Bishop,

One of the oldest winter beverages known to civilization isBishop,a composition of port wine and spices of which it has beenwritten:—Three cups of this a prudent man may take;The first of these for constitution’s sake,The second to the girl he loves the best,The third and last to lull him to his rest.And an effectual luller is this Bishop.Make several incisions in the rind of a lemon, stick cloves in the incisions, and roast the lemon at a slow fire. Put small but equal quantities of{141}cinnamon, cloves, mace, and all-spice into a saucepan, with half a pint of water; let it boil until reduced one-half. Boil one bottle of port wine; burn a portion of the spirit out of it by applying a lighted paper to the saucepan. Put the roasted lemon and spice into the wine, stir it well, and let it stand near the fire ten minutes. Rub a few lumps of sugar on the rind of a lemon, put the sugar into a bowl with the juice of half a lemon (not roasted), pour the wine into it, grate some nutmeg into it, sweeten to taste, and serve with the lemon and spices floating on the surface.To sum up, the decline and fall of port in British estimation may be said to be due, mainly, to the following causes: inferiority of most of the modern vintages, the introduction of whisky, the present taste for lighter wines, such as the cheaper clarets and burgundies, with the wines of Germany and Italy, and a sort of “boom” in wines from Australia and California. These last-named, however, are but seldom seen at the tables of the wealthy; and thus far the demand for the productions of gallant little Wales have not been in any great request, although the demand is said to be equal to the supply.Sherry, the “sack” which was said to cheer the heart of Sir John Falstaff and other of Shakespeare’s heroes, is, like port, a light of other days. Like the wine of Portugal, also, its exportation has for many years been in the hands of English settlers. The following startling statistics have been published about these exports, which statistics speak for themselves: The output to England in 1891 was 2,135,969 gallons, orsixty-four per cent{142}less than in 1873, which was the “record” sherry year. And although many efforts have been made to stem the ebb, the last seven years have shewn a steady decrease in the exports.Yet, according to the best authorities, sherry is not only the purest, but the most wholesome of all wines. Of course, in making this statement the wine of Spain, thevino de Jerezis implied, and not the home-made productions for the malefit of those who study economy without due regard to digestion. Strictly speaking, sherry means Jerez (pronounced “herreth”) wine. But Manzanilla, a wine which is made at St. Lucas, and Montilla which comes from a town south of Cordova, may come under the same category. And with a view of shewing the wholesomeness of sherry it is stated, by no less an authority than theLancet, that it is the only wine enjoined in the preparations of the wines of the British Pharmacopœia, with two exceptions—viz.vinum ferri citratis, andvinum quininae, which are made with orange wine. Therefore it is certain that the sufferer from gout, for whomvinum colchiciis prescribed, may swallow a proportion of the juice of the grape, and, possibly, a hair of the dog which bit him. This naturally recalls the old story of the sherry which was sent to a former Lord Chesterfield as apanaceafor his ailment, and the curt reply sent: “Sir, I have tried your sherry, and prefer the gout.”There are several types of sherries, according to the different characters developed. These are known by several distinguishing terms{143}comprehending the characters and specific qualities of the wine from one end to the other of a scale ranging from delicate and light wines to rich, generous, and dark-coloured wines. Between a straw-colouredVino de Pastoand the very fine Old East India Brown—the sherry which two decades ago was in enormous demand at such old-fashioned hostelries as the “Rainbow” in Fleet Street, ere the reign of gin-and-bitters—there is a vast difference, both in colour and flavour. Broadly, however, sherry may be divided into two classes—fino, a light-coloured, delicate light wine of the Amontillado type, and theoloroso, a full-bodied, highly-developed wine.The sherry grapes are collected and placed in large panniers on the backs of mules and conveyed to the press-houses. The press is of very primitive construction, and is identical with those used in ancient history. It consists simply of a wooden trough about ten feet square, provided in the centre with a screw press, which is used after the treading by foot power is done, to get the last drop of juice out of the crushed mass. Rather less than a ton of grapes serves for one pressing, and the idea that this is done with the naked feet of the Spanish peasantry is a popular error. Sherry is not kneaded like German bread. Men clad in light clothing and shod with wooden clogs, with nails on the soles and heels, pointing in a slanting direction, proceed to tread the grapes in a most methodical manner, proceeding row by row, each row being of the width of the nailed sole of the clog.After the grapes have been trodden over for{144}the first time,i.e.partly crushed and bruised, a measured quantity of sulphate of lime (Yeso) is sprinkled over the sticky mass—now I have gone so far perhaps ’twould be as well to complete the narrative, although it is not always wise to enquire too closely into the interior economy of wine presses, or kitchens. This sulphate of lime is a pure native earth, found in the neighbourhood of Jerez, and is burnt before being mixed with the grapes. How many sherry drinkers, I wonder, know how largely mother earth enters into their pet tipple? The idea, certainly, does not seem a nice one, but this mixing of lime with sherry is a very ancient custom indeed.Pliny—where should we modern bookmakers be without dear old Pliny?—mentions the custom as an ancient African one. And in days of yore it must be remembered that Africa was not entirely populated by cannibals and dervishes, but was the home of many who lived wisely and well.“There’s lime in the sack!” is a sentence put into the mouth of Falstaff. In modern days the process has become known as “plastering,” from the fact that plaster-of-Paris consists principally of sulphate of lime or burnt gypsum.“It is interesting,” says theLancet, “to surmise the origin of this very ancient custom. That it had some intelligent basis admits of no doubt. Some think that it had its origin in the fact being noticed that when the grape juice was fermented in alabaster vessels or in marble tanks the wine was better, it clarified quicker, and{145}developed character more satisfactorily. Others regard the addition of sulphate of lime as convenient from a mechanical point of view during the pressing; it was necessary when the grapes were wetter than usual in order to bind the residuary mass together. We do not incline to this view.”As theLancetdevotes a considerable space to the exposition of the view to which it does incline I may be excused from quoting it in full—more especially as there be tables of percentages, and complicated mathematical calculations in said exposition. But it is proved to the satisfaction of theLancetthat “lime in the sack” is matter in the right place. And although to an uneducated mind lime suggests such terrifying developments oftarda podagraas chalk-stones, possibly the action of the grapes on the lime renders it innocuous.It is a curious fact that sherry in keeping develops a slight increase of alcohol as the time advances. All spirit added to sherry, however, is obtained from wine itself, corn-spirit in Spain being quite a superfluity, since wine-spirit can be produced so cheaply and in unlimited quantity. Moreover the importation of German spirit into Spain is made practically impossible by a prohibitive duty. Still, unless rumour lies, some Spanish wines receive the German spirit after exportation; so Spain “gets there just the same.”Here is an item of news which should inspire confidence in the sceptic.“Good brandy—i.e.a genuine wine-distilled{146}spirit—is being produced in Spain in commercial quantities which it is to be hoped will successfully compete with the stuff erroneously called brandy, not to say Cognac, but of which not a drop has been derived from the grape.”In my researches into the manufacture of port and sherry, I have come across no mention of the phylloxera. I am, therefore, halting between the beliefs, either that the Spaniards and Portuguese understand vermin better than do the French, or that the “vine-louse” has her own reasons for keeping out of Spain and Portugal.Forty years ago an estimable Irish nobleman was known as “Old Sherry,” from his partiality to that wine. And thirty years ago I was once seated at the table of a General of Division, up at Simla. My right-hand neighbour was a son of this same nobleman, but our host, apparently, did not know this—or had forgotten the fact. At all events, during a lull in the conversation, the General (who had a voice like sharpening a saw) rapped out: “By the way, Captains—you say you’ve been quartered in Ireland—did you ever meet ‘Old Sherry’ there?”A subaltern can’t very well throw a dinner-roll at a General or stick a carving-fork into his leg; but that is what I, personally, felt like doing.In mediæval times a sufficient quantity of wine for the needs of the inhabitants was made in gallant little Wales; and the idea of reviving the industry occurred to the Marquis of Bute, who has done so much for the welfare of Cardiff{147}and the neighbourhood. The vineyards are on the site of the old ones, facing south, and the vines were planted twenty years ago, and are very hardy. There is no reason why they should not be propagated to almost any extent, and there is abundant scope for the extension of the vineyards and a proportionate increase in the yield of wine.The vintages of 1885, 1890, and 1891 are marked in Messrs. Hatch, Mansfield and Co.’s list as “All sold,” and although the vintage of ’98, owing to the long spell of dry weather, does not promise particularly well, the Marquis is no more unfortunate in this respect than most other vine-growers.

One of the oldest winter beverages known to civilization is

a composition of port wine and spices of which it has beenwritten:—

Three cups of this a prudent man may take;The first of these for constitution’s sake,The second to the girl he loves the best,The third and last to lull him to his rest.

Three cups of this a prudent man may take;

The first of these for constitution’s sake,

The second to the girl he loves the best,

The third and last to lull him to his rest.

And an effectual luller is this Bishop.

Make several incisions in the rind of a lemon, stick cloves in the incisions, and roast the lemon at a slow fire. Put small but equal quantities of{141}cinnamon, cloves, mace, and all-spice into a saucepan, with half a pint of water; let it boil until reduced one-half. Boil one bottle of port wine; burn a portion of the spirit out of it by applying a lighted paper to the saucepan. Put the roasted lemon and spice into the wine, stir it well, and let it stand near the fire ten minutes. Rub a few lumps of sugar on the rind of a lemon, put the sugar into a bowl with the juice of half a lemon (not roasted), pour the wine into it, grate some nutmeg into it, sweeten to taste, and serve with the lemon and spices floating on the surface.

To sum up, the decline and fall of port in British estimation may be said to be due, mainly, to the following causes: inferiority of most of the modern vintages, the introduction of whisky, the present taste for lighter wines, such as the cheaper clarets and burgundies, with the wines of Germany and Italy, and a sort of “boom” in wines from Australia and California. These last-named, however, are but seldom seen at the tables of the wealthy; and thus far the demand for the productions of gallant little Wales have not been in any great request, although the demand is said to be equal to the supply.

Sherry, the “sack” which was said to cheer the heart of Sir John Falstaff and other of Shakespeare’s heroes, is, like port, a light of other days. Like the wine of Portugal, also, its exportation has for many years been in the hands of English settlers. The following startling statistics have been published about these exports, which statistics speak for themselves: The output to England in 1891 was 2,135,969 gallons, orsixty-four per cent{142}less than in 1873, which was the “record” sherry year. And although many efforts have been made to stem the ebb, the last seven years have shewn a steady decrease in the exports.

Yet, according to the best authorities, sherry is not only the purest, but the most wholesome of all wines. Of course, in making this statement the wine of Spain, thevino de Jerezis implied, and not the home-made productions for the malefit of those who study economy without due regard to digestion. Strictly speaking, sherry means Jerez (pronounced “herreth”) wine. But Manzanilla, a wine which is made at St. Lucas, and Montilla which comes from a town south of Cordova, may come under the same category. And with a view of shewing the wholesomeness of sherry it is stated, by no less an authority than theLancet, that it is the only wine enjoined in the preparations of the wines of the British Pharmacopœia, with two exceptions—viz.vinum ferri citratis, andvinum quininae, which are made with orange wine. Therefore it is certain that the sufferer from gout, for whomvinum colchiciis prescribed, may swallow a proportion of the juice of the grape, and, possibly, a hair of the dog which bit him. This naturally recalls the old story of the sherry which was sent to a former Lord Chesterfield as apanaceafor his ailment, and the curt reply sent: “Sir, I have tried your sherry, and prefer the gout.”

There are several types of sherries, according to the different characters developed. These are known by several distinguishing terms{143}comprehending the characters and specific qualities of the wine from one end to the other of a scale ranging from delicate and light wines to rich, generous, and dark-coloured wines. Between a straw-colouredVino de Pastoand the very fine Old East India Brown—the sherry which two decades ago was in enormous demand at such old-fashioned hostelries as the “Rainbow” in Fleet Street, ere the reign of gin-and-bitters—there is a vast difference, both in colour and flavour. Broadly, however, sherry may be divided into two classes—fino, a light-coloured, delicate light wine of the Amontillado type, and theoloroso, a full-bodied, highly-developed wine.

The sherry grapes are collected and placed in large panniers on the backs of mules and conveyed to the press-houses. The press is of very primitive construction, and is identical with those used in ancient history. It consists simply of a wooden trough about ten feet square, provided in the centre with a screw press, which is used after the treading by foot power is done, to get the last drop of juice out of the crushed mass. Rather less than a ton of grapes serves for one pressing, and the idea that this is done with the naked feet of the Spanish peasantry is a popular error. Sherry is not kneaded like German bread. Men clad in light clothing and shod with wooden clogs, with nails on the soles and heels, pointing in a slanting direction, proceed to tread the grapes in a most methodical manner, proceeding row by row, each row being of the width of the nailed sole of the clog.

After the grapes have been trodden over for{144}the first time,i.e.partly crushed and bruised, a measured quantity of sulphate of lime (Yeso) is sprinkled over the sticky mass—now I have gone so far perhaps ’twould be as well to complete the narrative, although it is not always wise to enquire too closely into the interior economy of wine presses, or kitchens. This sulphate of lime is a pure native earth, found in the neighbourhood of Jerez, and is burnt before being mixed with the grapes. How many sherry drinkers, I wonder, know how largely mother earth enters into their pet tipple? The idea, certainly, does not seem a nice one, but this mixing of lime with sherry is a very ancient custom indeed.

Pliny—where should we modern bookmakers be without dear old Pliny?—mentions the custom as an ancient African one. And in days of yore it must be remembered that Africa was not entirely populated by cannibals and dervishes, but was the home of many who lived wisely and well.

“There’s lime in the sack!” is a sentence put into the mouth of Falstaff. In modern days the process has become known as “plastering,” from the fact that plaster-of-Paris consists principally of sulphate of lime or burnt gypsum.

“It is interesting,” says theLancet, “to surmise the origin of this very ancient custom. That it had some intelligent basis admits of no doubt. Some think that it had its origin in the fact being noticed that when the grape juice was fermented in alabaster vessels or in marble tanks the wine was better, it clarified quicker, and{145}developed character more satisfactorily. Others regard the addition of sulphate of lime as convenient from a mechanical point of view during the pressing; it was necessary when the grapes were wetter than usual in order to bind the residuary mass together. We do not incline to this view.”

As theLancetdevotes a considerable space to the exposition of the view to which it does incline I may be excused from quoting it in full—more especially as there be tables of percentages, and complicated mathematical calculations in said exposition. But it is proved to the satisfaction of theLancetthat “lime in the sack” is matter in the right place. And although to an uneducated mind lime suggests such terrifying developments oftarda podagraas chalk-stones, possibly the action of the grapes on the lime renders it innocuous.

It is a curious fact that sherry in keeping develops a slight increase of alcohol as the time advances. All spirit added to sherry, however, is obtained from wine itself, corn-spirit in Spain being quite a superfluity, since wine-spirit can be produced so cheaply and in unlimited quantity. Moreover the importation of German spirit into Spain is made practically impossible by a prohibitive duty. Still, unless rumour lies, some Spanish wines receive the German spirit after exportation; so Spain “gets there just the same.”

Here is an item of news which should inspire confidence in the sceptic.

“Good brandy—i.e.a genuine wine-distilled{146}spirit—is being produced in Spain in commercial quantities which it is to be hoped will successfully compete with the stuff erroneously called brandy, not to say Cognac, but of which not a drop has been derived from the grape.”

In my researches into the manufacture of port and sherry, I have come across no mention of the phylloxera. I am, therefore, halting between the beliefs, either that the Spaniards and Portuguese understand vermin better than do the French, or that the “vine-louse” has her own reasons for keeping out of Spain and Portugal.

Forty years ago an estimable Irish nobleman was known as “Old Sherry,” from his partiality to that wine. And thirty years ago I was once seated at the table of a General of Division, up at Simla. My right-hand neighbour was a son of this same nobleman, but our host, apparently, did not know this—or had forgotten the fact. At all events, during a lull in the conversation, the General (who had a voice like sharpening a saw) rapped out: “By the way, Captains—you say you’ve been quartered in Ireland—did you ever meet ‘Old Sherry’ there?”

A subaltern can’t very well throw a dinner-roll at a General or stick a carving-fork into his leg; but that is what I, personally, felt like doing.

In mediæval times a sufficient quantity of wine for the needs of the inhabitants was made in gallant little Wales; and the idea of reviving the industry occurred to the Marquis of Bute, who has done so much for the welfare of Cardiff{147}and the neighbourhood. The vineyards are on the site of the old ones, facing south, and the vines were planted twenty years ago, and are very hardy. There is no reason why they should not be propagated to almost any extent, and there is abundant scope for the extension of the vineyards and a proportionate increase in the yield of wine.

The vintages of 1885, 1890, and 1891 are marked in Messrs. Hatch, Mansfield and Co.’s list as “All sold,” and although the vintage of ’98, owing to the long spell of dry weather, does not promise particularly well, the Marquis is no more unfortunate in this respect than most other vine-growers.

Back to Index Next