Sometimes the connections below will seem a bit, um, whimsical, random, and loose. Like loose tea leaves. Or maybe more like what you’d find at a jumble sale where the books were sorted by a sixth grade who would rather be playing a computer game.
Club Life of London, Vol. I (of 2) With Anecdotes of the Clubs, Coffee-Houses and Taverns of the Metropolis During the 17th, 18th, and 19th Centuries, 1866
Two sample chapters: EARLY POLITICAL CLUBS.
Our Clubs, or social gatherings, which date from the Restoration, were exclusively political. The first we hear of was the noted Rota, or Coffee Club, as Pepys calls it, which was founded in 1659, as a kind of debating society for the dissemination of republican opinions, which Harrington had painted in their fairest colours in his Oceana. It met in New Palace Yard, “where they take water at one Miles’s, the next house to the staires, where was made purposely a large ovall table, with a passage in the middle for Miles to deliver his coffee.” Here Harrington gave nightly lectures on the advantage of a commonwealth and of the ballot. The Club derived its name from a plan, which it was its design to promote, for changing a certain number of Members of Parliament annually by rotation. Sir William Petty was one of its members. Round the table, “in a room every evening as full as it could be crammed,” says Aubrey, sat Milton and Marvell, Cyriac Skinner, Harrington, Nevill, and their friends, discussing abstract political questions. Aubrey calls them “disciples 16 and virtuosi.” The place had its dissensions and brawls: “one time Mr. Stafford and his friends came in drunk from the tavern, and affronted the Junto; the soldiers offered to kick them down stayres, but Mr. Harrington’s moderation and persuasion hindered it.”
To the Rota, in January, 1660, came Pepys, and “heard very good discourse in answer to Mr. Harrington’s answer, who said that the state of the Roman government was not a settled government; and so it was no wonder the balance of prosperity was in one hand, and the command in another, it being therefore always in a posture of war: but it was carried by ballot that it was a steady government; though, it is true, by the voices it had been carried before that, that it was an unsteady government. So to-morrow it is to be proved by the opponents that the balance lay in one hand and the government in another.” The Club was broken up after the Restoration; but its members had become marked men. Harrington’s Oceana is an imaginary account of the construction of a commonwealth in a country, of which Oceana is the imaginary name. “Rota-men” occurs by way of comparison in Hudibras, part ii. canto 3:
“But Sidrophel, as full of tricks
As Rota-men of politics.”
Besides the Rota, there was the old Royalist Club, “The Sealed Knot,” which, the year before the Restoration, had organized a general insurrection in favour of the King. Unluckily, they had a spy amongst them—Sir Richard Willis,—who had long fingered Cromwell’s money, as one of his private “intelligencers;” the leaders, on his information, were arrested, and committed to prison. 17
THE OCTOBER CLUB.
The writer of an excellent paper in the National Review, No. VIII., well observes that “Politics under Anne had grown a smaller and less dangerous game than in the preceding century. The original political Clubs of the Commonwealth, the Protectorate, and the Restoration, plotted revolutions of government. The Parliamentary Clubs, after the Revolution of 1688, manœuvred for changes of administration. The high-flying Tory country gentleman and country member drank the health of the King—sometimes over the water-decanter, and flustered himself with bumpers in honour of Dr. Sacheverell and the Church of England, with true-blue spirits of his own kidney, at the October Club,” which, like the Beef Steak Club, was named after the cheer for which it was famed,—October ale; or rather, on account of the quantities of the ale which the members drank. The hundred and fifty squires, Tories to the backbone, who, under the above name, met at the Bell Tavern, in King Street, Westminster, were of opinion that the party to which they belonged were too backward in punishing and turning out the Whigs; and they gave infinite trouble to the Tory administration which came into office under the leadership of Harley, St. John, and Harcourt, in 1710. The Administration were for proceeding moderately with their rivals, and for generally replacing opponents with partisans. The October Club were for immediately impeaching every member of the Whig party, and for 18 turning out, without a day’s grace, every placeman who did not wear their colours, and shout their cries.
Swift was great at the October Club, and he was employed to talk over those who were amenable to reason, and to appease a discontent which was hastily ripening into mutiny. There are allusions to such negotiations in more than one passage of the Journal to Stella, in 1711. In a letter, February 10, 1710-11, he says: “We are plagued here with an October Club; that is, a set of above a hundred Parliament men of the country, who drink October beer at home, and meet every evening at a tavern near the Parliament, to consult affairs, and drive things on to extremes against the Whigs, to call the old ministry to account, and get off five or six heads.” Swift’s Advice humbly offered to the Members of the October Club, had the desired effect of softening some, and convincing others, until the whole body of malcontents was first divided and finally dissolved. The treatise is a masterpiece of Swift’s political skill, judiciously palliating those ministerial errors which could not be denied, and artfully intimating those excuses, which, resting upon the disposition of Queen Anne herself, could not, in policy or decency, be openly pleaded.
The red-hot “tantivies,” for whose loyalty the October Club was not thorough-going enough, seceded from the original body, and formed “the March Club,” more Jacobite and rampant in its hatred of the Whigs, than the Society from which it branched.
King Street would, at this time, be a strange location for a Parliamentary Club, like the October; narrow and obscure as is the street, we must remember that a century ago, it was the only thoroughfare to the Palace 19 at Westminster and the Houses of Parliament. When the October was broken up, the portrait of Queen Anne, by Dahl, which ornamented the club-room, was bought of the Club, after the Queen’s death, by the Corporation of Salisbury, and may still be seen in their Council-chamber. (Cunningham’s Handbook, 2nd edit., p. 364.)
Coffee and Repartee
This is funny!
Light, quaint, amusing, deliciously and delicately snarky. Chapters stand alone, although there is a bit of a story that runs through them- set in a boarding house with each chapter dealing with a different conversation around the breakfast or dinner table.
“The coffee is all gone,” returned the landlady, with a snap.
“Then, Mary,” said the Idiot, gracefully, turning to the maid, “you may give me a glass of ice-water. It is quite as warm, after all, as the coffee, and not quite so weak. ”
Excerpt of chapter one:
The guests at Mrs. Smithers’s high-class boarding-house for gentlemen had assembled as usual for breakfast, and in a few moments Mary, the dainty waitress, entered with the steaming coffee, the mush, and the rolls.
The School-master, who, by-the-way, was suspected by Mrs. Smithers of having intentions, and who for that reason occupied the chair nearest the lady’s heart, folded up the morning paper, and placing it under him so that no one else could get it, observed, quite genially for him, “It was very wet yesterday.”
“I didn’t find it so,” observed a young man seated half-way down the table, who was by common consent called the Idiot, because of his “views.” “In fact, I was very dry. Curious thing, I’m always dry on rainy days. I am one of the kind of men who know that it is the part of wisdom to stay in when it rains, or to carry an umbrella when it is not possible to stay at home, or, having no home, like ourselves, to remain cooped up in stalls, or stalled up in coops, as you may prefer.”
“You carried an umbrella, then?” queried the landlady, ignoring the Idiot’s shaft at the size of her “elegant and airy apartments” with an ease born of experience.
“Yes, madame,” returned the Idiot, quite unconscious of what was coming.
“Whose?” queried the lady, a sarcastic smile playing about her lips.
“That I cannot say, Mrs. Smithers,” replied the Idiot, serenely, “but it is the one you usually carry.”
“Your insinuation, sir,” said the School-master, coming to the landlady’s rescue, “is an unworthy one. The umbrella in question is mine. It has been in my possession for five years.”
“Then,” replied the Idiot, unabashed, “it is time you returned it. Don’t you think men’s morals are rather lax in this matter of umbrellas, Mr. Whitechoker?” he added, turning from the School-master, who began to show signs of irritation.
“Very,” said the Minister, running his finger about his neck to make the collar which had been sent home from the laundry by mistake set more easily—”very lax. At the last Conference I attended, some person, forgetting his high office as a minister in the Church, walked off with my umbrella without so much as a thank you; and it was embarrassing too, because the rain was coming down in bucketfuls.”
“What did you do?” asked the landlady, sympathetically. She liked Mr. Whitechoker’s sermons, and, beyond this, he was a more profitable boarder than any of the others, remaining home to luncheon every day and having to pay extra therefor.
“There was but one thing left for me to do. I took the bishop’s umbrella,” said Mr. Whitechoker, blushing slightly.
“But you returned it, of course?” said the Idiot.
“I intended to, but I left it on the train on my way back home the next day,” replied the clergyman, visibly embarrassed by the Idiot’s unexpected cross-examination.
“It’s the same way with books,” put in the Bibliomaniac, an unfortunate being whose love of rare first editions had brought him down from affluence to boarding. “Many a man who wouldn’t steal a dollar would run off with a book. I had a friend once who had a rare copy of Through Africa by Daylight. It was a beautiful book. Only twenty-five copies printed. The margins of the pages were four inches wide, and the title-page was rubricated; the frontispiece was colored by hand, and the seventeenth page had one of the most amusing typographical errors on it—”
“Was there any reading-matter in the book?” queried the Idiot, blowing softly on a hot potato that was nicely balanced on the end of his fork.
“Yes, a little; but it didn’t amount to much,” returned the Bibliomaniac. “But, you know, it isn’t as reading-matter that men like myself care for books. We have a higher notion than that. It is as a specimen of book-making that we admire a chaste bit of literature like Through Africa by Daylight. But, as I was saying, my friend had this book, and he’d extra-illustrated it. He had pictures from all parts of the world in it, and the book had grown from a volume of one hundred pages to four volumes of two hundred pages each.”
“And it was stolen by a highly honorable friend, I suppose?” queried the Idiot.
“Yes, it was stolen—and my friend never knew by whom,” said the Bibliomaniac.
“What?” asked the Idiot, in much surprise. “Did you never confess?”
It was very fortunate for the Idiot that the buckwheat cakes were brought on at this moment. Had there not been some diversion of that kind, it is certain that the Bibliomaniac would have assaulted him.
Published in 1903, excerpts of poetry, tales of tea customs and discussions around the world.
Tea Leaves Being a Collection of Letters and Documents relating to the shipment of Tea to the American Colonies in the year 1773, by the East India Tea … notices of the Boston Tea Party)
Published in the 1880s, written about the Boston Tea Party, very interesting reading.
Tea Leaves Being a Collection of Letters and Documents relating to the shipment of Tea to the American Colonies in the year 1773, by the East India Tea … notices of the Boston Tea Party)
Among the causes which led to the American Revolution, the one most prominent in the popular judgment is the “tax on tea,” imposed by Great Britain on her American colonies. The destruction, in Boston harbor, in December, 1773, of the cargoes of tea sent to that port by the East India Company, was undoubtedly the proximate cause of that memorable event, and in view of this fact, the occurrence,—”by far the most momentous in the annals of the town,” says the historian Bancroft,—merits a more thorough and particular consideration than it has yet received.
The silence necessarily preserved by the actors in this daring exploit, respecting their connection with it, has rendered this part of the task one of no little difficulty. Their secret was remarkably well kept; and but for the family traditions which survive, we should know very little of the men who composed the famous Boston tea party.
Nevertheless, the attempt to gather up the scattered fragments of personal reminiscence and biography, in order to give a little more completeness to this interesting chapter of our revolutionary history, is here made. The fortunate recovery, by the publisher of this volume, of the letters of the[vi] American consignees to the East India Company, and other papers shedding light upon the transaction, affords material aid in the accomplishment of our purpose.
When King Charles II. had finished that first cup of tea ever brewed in England,—the gift of the newly-created East India Company,—no sibyl was at hand to peer into the monarch’s cup and foretell from its dregs, the dire disaster to his realm, hidden among those insignificant particles. Could a vision of those battered tea chests, floating in Boston harbor, with tu doces, in the legible handwriting of history, inscribed upon them, have been disclosed to him, even that careless, pleasure-loving prince would have been sobered by the lesson. It was left for his successor, George III., who failed to read the handwriting on the wall,—visible to all but the willfully blind,—to realize its meaning in the dismemberment of an empire.
A survey of the progress of the revolution up to the beginning of the year 1773, will help us to understand the political situation. Ten years of constant agitation had educated the people of the colonies to a clear perception of their rights, and also to a knowledge that it was the fixed purpose of the home government to deprive them of the one they most valued, namely, that of being taxed with their own consent, through their local assemblies, as had always been the custom, and not at the arbitrary will of the British parliament—a body in which they were not and could not be represented—three thousand miles away. The strange thing about this is, that the people of Great Britain should not have seen in the light of their own past history—what they have[vii] since seen clearly enough—that the Americans were only contending for principles for which their own ancestors had often fought, and which they had more than once succeeded in wresting from the grasp of arbitrary and tyrannical sovereigns.
Their difficulty seems to have been that they looked upon the Americans, not as equals, but as inferiors, as their subjects, and as having no rights that an Englishman was bound to respect. Even the celebrated moralist, Dr. Johnson, could say of the Americans, “They are a race of convicts, and ought to be thankful for anything we allow them short of hanging.” King George III., that obstinate but well-meaning monarch, and his ministers, no doubt honestly believed that the republican tendencies of the colonists endangered British supremacy. Perhaps they were right in this, for it was the kind and degree of supremacy that was really in question. But in entertaining the belief that these tendencies could be eradicated at a blow, they were, as the event proved, grievously mistaken.
Another moving cause for the new policy toward the colonies was the heavy taxation at home,—a result of the late war. Some of this burden they hoped to transfer from their own shoulders to those of their transatlantic brethren.
extract of tea:
“They are very pretty, some of them,” said the Woman of the World; “not the sort of letters I should have written myself.”
“I should like to see a love-letter of yours,” interrupted the Minor Poet.
“It is very kind of you to say so,” replied the Woman of the World. “It never occurred to me that you would care for one.”
“It is what I have always maintained,” retorted the Minor Poet; “you have never really understood me.”
“I believe a volume of assorted love-letters would sell well,” said the Girton Girl; “written by the same hand, if you like, but to different correspondents at different periods. To the same person one is bound, more or less, to repeat oneself.”
“Or from different lovers to the same correspondent,” suggested the Philosopher. “It would be interesting to observe the response of various temperaments exposed to an unvaried influence. It would throw light on the vexed question whether the qualities that adorn our beloved are her own, or ours lent to her for the occasion. Would the same woman be addressed as ‘My Queen!’ by one correspondent, and as ‘Dear Popsy Wopsy!’ by another, or would she to all her lovers be herself?”
“You might try it,” I suggested to the Woman of the World, “selecting, of course, only the more interesting.”
“It would cause so much unpleasantness, don’t you think?” replied the Woman of the World. “Those I left out would never forgive me. It is always so with people you forget to invite to a funeral – they think it is done with deliberate intention to slight them.”
“The first love-letter I ever wrote,” said the Minor Poet, “was when I was sixteen. Her name was Monica; she was the left-hand girl in the third joint of the crocodile. I have never known a creature so ethereally beautiful. I wrote the letter and sealed it, but I could not make up my mind whether to slip it into her hand when we passed them, as we usually did on Thursday afternoons, or to wait for Sunday.”
“There can be no question,” murmured the Girton Girl abstractedly, “the best time is just as one is coming out of church. There is so much confusion; besides, one has one’s Prayer-book – I beg your pardon.”
“I was saved the trouble of deciding,” continued the Minor Poet. “On Thursday her place was occupied by a fat, red-headed girl, who replied to my look of inquiry with an idiotic laugh, and on Sunday I searched the Hypatia House pews for her in vain. I learnt subsequently that she had been sent home on the previous Wednesday, suddenly. It appeared that I was not the only one. I left the letter where I had placed it, at the bottom of my desk, and in course of time forgot it. Years later I fell in love really. I sat down to write her a love-letter that should imprison her as by some subtle spell. I would weave into it the love of all the ages. When I had finished it, I read it through and was pleased with it. Then by an accident, as I was going to seal it, I overturned my desk, and on to the floor fell that other love-letter I had written seven years before, when a boy. Out of idle curiosity I tore it open; I thought it would afford me amusement. I ended by posting it instead of the letter I had just completed. It carried precisely the same meaning; but it was better expressed, with greater sincerity, with more artistic simplicity.”
“After all,” said the Philosopher, “what can a man do more than tell a woman that he loves her? All the rest is mere picturesque amplification, on a par with the ‘Full and descriptive report from our Special Correspondent,’ elaborated out of a three-line telegram of Reuter’s.”
“Following that argument,” said the Minor Poet, “you could reduce ‘Romeo and Juliet’ to a two-line tragedy -
Lass and lad, loved like mad;
Silly muddle, very sad.”
A collection of themes for hostessing breakfasts and teas, along with decorating ideas, menu suggestions, game or entertainment ideas, and some recipes. Random samples:
Fish in Escabeche.
Take three pounds of bonito or halibut in slices, fry and lay for several hours in a sauce made of half a pint of vinegar, in which the following ingredients have boiled for a few minutes: Three or four cloves, a bay leaf, a pinch of thyme, a kernel of garlic, a sliced onion, half a teaspoonful of coloring pepper, three tablespoonfuls of good salad oil and a few capers, olives and pickles. Hard boiled eggs may also be used for garnishing. It is eaten cold, and will keep, well covered in[Pg 26] a stone jar, for weeks. (This dish is invaluable in summer.) Serve with new potatoes, boiled, over which a lump of butter and a tablespoonful of finely chopped parsley have been placed.
Olive Sandwiches—Scald and cool twelve large olives, stone them, and chop very fine. Add one spoonful of mayonnaise dressing, and one teaspoonful of cracker dust; mix well, and spread on buttered bread.
Queen Sandwiches—Mince finely two parts of cooked chicken or game to one part of cooked tongue, and one part minced cooked mushrooms or truffles. Add seasoning and a little lemon juice, and place between thin slices of buttered bread.
Lobster Sandwiches—Pound two tablespoonfuls of lobster meat fine; add one tablespoonful of the coral, dried and mashed smooth, a teaspoonful of lemon juice, a dash of nutmeg, one-fourth of a teaspoonful of paprika, and two tablespoonfuls of soft butter. Mix all to a smooth paste and spread between thin bread and butter.
Jelly Sandwiches—Mix a cupful of quince jelly with half a cupful of finely chopped hickory or pecan nuts, and spread on buttered bread.
Date Sandwiches—Wash, dry and stone the dates, mash them to a pulp, and add an equal amount of finely chopped English walnut or pecan meats. Moisten slightly with lemon juice. Spread smoothly on thinly-sliced brown bread.[Pg 94]
Fig Sandwiches—Stem and chop very fine a sufficient number of figs. Add enough water to make of the consistency of marmalade, and simmer to a smooth paste. Flavor with a little lemon juice, and when cool spread on thin slices of buttered bread, and sprinkle thickly with finely chopped nuts.
Fruit Sandwiches—Cut equal quantities of fine fresh figs, raisins and blanched almonds very small. Moisten with orange juice and spread on white bread and butter.
Beef Sandwiches—To two parts of chopped lean, rare beef, add one part of finely minced celery, salt, pepper, and a little made mustard. Place on a lettuce leaf between thin slices of bread and butter.
Ginger and Orange Sandwiches—Soften Neufchatel cheese with a little butter or rich cream. Spread on white bread, cut in very thin slices, and cover with finely minced candied orange peel and preserved ginger. Place over another slice of bread. Candied lemon peel and preserved citron, finely minced, also make a delicious sandwich filling.
‘Summer Porch Tea Parties.
One of the prettiest decorations for a porch tea party is a hanger or pocket for flowers made by cutting pockets in large round pieces of bamboo, the rods being about three feet long. These pockets are filled with scarlet lilies and hung in the corners and on the posts of the porch. Hang Red Chinese lanterns in the open spaces and have red paper fans in Chinese jars on tables and ledges. The porch boxes along the railings can have their real contents almost concealed in ferns, and scarlet lilies stuck in amid the ferns. Across one corner the gay striped hammock, with its open meshes filled with wild cucumber and clematis vines fastened against the house, makes a background for the punch bowl. Orange ice and cream cake can be served on plates decorated with gold and white, with a bunch of daisies tied with pale green gauze ribbon on each plate.
Summer Porch Tea Party. 2.
A porch tea party given in the summer is a most enjoyable affair. The guests are seated on the porch which has immense jardinieres filled with garden flowers, and draperies of large American flags. The punchbowl is just inside the door in the hall. The guests bring their needlework and as they sew, one of the number reads a group of original stories. Following this have a little contest called The Menu. The prize for the correct list is a solid silver fork with a rose design. The refreshments are lemon sherbet, macaroons, sweet wafers, pecans and bonbons.[Pg 96]
The Capital of Portugal.
An imitation reptile.
A gentle English author.
Found in the Orient.
Woman’s chief weapon.
A son of Noah.
A Universal crown.
A part of Caesar’s message and a male relative.
A complete crush.
Slang for stealing.
What we don’t want our creditors to do.
What a historian delights in.
Must be married at home.
What a lover says to his sweetheart.
A sailor’s harbor.
Answers: Soups: Lisbon, mock turtle; Roasts: lamb, turkey; Boiled Meats: tongue, ham; Game: hare, venison; Relishes: jam, catsup, salt; Vegetables: cabbage, beef; Pudding: suet; Fruits: dates, canteloupe; Wines: Madeira, champagne, Port.
They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.—Patrick Henry
ST writers, in viewing the question of Prohibition, have followed along a beaten track. They have confined themselves generally to consideration of moral, economic, and religious phases of the subject.
While I have not entirely ignored these phases, I have chiefly engaged in the task of pointing out a particular phase that it appears to me entirely outweighs all others put together; namely, that of the effect of Prohibition, in its ultimate and practical workings, upon the political—the structure of American civil government.
I have endeavored to steer clear of its professions and obsessions, all of which can be of little consequence in the light of my contention that the major matter with which Prohibition is concerned is the capture and overturning of our present system of jurisprudence; and that the danger threatening from this tendency is real and foreboding I have conscientiously tried to make clear in these pages.
That National Prohibition is an approaching enemy to free government, of which the people should be warned even at the risk of being grossly misunderstood, is my opinion. From the watch-towers of American liberty the warning should go forth. For my own part, I feel well-repaid with the conscientious effort I have made in “The Menace of Prohibition.”
Prohibition Censorship Despotic
Let us not forget the principles for which our great American republic stands. Recollect, that the tendency toward imperial government and despotic rule is here today as it has been in every nation and in every age of the world. Menaces to the rights and privileges of the people are ever-present: the continued structure of safeguarding laws and constitutions presuppose the enemy to be ever near:—tyranny may slumber, but let bigotry and intolerance call ever so softly, and it springs into active life and being, and on every occasion, with consummate cunning, justifies its demands with a specious pretext—censorship for the good of the people.
Prohibition censorship is one of these specious pretexts; but censorship invariably arrogates to itself the[Pg 31] prerogatives of monarchy and the exactions of martial law. Government of an Emperor is as well as government by unreasoning, tyrannous majority. In government, middle ground is rarely found, and if it is, it is only for a temporary period and for reasons of expediency: it; is a question of republic or empire, freedom or slavery, liberty or despotism, the life or death of the people! Censorship by the majority—as to what the individual shall eat, or drink, or wear, or religiously or irreligiously do or observe—is as hateful to the genuine American citizen as would be the censorship of a Czar! Censorship is dictatorial and despotic: it overrides American law and American ideals; it is the rule of a suzerainty in place of fundamental government: it claims to be acting under government, but it is actually acting above government. Censorship is not freedom; the very word itself precludes the view: censorship is slavery, intensified or modified; it is the same thing whether it be under American rulers or the Great Khan of Tartary. Prohibition censorship is only the beginning: it is not the end. Beneath it all, lie the claws of the tiger—the claws of fanatical bigotry and misrule—and ultimately, if not checked, the whole American people will feel those claws. But then: IT WOULD BE TOO LATE!
Long ago John Quincy Adams sounded a timely warning. He said:
“Forget not, I pray you, the right of personal freedom: self-government is the foundation of all our political and social institutions. Seek not to enforce upon your brother by legislative enactment the virtue that he can possess only by the dictates of his own conscience and the energy of his will.”
In conclusion: John Stuart Mill is right, when he says Prohibition is “so monstrous a principle” as to be “far more dangerous than any single interference with liberty”; a principle that there is “no violation of liberty which it would not justify.”
All religious despotism commences by combination and influence, and as well-said by Col. Richard M. Johnson in his memorable U. S. Senate Report of 1829, “when[Pg 32] that influence begins to operate upon the political institutions of a country the civil power soon bends under it; and the catastrophe of other nations furnishes an awful warning of the consequence.”
Will the people of this great nation listen to the siren voice of this modern destroyer of personal freedom, and cutting loose from ancient moorings, turn back to the hateful paths of despotism? Will the republic deny the sacred principles of religious and personal liberty, whose first purchase-price was the blood of the minutemen of Lexington? Or, like a political rock of Gibraltar, stand fast upon the fundamental principles of its being, continuing to safeguard and maintain the constitutional guaranties of all its citizens?
It is the American people that must answer these momentous questions! And answer them they will! There is no escape from the responsibility! The future of the Republic rests upon their decision!
It is the bounden duty of every American freeman, to speak against, to write against, to vote against the menace of Prohibition!
PROHIBITION IS A MENACE TO
THE PROSPERITY OF THE COMMUNITY.
THE PEACE AND TRANQUILLITY OF THE PEOPLE.
THE CONSTITUTIONAL LIBERTIES OF THE CITIZENS.
THE POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS OF THE LAND.
THE STABILITY OF THE REPUBLIC.
A vote against Prohibition is a vote against THESE MENACES!
1766, I think. Here are some reader reviews:
I found a sweetwater aquifer in the farthest tobacco field. I immediately had my best man arrange for it to be tapped and used for the brewing of beer. This should greatly reduce the expenses I have incurred when arranging holiday festivities, not to mention provide a productive avenue to occupy any layabouts and shiftless workers under my employ. While they may not excel at harvesting crops, it seems they always have plenty of enthusiasm when the result of their labor is a drunken stupor. I hope the cooper finishes my order for beer works before harvest season is over. Most Humbly Yours, Crenshaw Featherbottom
I learned that if I have a servant brew my beer, I need to have the same servant brew my beer all the time. It should be their only job.
I guess it’s a great book if you’re interested in brewing using pond and rain water.
First thing’s first, don’t read this book if you expect to get actual brewing advice. Obviously the techniques in 1796 are going to be outdated. He even advises brewers to use a lead rim on their boil to keep it from overflowing.
That being said, as a homebrewer I really appreciated this read because it gives you great insight into what brewing was like 200 years ago. I highly recommend this quick read for anyone that enjoys brewing or even just beer in general.
The Yankee Tea-party Or, Boston in 1773 (for readers about 10 and up)
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