have been fresh and creamy, like that of the
Bavarians now. Heresy and hops, according
to the men of the old faith, came in together.

Where the vine would not grow, the barley
rose, and shook its ears to soothe and solace
man. The Egyptians drank their beer
hundreds of centuries ago, and they drink it now.
It is, however, what Beaumont would have
called " a muddy drench," tasting too much of
earth, and the malt retaining a scurvy touch of
the dull hand that sowed it. Warriors under
the feathery palms of Philæ, with the asps of
Egypt on their helmets, and the vulture wings
for their crests, quaffed that horrible beer.
The Nile boatmen give it you still. It is
whitish, thick, and sour, like the worst Belgian
brew. At the foot of the Pyramids, with their
backs to the hot stone blocks, the warriors of the
Pharaohs drank that execrable tap; and with
the bliss of ignorance no doubt discussed the
various merits of the Barclay and Perkinses of
Thebes and Edfou. That was the poor but
improvable beverage which Joseph and his
brethren quaffed, and which supported the
Israelites at their toilsome tasks in those
brickfields whose fires have long gone out. It
must have been tossed off in those tremendous
Tombs of the Kings at Thebes, as the swarthy
workmen rested after colouring their fourteenth
room of hieroglyphics, and sat down to sup
snugly upon onions just within the keen black
shadow of the scorching doorway hewn square
in the rock, waiting till the high priest himself
came down at sunset, with all his fan-bearers,
and harpers, and spearmen, to see the great
alabaster sarcophagus fashioning for the king
soon to be gathered to his fathers by natural
causes and the help of a purple cushion or two.
It was " beer" (" boozy " they call it now) that
inspired the Egyptians when they tore pell-
mell over the desert after the Israelites; beer
that led them on to battle with the Romans, to
keep the crown on Cleopatra's head; beer
that—but, perhaps, as it was beer that led
them to do all the good things they did, and
all the evil, we may refer our readers for the
rest of their deeds to Egyptian history.

There is no doubt that all the Scythian
and Tartaric races brought from those great
grassy plains, where they had tended their
miles of sheep, bags of seeds from the
huge tracts of corn they had raised, and
also the knowledge how to brew from it a
strong water, good for raising the spirits after
battle, good after long rides of flight or pursuit,
good to make Tartar men fierce and bold,
but apt too, in over doses, to make Tartar men
cruel, raving, bloodthirsty and mad. Pliny
speaks of this corn wine as common in Gaul,
Spain, and, indeed, all through the west of
Europe. Pliny praises the Spaniards for making
this beer so that it could be kept good a long
time, and then appends his moral:

"So exquisite is the art of mankind in
gratifying their vicious appetites that they have
thus invented a method to make even water
itself intoxicating."

Or does it prove only that nature has in
every country provided a stimulus, harmless in
moderation, which shall refresh weary nature,
lessen exhaustion, and repair the losses
produced by excitement, labour, and anxiety?

Isidore, describing the beverage of the ancient
Britons, says:

"The grain is steeped in water and made to
germinate, by which its spirits are excited and
set at liberty; it is then dried and ground;
after which it is infused in a certain quantity
of water, which, being fermented, becomes a
pleasant, warming, strengthening, and
intoxicating liquor."

Our rude forefathers made beer of wheat,
oats, and millet. The Picts, we believe,
made a drink of heather, the secret of which
perished in a general engagement which swept
away the last of the race. At least, Sir
Walter, who knew everything about the land of
the heather, used to relate some such tradition
with much gusto. Perhaps, after all, the Pict
drink was only another form of whisky, and the
alchemists did not discover aqua vitæ, and
mistake it for the Elixir of Life, as generally
reported, after all.

The Welsh, who fought against Edward and
his mailed men, and went cheerfully to death,
led by three thousand drunken harpers, playing
madly The Men of Harlech, and Of a Noble
Race was Shenkin, and those bare-legged sinewy
Scotch who wrestled with the enemies of Bruce,
Wallace, and the Douglas, had two kinds of ale:
common ale and spiced ale. One of their old
laws specifies:

"If a farmer have no mead he shall pay two
casks of spiced ale, or four casks of common ale,
for one cask of mead."

Wine was no doubt slow in reaching Wales,
the purple casks of Gascon and Burgundian wine
having to pass by too many a Norman gate to
reach Wales often safely, or without paying heavy
toll. Fed on bad beer, no wonder the Welshmen
went down before the charge of the Norman
knights.

Is beer as good as it used to be? Was it
always the custom, when hops were dear, to add
liquorice and black resin to give flavour, tone,
and colour? Did molasses, raw grain, and sugar,
often take the place of malt? Were brewers'
chemists always as respectable, honest, above-
board, and ingenious, as they now are?

If gentian, bitter wort root, marsh trefoil, and
quassia, were used formerly instead of hops,
we did not know it, and were therefore happy.
We used to feel a kind of warmth after a
draught of good ale, and never knew that it
was derived from capsicum; or that the solid
crest of froth came from the stimulating
influence of salts of steel and copperas. Is it
possible that the beer we used to quaff at
Putney, after boating, and thought nectar, was
made from flown malt,cocculus indicus, the bitter
bean of St. Ignatius, tobacco, or the poisonous
nux vomica? That sweet flavour was honey,
that refreshing headyness carraway and coriander
seeds, that effervescence jalap, that