Hail, beer!In all thy forms of Porter, Stingo, Stout,Swipes, Double X, Ale, Heavy, Out and Out,Most dear.Hail! thou that mak'st man's heart as big as Jove's,Of Ceres' gifts the best,That furnishestA cure for all our griefs, a barm for all our—loaves.Oh! Sir John Barleycorn, thou glorious Knight of Malt-a,May thy fame never alter:Great Britain's Bacchus! pardon all our failings,And with thy Ale ease all our ailings.I've emptied many a barrel in my time—And, may be, shall empty many moreBeforeO'er the Styx I sail.E'en when an infant I was fond of Ale,A sort of Ale-y-baby,And still I love, in spite of gibes and jokesOf wine-ing folks.For Stout I've stoutly fought for many a year,For Ale I'll fight till I'm laid on my bier.October! oh, intoxicating name! no drinkThat e'er was made on earth can match with thee.Of best French brandy in the Palais RoyalI've emptied many a phial,And thinkThat double X beats O.D.V.On thy banks, Rhine,I've drank such wineAs Bacchus' self might well unsober;But, oh! Johannisberg thy beams are shornBy our John Barleycorn,And Hock is not Hock-tober.As for the rest, Cape, Claret, Calcavella,They are but "leather and prunella,"Stale, flat, and musty.By the side of AleImperial TokayItself gives way,Sherry turns pale,And Port grows crusty.Rum, Whisky, Hollands seem so much sour crout,And Hodges's Mountain-Dew turns outA mere Hodge-Podge.OfBishopse'en, god wot!I don't much like the flavour,Politically speaking (but, then, politics are notMy trade);Exception should be madeIn DoctorMaltby'sfavour."In vino veritas" they say; but that's a fable,A most egregious blunder.I've been at many a wine-bibbing ere now,And vow,For one that told the truth across the table,I've seen a dozenlyingunder.Besides, as old Sam Johnson said once, I've no patienceWith men who never tell the sober truthBut when they're drunk, and aren't to be believed, forsooth,Except in theirlie-bations.Oh! do not think, you who these praises hear,Don't think my muse be-mused with beer,Nor that in speaking thus my pleasureI go beyond beer measure.But stay,It's time to end this lay;Tho' I could go on rhyming for a yearIn praise of Beer,And think it sport;But many folks I know like something short.
Hail, beer!In all thy forms of Porter, Stingo, Stout,Swipes, Double X, Ale, Heavy, Out and Out,Most dear.Hail! thou that mak'st man's heart as big as Jove's,Of Ceres' gifts the best,That furnishestA cure for all our griefs, a barm for all our—loaves.Oh! Sir John Barleycorn, thou glorious Knight of Malt-a,May thy fame never alter:Great Britain's Bacchus! pardon all our failings,And with thy Ale ease all our ailings.I've emptied many a barrel in my time—And, may be, shall empty many moreBeforeO'er the Styx I sail.E'en when an infant I was fond of Ale,A sort of Ale-y-baby,And still I love, in spite of gibes and jokesOf wine-ing folks.For Stout I've stoutly fought for many a year,For Ale I'll fight till I'm laid on my bier.October! oh, intoxicating name! no drinkThat e'er was made on earth can match with thee.Of best French brandy in the Palais RoyalI've emptied many a phial,And thinkThat double X beats O.D.V.On thy banks, Rhine,I've drank such wineAs Bacchus' self might well unsober;But, oh! Johannisberg thy beams are shornBy our John Barleycorn,And Hock is not Hock-tober.As for the rest, Cape, Claret, Calcavella,They are but "leather and prunella,"Stale, flat, and musty.By the side of AleImperial TokayItself gives way,Sherry turns pale,And Port grows crusty.Rum, Whisky, Hollands seem so much sour crout,And Hodges's Mountain-Dew turns outA mere Hodge-Podge.OfBishopse'en, god wot!I don't much like the flavour,Politically speaking (but, then, politics are notMy trade);Exception should be madeIn DoctorMaltby'sfavour."In vino veritas" they say; but that's a fable,A most egregious blunder.I've been at many a wine-bibbing ere now,And vow,For one that told the truth across the table,I've seen a dozenlyingunder.Besides, as old Sam Johnson said once, I've no patienceWith men who never tell the sober truthBut when they're drunk, and aren't to be believed, forsooth,Except in theirlie-bations.Oh! do not think, you who these praises hear,Don't think my muse be-mused with beer,Nor that in speaking thus my pleasureI go beyond beer measure.But stay,It's time to end this lay;Tho' I could go on rhyming for a yearIn praise of Beer,And think it sport;But many folks I know like something short.
Hail, beer!In all thy forms of Porter, Stingo, Stout,Swipes, Double X, Ale, Heavy, Out and Out,Most dear.Hail! thou that mak'st man's heart as big as Jove's,Of Ceres' gifts the best,That furnishestA cure for all our griefs, a barm for all our—loaves.
Hail, beer!
In all thy forms of Porter, Stingo, Stout,
Swipes, Double X, Ale, Heavy, Out and Out,
Most dear.
Hail! thou that mak'st man's heart as big as Jove's,
Of Ceres' gifts the best,
That furnishest
A cure for all our griefs, a barm for all our—loaves.
Oh! Sir John Barleycorn, thou glorious Knight of Malt-a,May thy fame never alter:Great Britain's Bacchus! pardon all our failings,And with thy Ale ease all our ailings.I've emptied many a barrel in my time—And, may be, shall empty many moreBeforeO'er the Styx I sail.E'en when an infant I was fond of Ale,A sort of Ale-y-baby,And still I love, in spite of gibes and jokesOf wine-ing folks.For Stout I've stoutly fought for many a year,For Ale I'll fight till I'm laid on my bier.October! oh, intoxicating name! no drinkThat e'er was made on earth can match with thee.Of best French brandy in the Palais RoyalI've emptied many a phial,And thinkThat double X beats O.D.V.On thy banks, Rhine,I've drank such wineAs Bacchus' self might well unsober;But, oh! Johannisberg thy beams are shornBy our John Barleycorn,And Hock is not Hock-tober.As for the rest, Cape, Claret, Calcavella,They are but "leather and prunella,"Stale, flat, and musty.By the side of AleImperial TokayItself gives way,Sherry turns pale,And Port grows crusty.Rum, Whisky, Hollands seem so much sour crout,And Hodges's Mountain-Dew turns outA mere Hodge-Podge.OfBishopse'en, god wot!I don't much like the flavour,Politically speaking (but, then, politics are notMy trade);Exception should be madeIn DoctorMaltby'sfavour."In vino veritas" they say; but that's a fable,A most egregious blunder.I've been at many a wine-bibbing ere now,And vow,For one that told the truth across the table,I've seen a dozenlyingunder.Besides, as old Sam Johnson said once, I've no patienceWith men who never tell the sober truthBut when they're drunk, and aren't to be believed, forsooth,Except in theirlie-bations.Oh! do not think, you who these praises hear,Don't think my muse be-mused with beer,Nor that in speaking thus my pleasureI go beyond beer measure.But stay,It's time to end this lay;Tho' I could go on rhyming for a yearIn praise of Beer,And think it sport;But many folks I know like something short.
Oh! Sir John Barleycorn, thou glorious Knight of Malt-a,
May thy fame never alter:
Great Britain's Bacchus! pardon all our failings,
And with thy Ale ease all our ailings.
I've emptied many a barrel in my time—
And, may be, shall empty many more
Before
O'er the Styx I sail.
E'en when an infant I was fond of Ale,
A sort of Ale-y-baby,
And still I love, in spite of gibes and jokes
Of wine-ing folks.
For Stout I've stoutly fought for many a year,
For Ale I'll fight till I'm laid on my bier.
October! oh, intoxicating name! no drink
That e'er was made on earth can match with thee.
Of best French brandy in the Palais Royal
I've emptied many a phial,
And think
That double X beats O.D.V.
On thy banks, Rhine,
I've drank such wine
As Bacchus' self might well unsober;
But, oh! Johannisberg thy beams are shorn
By our John Barleycorn,
And Hock is not Hock-tober.
As for the rest, Cape, Claret, Calcavella,
They are but "leather and prunella,"
Stale, flat, and musty.
By the side of Ale
Imperial Tokay
Itself gives way,
Sherry turns pale,
And Port grows crusty.
Rum, Whisky, Hollands seem so much sour crout,
And Hodges's Mountain-Dew turns out
A mere Hodge-Podge.
OfBishopse'en, god wot!
I don't much like the flavour,
Politically speaking (but, then, politics are not
My trade);
Exception should be made
In DoctorMaltby'sfavour.
"In vino veritas" they say; but that's a fable,
A most egregious blunder.
I've been at many a wine-bibbing ere now,
And vow,
For one that told the truth across the table,
I've seen a dozenlyingunder.
Besides, as old Sam Johnson said once, I've no patience
With men who never tell the sober truth
But when they're drunk, and aren't to be believed, forsooth,
Except in theirlie-bations.
Oh! do not think, you who these praises hear,
Don't think my muse be-mused with beer,
Nor that in speaking thus my pleasure
I go beyond beer measure.
But stay,
It's time to end this lay;
Tho' I could go on rhyming for a year
In praise of Beer,
And think it sport;
But many folks I know like something short.
These cups should always be made with good sound ale, but not too strong; and should invariably be drank from the tankard, and not poured into glasses, as they are generally more agreeable to the taste than to the sight, and it is imperative that they should be kept hot.
To a quart of ale, heated, add two wine-glasses of gin, one wine-glass of sherry, two tablespoonfuls of American bitters, plenty of cloves and cinnamon, and four tablespoonfuls of moist sugar.
Heat two quarts of ale; add four wine-glasses of brandy, three wine-glasses of noyau, a pound of lump sugar, and the juice of one lemon. Toast a slice of bread, stick a slice of lemon on it with a dozen cloves, over which grate some nutmeg, and serve hot.
To a pint of ale add the peel of half a lemon, half a liqueur-glass of noyau, a bottle of seltzer-water, a little nutmeg and sugar, and ice to taste.
A pint of Scotch ale, a pint of mild beer, half a pint of brandy, a pint of sherry, half a pound of loaf sugar, and plenty of grated nutmeg. This cup may be drank either hot or cold.
Add the whites and yolks of three eggs, beaten together with three ounces of lump sugar, to half a pint of strong ale; heat the mixture nearly to the boiling-point; then put in two wine-glasses of gin or rum (the former being preferable), with some grated nutmeg and ginger; add another pint of hot ale, and pour the mixture frequently from one jug to another before serving.
Under this head we supply only a few recipes which, by experience, we know to be good, omitting a long list of the rarer and finer kinds which are imported from abroad, with the advice that it is better to purchase liqueurs of first-rate quality from a first-class house, rather than produce an inferior article of one's own making.
To every wine-quart of the best pale brandy add the very finely pared rinds of two Seville oranges and of one lemon, and let the mixture stand for three weeks. Then carefully strain off the liquid, and add as much finely powdered sugar-candy as the liquid will dissolve (about a pound to each bottle). The mixture should be frequently shaken, for a month. If the rind of a shaddock can be procured, a third part of it, mixed with the orange, will impart a peculiar aromatic and very delicious flavour to the cordial. Gin, rum, or whisky may be substituted for brandy in this recipe, but not with an equally good effect.
To each wine-bottle of brandy add a pound of Morello cherries (not too ripe), and half a pint of the expressed juice of the small black cherry called "Brandyblacks." Let this stand for a week, and then add half a pound of powdered lump sugar and a quarter of a pound of powdered sugar-candy, with half an ounce of blanched bitter almonds. The longer it is kept, the better it will become. Where the juice of the black cherry cannot be obtained, sirup of mulberries will be found an excellent substitute.
To each gallon of brandy add seven ounces of sliced gentian-root, five ounces of dried orange-peel, two ounces of seeds of cardamoms, one ounce of bruised cinnamon, half an ounce of cloves, and a small quantity of cochineal to colour it. Many other ingredients may be added which complicate the flavour; but none will make the above compound more wholesome or palatable.
To each bottle of brandy add two ounces of the best ginger bruised; let it stand for a week; then strain the liquid through muslin, and add a pound of finely powdered sugar-candy. This should be kept at least one year.
As to the best compound for a hunting-flask, it will seldom be found that any two men perfectly agree; yet, as a rule, the man who carries the largest, and is most liberal with it to his friends, will be generally esteemed the best concocter. Some there are who prefer to all others a flask of gin into which a dozen cloves have been inserted, while others, younger in age and more fantastic in taste, believe in equal parts of gin and noyau, or of sherry and Maraschino. For our own part, we must admit a strong predilection for a pull at a flask containing a well-made cold punch, or a dry Curaçoa. Then, again, if we take the opinion of our huntsman, who (of course) is aspicyfellow, and ought to be up in such matters, he recommends a piece of dry ginger always kept in the waistcoat pocket; and does not care afigfor anything else. So much for difference of taste: but as we have promised a recipe, the one we venture to insert is specially dedicated to the lovers of usquebaugh, or "the crathur:" it was a favourite of no less a man than Robert Burns, and one we believe not generally known; we therefore hope it will find favour with our readers, as a wind-up to our brewings.
To a quart of whisky add the rinds of two lemons, an ounce of bruised ginger, and a pound of ripe white currants stripped from their stalks. Put these ingredients into a covered vessel, and let them stand for a few days; then strain carefully, and add one pound of powdered loaf sugar. This may be bottled two days after the sugar has been added.
Printed byTaylorandFrancis, Red Lion Court, Fleet Street.
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Transcriber's Note:Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.
The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.
The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.