turned a rhyme in his younger days. If not
actually one of the authors, he might have
added an admirable stanza, touching beef, to
that glorious chant When this Old Cap was
New. In respect to how far meats bring
destruction, Mr. Stubbes tells us, that a people
given to belly cheere and gluttony must eventually
and inevitably come to worshipping
of stocks and stones. Belly cheer, I am afraid,
is yet far from being eradicated in our land,
but I have not yet heard that the viands of
that great diplomatic cook, Carême, ever
drove Metternich or Talleyrand to the worship
of Mumbo-Jumbo; that any alderman
of London was ever known to bow down,
after a turtle dinner, before Gog and Magog;
that the publication of M. Louis-Eustache and
Ude's work ever made any converts to fetichism;
or that there was ever a disposition
on the part of the committee of the Reform
Club to set up a pagod in the vestibule
during the administration of their kitchen by
M. Soyer. With all this feasting and belly
cheer there is, it appears, but small hospitality
in Stubbes' England, and cold comfort for the
poor. For, while there are some men who,
out of forty pounds a-year, " count it small
matter to dispend forty thereof in spices " (?);
and though a hundred pounds are often spent
in one house in banqueting; yet the poor
have little or nothing: if they have anything
it is but the refuse meat, scraps, and parings,
such as a dog would not eat, and well if they
can get that, too; and, now and then, not a
few have whipping cheer to feed themselves.

Says Spudeus to Philoponus (Spudeus is
one of the most excellent listeners I ever met
with)—says he, quite cheerfully, as if the
shocking state of things rather tickled him.
"You spake of drunkenness, brother—what
say you of that?: '

What has Mr. Stubbes to say against
drunkenness—what hasn't he to say? He says
that it is a most horrible vice, and too much
practised in England. Every country-town,
city, village, hamlet, and other places have
abundance of ale-houses, taverns, and inns,
which are so fraught with maltworms every
day that you would wounder to see them.
You shall have them there, sitting at the
wine and good ale, all the day long—yea, all
the night, too—and, peradventure, for a
whole week together, so long as any money
is left, swyllying, gullying, and carousing one
to another, till never a one can speak a ready
word. Then, when with the spirit of the
butterie they are thus possessed, a world it is
to consider their gestures and demeanours
towards one another, and towards everyone
else. How they stutter and stammer, stagger
and reel to and fro like madmen, which is
most horrible: some fall to swearing, cursing,
and banning, interlacing their speeches with
curious terms of ogglesome woordes. . . .  A
man once dronke with wine, doth he not
resemble a brute beast rather than a Christian
man? For do not his eyes begin to stare, and
to be red, fiery, and bleared, blubbering forth
seas of tears? Doth he not froth and foam at
the mouth like a boar? Doth not his head
become as a millstone, and his heels as
feathers? Is he able to keep one up, or the
other down? Are not his wits drowned—
his understanding altogether decayed? The
drunkard in his drunkenness killeth his
friend, revileth his lover, discloseth his secrets,
and regardeth no man. After this, Mr.
Stubbes relates the following story, which I
recommend for modern adoption in the
Temperance oration way:—

On the eighth of February, fifteen hundred
and seventy-eight, in the country of Swaben,
there were dwelling eight men—citizens and
citizens' sons—all tailors, very riotously and
prodigally inclined. The names of these
young Swabs, if I may be allowed to call
them so, were Adam Giebens, George Repell,
Jhon Reisell, Peter Herfdorfe, Jhon Wagenaer,
Simon Henricks, Herman Frons, and
Jacob Hermans. All of them would needs
go to the taverne on the Sabbath-day, in the
morning, very early. And, coming to the
house of one Anthony Hage, an honest, godly
man, who kept a tavern in the same town,
called for burnt wine, sack, malmsey, hippocras,
and what not. But Anthony Hage not
being, though a landlord, a maltworm nor a
member of the Licensed Victuallers' Protection
Society—  but being rather of the Lord Robert
Grosvenor and Wilson Patten persuasion,
and perhaps afraid of the Swaben police—said
they should have no wine till sermon-time
had passed, and counselled them to go to
church. But they all (save Adam Giebens,
who said they might as well go if they could
get no drink) said they loathed that kind of
exercise. The good host then, not giving
them any wine himself, nor suffering his barmaid
to draw them any, went, as his duty did
him bind, to church; who, being gone, the
abandoned young Swabs fell (as is usual in
Mr. Stubbes' stories) to banning and swearing,
wishing the landlord might break his neck
if ever he came again from the sermon; and
bursting forth into these intemperate speeches:
the Deuce take us, if we depart hence this day
without some wine. Straightway the Deuce
appeared to them in the likeness of a pot-boy,
bringing in his hand a flagon of wine, and
demanding of them if they caroused not; he
drank unto them, saying: " Good fellows be
merrie" (a bold pot-boy), "for ye seem lusty
lads." I suppose this salutation was a species
of " Give your orders, gents," of the period;
and the orders being given, he added: " I hope
you will pay me well," which was, perhaps,
equivalent to the dubiously-expressed hope of
a modern waiter that it is " all right," when
he has a tap-room full of suspicious customers.
The Swabs assured him that it was so
far right, that they would gage their necks,
bodies, and souls that the reckoning should
be paid. Whereupon much wine was brought,
and they fell to their old game of swyllying,