been made, from which a good and refreshing drink may be procured by the simple addition of water. Various substances and juices have been used from time to time to improve the flavour or strength of ale. In Wales berries of the Mountain Ash were once used, and were said to greatly improve the flavour of the beverage. The sap of the sycamore tree is mentioned by Evelyn as being a most useful adjunct to the brewhouse; he says that one bushel of malt with sycamore sap makes as good ale as four bushels with water alone. The service tree, the name of which is said to be a corruption of cerevisia, was so called because in former times a kind of ale was brewed {177} from its berries. Evelyn says that ale and beer, “brewed with these berries, being ripe, is an incomparable drink.” Maize, beet-root, potatoes, parsnips, and other vegetables have each and all been used in the making of beer, but it seems very doubtful whether any combination of ingredients will ever equal the time-honoured partnership of malt and hops. A writer in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ in 1758 says: “In many parts of the Kingdom, a beer is made of treacle—thus: to eight quarts of boiling water put a pound of treacle, a quarter of an ounce of ginger, and two bay leaves. Boil these for a quarter of an hour, then cool and work with yeast the same as beer.” From treacle we naturally come to sugar. This chapter would be very incomplete without some mention of a kind of beer which is extensively brewed in England at the present day. It is brewed sometimes wholly of sugar, or sugar and malt. Occasionally rice is added. Looking at this sugar-beer from a chemist’s point of view, there is absolutely no fault to find with it; it is perfectly pure and perfectly wholesome. Nor is it found to differ, when analysed, from beer made from malt. There is certainly a popular prejudice against it, which may arise in a great measure from the love of the people for the historic drink made from malt. Though analysts cannot distinguish between malt liquors and beers made from sugar, there is usually a slight difference in flavour between them. It is a noteworthy fact that most of the largest firms, having extensive _private_ businesses, brew from malt and hops. Their success certainly indicates the direction in which the popular taste runs. If Englishmen prefer malt liquors, it is surely to the interest of the brewers to give them the genuine barley-bree, and not beer brewed from sugar, however excellent it may be. The use of malt by brewers is of no little importance to English grain-growers, and is rightly looked upon by many as of national concern. Considerable misconception, however, may exist on this point, for the brewing trade generally, say that of late years English barley, from climatic or other causes, has not been found altogether suitable for brewing purposes, rendering an admixture of foreign grain necessary. All we can do is to express a hope that the brewers are somewhat mistaken in their estimate of English barley; but that if they are correct, England may in future years be accorded its due share of sunshine—that blessing of which Dame Nature has been somewhat niggardly of late, so that malt made from English grain alone, may again fill our mash-tuns. {178} A distinction between beers arises, in name at least, from the vessels in which they are contained. We have beer in casks and beer in bottles. Fuller, in his _Worthies of England_, ascribes the invention of bottled beer to Alexander Newell, Dean of St. Paul’s and a master of Westminster School in the reign of Queen Mary. The Dean was a devoted angler. “But,” says old Fuller, “whilst Newell was catching of fishes, Bishop Bonner was catching of Newell, and would certainly have sent him to the shambles, had not a good London merchant conveyed him away upon the seas.” Newell was engaged in his favourite pursuit on the banks of the Thames, when such pressing notice of his danger reached him, that he was obliged to take immediate flight. On his return to England, after Mary’s death, he remembered, when resuming his old amusement, that on the day of his flight he had left his simple repast, the liquor of which consisted of a bottle of beer, in a safe place in the river bank; there he sought it, and, as the quaint language of Fuller informs us, he “found it no bottle, but a gun, such the sound at the opening thereof; and this is believed (casualty is the mother of more invention than industry) the original of bottled ale in England.” If this be the true origin of bottled ale, the use of it must have spread rapidly, for we find it mentioned in many Elizabethan writers. In Ben Jonson’s _Bartholomew fair_, Ursula calls to the drawer to bring “A Bottle of Ale, to quench me, rascal,” and many other quotations could be given proving its use in those days. Of course ale must have been carried in bottles long before Newell’s time, almost as early, indeed, as bottles came into use, but the bottled ale referred to is that which has been so long in bottle as to have acquired a peculiar and delicious flavour combined with a certain briskness not found in draught ale. The country which next to our own has for generations stood pre-eminent in matters of beer and brewing is Germany; there, as here, beer is the national drink, though the character of the liquors is somewhat different. The usual German beer is of an exceedingly light character, and so perishable that it is impossible to preserve it for any length of time even in the coolest cellar; four-and-twenty hours after a cask is tapped it must be emptied, or what remains is spoilt. Nearly every considerable town in Germany gives its name to the beer that is brewed there and consumed by the inhabitants. The beer of each town has its own peculiarities, and the worthy burghers are, of course, always ready to support both in deed and in word the superiority of their native drink. There is, for instance, the Jena beer, famous in that university, which is of a very peculiar character, and is only made at {179} Lichtenhain, a little village adjoining the university town. It is a species of white beer, and is brewed from wheat malt. The taste for this liquor must be one not easy of acquisition, for the author of _German Life in Saxony_ describes it as being much like “cider and water, with a dash of camomile tea added to it.” The students, however, assure you that the taste once acquired remains so strong through life that Lichtenhainer is preferred to any other kind of beer. So much has been written about student life and drinking customs that the subject will hardly bear repetition. Suffice it to say that in Heidelberg, Jena, and other large German universities there exist elaborate codes of drinking rules, in which _Persons_ are classified in accordance with their seniority at the university, and the beer-honours and labours which their position entail; _Things_ are divided into Principal things, subordinate things and appurtenances; Principal things are specified as “Lager-beer,” “black Cöstritzer-beer,” “Lichtenhainer-beer,” and all other white beers; appurtenances are “cans, doctors (a kind of measure), popes (another measure)” and other necessities of the drinking bouts. The actual laws of the code are far too long and complicated to be more than referred to here. Lager beer is not unknown in England, and is sold at restaurants and hotels in most of our large towns. Much of it is imported; the rest comes from Lager-beer brewers, who have, within the last few years, started business in this country. Neither German nor Anglo-German beers appear to make much headway over here, nor is this very surprising when we remember how far superior our own ales and beers are to any brewed in Germany. The chief difference between lager[50] and English beers is in the time occupied in the fermentation. Lager-beer brewers keep the wort at an exceedingly low temperature all through the process, the result being that fermentation is delayed over several days. Lager beer simply means beer which can be kept in lagers or stores. Germany has from very early times maintained a large export trade in Beer. It has already been shown that in the fifteenth century large quantities were exported into Scotland, and another instance is to be found in Rymer (H. 5. 1. 22), where there is a record of an appeal made by the consuls of Hamburgh to Henry VI. The appeal states “that certain of your Magnificence’s Subjects and Servants to wit Michael Schotte and Molchun Poerter of Calais, rulers or captains of a certain great ship of war specially fitted out, did with their Complices in that present year, about the feast of St. James the Apostle, hostilely seize, detain, and carry off at their pleasure two vessels laden with {180} Hamburg ale, to the no small hurt and injury of our fellow townsmen.” They therefore pray that the ships may be restored to them and compensation made for the outrage.” [50] Readers curious as to the technical details of the brewing of Lager Beer are referred to Liebig’s Chemistry of Agriculture (Playfair). Roberts, in his _Map of Commerce_ (1638), says of Lubeck: “The place is famous for the beere made, and hence transported into other regions, and by some used medicinally for bruises of the body . . . though by them in use commonly both for their own drinke and food and rayment.” One of the characteristics of Bavaria is the inordinate love of its inhabitants for their Bavarian beer, a love remarkable even amongst the beer-drinking Germans. In the towns the brewhouses are amongst the most important buildings, and the traveller remarks the number of beer cellars, whither the inhabitants resort to drink their favourite liquor. Brewing is the most flourishing trade, and the produce of Bavarian brewhouses is the best of continental beers. One of its chief peculiarities is that, although exposed to the air for lengthened periods, it will not turn acid as other beers do. This valuable quality is obtained for it by the peculiar management of the fermentation, and has been already referred to. Very little space can be afforded even for a general description of German beers, suffice it to say that their name is legion; there is black beer, white beer, brown beer, thin beer, strong beer, double beer, bitter beer, and countless local varieties of each and all these various liquors. One more _special_ variety may be noted, and that is the strong ten-years-old ale known by the people of Dortmund as “Adam.” It is mentioned by Corvin in _An Autobiography_, who relates that “when King Frederick William IV. of Prussia visited Dortmund a deputation of the magistrates waited upon him, one of them bearing a salver with a large tankard filled with Adam. When the King asked what it was, and heard that it was the celebrated beer, he said ‘Very welcome; for it is extremely warm,’ and drained off the contents of the tankard at a draught. The members of the deputation, who were better acquainted with old Adam than the unsuspecting King, smiled at each other, for they knew what would be the result. His Majesty was unconscious for more than twenty-four hours.” The best beer brewed in Norway is a more or less faithful imitation of the Bavarian beer, and travellers should be careful to ask for “Baiersk öl,” {181} as the ordinary “barley-wine” of the country is not described as being of a very choice character. Much the same may be said of Swedish beer, one variety of which, however, has obtained a place in history. The beer of Arboga was of so seductive a character that on the occasion of the invasion of Hako and his Norwegian and Danish levies, a large part of the army loitered behind in the various inns of the place, quaffing the luscious beverage, and their King, in consequence, lost the day. Russia has been behindhand in matters of brewing from the days when Catherine had to send to Burton for her private supply, even until now; but during the last few years the gentle Mujik has been taking so kindly to his “Bavarski Peavah” (Russo-Bavarian beer), that a triumph apparently awaits John Barleycorn in Russia similar to that old victory of his over Bacchus commemorated in the song of “Yorkshire Ale,” which finds place in the chapter devoted to Ballads. [Illustration] {182} [Illustration]