chapter X

. Few of them possess real literary merit.

"Coffee and Crumpets" has been much quoted. It was published in _Fraser's Magazine_, in 1837. Its author calls himself "Launcelot Littledo". The poem is quite long, and only those portions are printed here that refer particularly to "Yemen's fragrant berry":

COFFEE AND CRUMPETS

_By Launcelot Littledo of Pump Court, Temple, Barrister-at-law._

There's ten o'clock! From Hampstead to the Tower The bells are chanting forth a lusty carol; Wrangling, with iron tongues, about the hour, Like fifty drunken fishwives at a quarrel; Cautious policemen shun the coming shower; Thompson and Fearon tap another barrel; "_Dissolve frigus, lignum super foco. Large reponens._" Now, come Orinoco!

To puff away an hour, and drink a cup, A brimming _breakfast_-cup of ruddy Mocha-- Clear, luscious, dark, like eyes that lighten up The raven hair, fair cheek, and _bella boca_ Of Florence maidens. I can never sup Of perigourd, but (_guai a chi la tocca!_) I'm doomed to indigestion. So to settle This strife eternal,--Betty, bring the kettle!

Coffee! oh, Coffee! Faith, it is surprising. 'Mid all the poets, good, and bad, and worse. Who've scribbled (Hock or Chian eulogizing) Post and papyrus with "Immortal verse"-- Melodiously similitudinising In Sapphics languid or Alcaics terse No one, my little brown Arabian berry,. Hath sung thy praises--'tis surprising! very!

Were I a poet now, whose ready rhymes. Like Tommy Moore's, came tripping to their places-- Reeling along a merry troll of chimes, With careless truth,--a dance of fuddled Graces; Hear it--_Gazette_, _Post_, _Herald_, _Standard_, _Times_, I'd write an epic! Coffee for its basis; Sweet as e'er warbled forth from cockney throttles Since Bob Montgomery's or Amos Cottle's.

Thou sleepy-eyed Chinese--enticing siren, Pekoe! the Muse hath said in praise of thee, "That cheers but not inebriates"; and Byron Hath called thy sister "Queen of Tears", Bohea! And he, Anacreon of Rome's age of iron, Says, how untruly "_Quis non potius te_." While coffee, thou--bill-plastered gables say, Art like old Cupid, "roasted every day."

I love, upon a rainy night, as this is, When rarely and more rare the coaches rattle From street to street, to sip thy fragrant kisses; While from the Strand remote some drunken battle Far-faintly echoes, and the kettle hisses Upon the glowing hob. No tittle-tattle To make a single thought of mine an alien From thee, my coffee-pot, my fount Castalian.

The many intervening verses cover an unhappy termination to an otherwise delightful ball. He is sitting with his charming "Mary", about to ask her to be his bride, when the unfortunate overturning of a glass of red wine into her white satin gown, at the same time overthrows all his dreams of bliss, "for the shrew displaces the angel he adored", and he resigns himself to the life of "a man in chambers."

'Tis thus I sit and sip, and sip and think. And think and sip again, and dip in _Fraser_, A health, King Oliver! to thee I drink: Long may the public have thee to amaze her. Like _Figaro_, thou makest one's eyelids wink, Twirling on practised palm thy polished razor-- True Horace temper, smoothed on attic strop; Ah! thou couldst "_faire la barbe a tout l'Europe_."

* * * * *

Come, Oliver, and tell us what the news is; An easy chair awaits thee--come and fill 't. Come, I invoke thee, as they do the muses, And thou shalt choose thy tipple as thou wilt. And if thy lips my sober cup refuses, For ruddier drops the purple grape has spilt, We can sing, sipping in alternate verses, Thy drink and mine, like Corydon and Thyrsis.

* * * * *

Fill the bowl, but not with wine. Potent port, or fiery sherry; For this milder cup of mine Crush me Yemen's fragrant berry.

* * * * *

Gentle is the grape's deep cluster, But the wine's a wayward child; Nectar _this_! of meeker lustre-- _This_ the cup that "draws it mild." Deeply drink its streams divine-- Fill the cup, but not with wine.

Prior and Montague inserted the following poetic vignette in their _City Mouse and Country Mouse_, written in burlesque of Dryden's _Hind and Panther_:

Then on they jogg'd; and since an hour of talk Might cut a banter on the tedious walk, As I remember, said the sober mouse, I've heard much talk of the Wits' Coffee-house; Thither, says Brindle, thou shalt go and see Priests supping coffee, sparks and poets tea; Here rugged frieze, there quality well drest, These baffling the grand Senior, those the Test, And there shrewd guesses made, and reasons given, That human laws were never made in heaven; But, above all, what shall oblige thy sight, And fill thy eyeballs with a vast delight, Is the poetic judge of sacred wit, Who does i' th' darkness of his glory sit; And as the moon who first receives the light, With which she makes these nether regions bright, So does he shine, reflecting from afar The rays he borrowed from a better star; For rules, which from Corneille and Rapin flow, Admired by all the scribbling herd below, From French tradition while he does dispense Unerring truths, 't is schism, a damned offense, To question his, or trust your private sense.

Geoffrey Sephton, an English poet and novelist, many years resident in Vienna, whose fantastic stories and fairy tales are well known in Europe, has written the following sonnets on coffee:

TO THE MIGHTY MONARCH, KING KAUHEE[350]

_By Geoffrey Sephton_

I

Away with opiates! Tantalising snares To dull the brain with phantoms that are not. Let no such drugs the subtle senses rot With visions stealing softly unawares Into the chambers of the soul. Nightmares Ride in their wake, the spirits to besot. Seek surer means, to banish haunting cares: Place on the board the steaming Coffee-pot! O'er luscious fruit, dessert and sparkling flask, Let proudly rule as King the Great Kauhee, For he gives joy divine to all that ask, Together with his spouse, sweet _Eau de Vie_ Oh, let us 'neath his sovran pleasure bask. Come, raise the fragrant cup and bend the knee!

II

O great Kauhee, thou democratic Lord, Born 'neath the tropic sun and bronzed to splendour In lands of Wealth and Wisdom, who can render Such service to the wandering Human Horde As thou at every proud or humble board? Beside the honest workman's homely fender, 'Mid dainty dames and damsels sweetly tender, In china, gold and silver, have we poured Thy praise and sweetness, Oriental King. Oh, how we love to hear the kettle sing In joy at thy approach, embodying The bitter, sweet and creamy sides of life; Friend of the People, Enemy of Strife, Sons of the Earth have born thee labouring.

In America, too, poets have sung in praise of coffee. The somewhat doubtful "kind that mother used to make" is celebrated in James Whitcomb Riley's classic poem:

LIKE HIS MOTHER USED TO MAKE[351]

_"Uncle Jake's Place," St. Jo., Mo., 1874._

"I was born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim, As us fellers in the restaurant was kindo' guyin' him, And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another punkin pie And a' extry cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye-- "I was born in Indiany--more'n forty years ago-- And I hain't ben back in twenty--and I'm work-in' back'ards slow; But I've et in ever' restarunt twixt here and Santy Fee, And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittin' home, to me!" "Pour us out another. Daddy," says the feller, warmin' up, A-speakin' crost a saucerful, as Uncle tuk his cup-- "When I see yer sign out yander," he went on, to Uncle Jake-- "'Come in and git some coffee like yer mother used to make'-- I thought of _my_ old mother, and the Posey county farm, And me a little kid again, a-hangin' in her arm, As she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs and poured 'em in"-- And the feller kindo' halted, with a trimble in his chin; And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood As solemn, fer a minute, as a' undertaker would; Then he sorto' turned and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen door--and next, Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs-- And she rushes fer the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him!-- Thank God we've met him comin'!--Don't you know yer mother, Jim?" And the feller, as he grabbed her, says,--"You bet I hain't forgot-- But," wipin' of his eyes, says he, "yer coffee's mighty hot!"

One of the most delightful coffee poems in English is Francis Saltus' (d. 1889) sonnet on "the voluptuous berry", as found in _Flasks and Flagons_:

COFFEE

Voluptuous berry! Where may mortals find Nectars divine that can with thee compare, When, having dined, we sip thy essence rare, And feel towards wit and repartee inclined?

Thou wert of sneering, cynical Voltaire, The only friend; thy power urged Balzac's mind To glorious effort; surely Heaven designed Thy devotees superior joys to share.

Whene'er I breathe thy fumes, 'mid Summer stars, The Orient's splendent pomps my vision greet. Damascus, with its myriad minarets, gleams! I see thee, smoking, in immense bazaars, Or yet, in dim seraglios, at the feet Of blond Sultanas, pale with amorous dreams!

Arthur Gray, in _Over the Black Coffee_ (1902) has made the following contribution to the poetry of coffee, with an unfortunate reflection on tea, which might well have been omitted:

COFFEE

O, boiling, bubbling, berry, bean! Thou consort of the kitchen queen-- Browned and ground of every feature, The only aromatic creature, For which we long, for which we feel, The breath of morn, the perfumed meal.

For what is tea? It can but mean, Merely the mildest go-between. Insipid sobriety of thought and mind It "cuts no figure"--we can find-- Save peaceful essays, gentle walks, Purring cats, old ladies' talks--

* * * * *

But coffee! can other tales unfold. Its history's written round and bold-- Brave buccaneers upon the "Spanish Main", The army's march across the lenght'ning plain, The lone prospector wandering o'er the hill, The hunter's camp, thy fragrance all distill.

So here's a health to coffee! Coffee hot! A morning toast! Bring on another pot.

_The Tea and Coffee Trade Journal_ published in 1909 the following excellent stanzas by William A. Price:

AN ODE TO COFFEE

Oh, thou most fragrant, aromatic joy, impugned, abused, and often stormed against, And yet containing all the blissfulness that in a tiny cup could be condensed! Give thy contemners calm, imperial scorn-- For thou wilt reign through ages yet unborn!

Some ancient Arab, so the legend tells, first found thee--may his memory be blest! The world-wide sign of brotherhood today, the binding tie between the East and West! Good coffee pleases in a Persian dell, And Blackfeet Indians make it more than well.

The lonely traveler in the desert range, if thou art with him, smiles at eventide-- The sailor, as thy perfume bubbles forth, laughs at the ocean as it rages wide-- And where the camps of fighting men are found Thy fragrance hovers o'er each battleground.

"Use, not abuse, the good things of this life"--that is a motto from the Prophet's days, And, dealing with thee thus, we ne'er shall come to troublous times or

## parting of the ways.

Comfort and solace both endure with thee, Rich, royal berry of the coffee tree!

The _New York Tribune_ published in 1915 the following lines by Louis Untermeyer, which were subsequently included in his "---- _and Other Poets_."[352]

GILBERT K. CHESTERTON RISES TO THE TOAST OF COFFEE

Strong wine it is a mocker; strong wine it is a beast. It grips you when it starts to rise; it is the Fabled Yeast. You should not offer ale or beer from hops that are freshly picked, Nor even Benedictine to tempt a benedict. For wine has a spell like the lure of hell, and the devil has mixed the brew; And the friends of ale are a sort of pale and weary, witless crew-- And the taste of beer is a sort of a queer and undecided brown-- But, comrades, I give you coffee--drink it up, drink it down. With a fol-de-rol-dol and a fol-de-rol-dee, etc.

Oh, cocoa's the drink for an elderly don who lives with an elderly niece; And tea is the drink for studios and loud and violent peace-- And brandy's the drink that spoils the clothes when the bottle breaks in the trunk; But coffee's the drink that is drunken by men who will never be drunk. So, gentlemen, up with the festive cup, where Mocha and Java unite; It clears the head when things are said too brilliant to be bright! It keeps the stars from the golden bars and the lips of the tipsy town; So, here's to strong, black coffee--drink it up, drink it down! With a fol-de-rol-dol and a fol-de-rol-dee, etc.

The American breakfast cup is celebrated in up-to-date American style in the following by Helen Rowland in the _New York Evening World_:

WHAT EVERY WIFE KNOWS

Give me a man who drinks good, hot, dark, strong coffee for breakfast! A man who smokes a good, dark, fat cigar after dinner! You may marry your milk-faddist, or your anti-coffee crank, as you will! But I know the magic of the coffee pot! Let me make my Husband's coffee--and I care not who makes eyes at him! Give me two matches a day-- One to start the coffee with, at breakfast, and one for his cigar, after dinner! And I defy all the houris in Christendom to light a new flame in his heart!

Oh, sweet supernal coffee-pot! Gentle panacea of domestic troubles, Faithful author of that sweet nepenthe which deadens all the ills that married folks are heir to. Cheery, glittering, soul-soothing, warmed hearted, inanimate friend! What wife can fail to admit the peace and serenity she owes to _you_? To you, who stand between her and all her early morning troubles-- Between her and the before-breakfast grouch-- Between her and the morning-after headache-- Between her and the cold-gray-dawn scrutiny? To you, who supply the golden nectar that stimulates the jaded masculine soul, Soothes the shaky masculine nerves, stirs the fagged masculine mind, inspires the slow masculine sentiment, And starts the sluggish blood a-flowing and the whole day right!

What is it, I ask you, when he comes down to breakfast dry of mouth, and touchy of temper-- That gives him pause, and silences that scintillating barb of sarcasm on the tip of his tongue, With which he meant to impale you? It is the sweet aroma of the coffee-pot--the thrilling thought of that first delicious sip!

What is it, on the morning after the club dance, That hides your weary, little, washed-out face and straggling, uncurled coiffure from his critical eyes? It is the generous coffee-pot, standing like a guardian angel between you and him! And in those many vital psychological moments, during the honeymoon, which decide for or against the romance and happiness of all the rest of married life-- Those critical before-breakfast moments when temperament meets temperament, and will meets "won't"-- What is it that halts you on the brink of tragedy, And distracts you from the temptation to answer back? It is the absorbing anxiety of watching the coffee boil! What is it that warms his veins and soothes your nerves, And turns all the world suddenly from a dismal gray vale of disappointment to a bright rosy garden of hope-- And starts _another_ day gliding smoothly along like a new motor car? What is it that will do more to transform a man from a fiend into an angel than baptism in the River Jordan? _It is the first cup of coffee in the morning!_

_Coffee in Dramatic Literature_

Coffee was first "dramatized", so to speak, in England, where we read that Charles II and the Duke of Yorke attended the first performance of _Tarugo's Wiles, or the Coffee House_, a comedy, in 1667, which Samuel Pepys described as "the most ridiculous and insipid play I ever saw in my life." The author was Thomas St. Serf. The piece opens in a lively manner, with a request on the part of its fashionable hero for a change of clothes. Accordingly, Tarugo puts off his "vest, hat, perriwig, and sword," and serves the guests to coffee, while the apprentice acts his part as a gentleman customer. Presently other "customers of all trades and professions" come dropping into the coffee house. These are not always polite to the supposed coffee-man; one complains of his coffee being "nothing but warm water boyl'd with burnt beans," while another desires him to bring "chocolette that's prepar'd with water, for I hate that which is encouraged with eggs." The pedantry and nonsense uttered by a "schollar" character is, perhaps, an unfair specimen of coffee-house talk; it is especially to be noticed that none of the guests ventures upon the dangerous ground of politics.

In the end, the coffee-master grows tired of his clownish visitors, saying plainly, "This rudeness becomes a suburb tavern rather than my coffee house"; and with the assistance of his servants he "thrusts 'em all out of doors, after the schollars and customers pay."

In 1694, there was published Jean Baptiste Rosseau's comedy, _Le Caffè_, which appears to have been acted only once in Paris, although a later English dramatist says it met with great applause in the French capital. _Le Caffè_ was written in Laurent's café, which was frequented by Fontenelle, Houdard de la Motte, Dauchet, the abbé Alary Boindin, and others. Voltaire said that "this work of a young man without any experience either of the world of letters or of the theater seems to herald a new genius."

About this time it was the fashion for the coffee-house keepers of Paris, and the waiters, to wear Armenian costumes; for Pascal had builded better than he knew. In _La Foire Saint-Germain_, a comedy by Dancourt, played in 1696, one of the principal characters is old "Lorange, a coffee merchant clothed as an Armenian". In scene 5, he says to Mlle. Mousset, "a seller of house dresses" that he has been "a naturalized Armenian for three weeks."

Mrs. Susannah Centlivre (1667?-1723), in her comedy, _A Bold Stroke for a Wife_, produced about 1719, has a scene laid in Jonathan's coffee house about that period. While the stock jobbers are talking in the first scene of act II, the coffee boys are crying, "Fresh Coffee, gentlemen, fresh coffee?... Bohea tea, gentlemen?"

Henry Fielding (1707-1754) published "_The Coffee-House Politician, or Justice caught in his own trap_," a comedy, in 1730.

_The Coffee House, a dramatick Piece by James Miller_, was performed at the Theater Royal in Drury Lane in 1737. The interior of Dick's coffee house figured as an engraved frontispiece to the published version of the play.

The author states in the preface that "this piece is partly taken from a comedy of one act written many years ago in French by the famous Rosseau, called 'Le Caffè', which met with great applause in Paris." The coffee house in the play is conducted by the Widow Notable, who has a pretty daughter for whom, like all good mothers, she is anxious to arrange a suitable marriage.

In the first scene, an acrimonious conversation takes place between Puzzle, the Politician, and Bays, the poet, in which squabble the Pert Beau and the Solemn Beau, and other habitués of the place take part. Puzzle discovers that a comedian and other players are in the room, and insists that they be ejected or forbidden the house. The Widow is justly incensed, and indignantly replies:

Forbid the Players my House, Sir! Why, Sir, I get more by them in a Week than I do by you in seven Years. You come here and hold a paper in your hand for an Hour, disturb the whole Company with your Politics, call for Pen and Ink, Paper and Wax, beg a Pipe of Tobacco, burn out half a Candle, eat half a Pound of Sugar, and then go away, and pay Two-pence for a Dish of Coffee. I could soon shut up my doors, if I had not some other good People to make amends for what I lose by such as you, Sir.

All join the Widow in scoffing and jeering, and exit the highly discomfited Puzzle. The pretty little Kitty tricks her mother with the aid of the Player, and marries the man of her choice, but is forgiven when he is found to be a gentleman of the Temple.

The play is in one act and has several songs. The last is one of five stanzas, with music "set by Mr. Caret:"

SONG

What Pleasures a Coffee-House daily bestows! To read and hear how the World merrily goes; To laugh, sing and prattle of This, That, and T' other; And be flatter'd and ogl'd and kiss'd too, like Mother.

Here the Rake, after Roving and Tipling all Night, For his Groat in the Morning may set his Head right. And the Beau, who ne'er fouls his White fingers with Brass, May have his Sixpen' worth of--Stare in the Glass.

The Doctor, who'd always be ready to kill, May ev'ry Day here take his Stand, if he will; And the soldier, who'd bluster and challenge secure, May draw boldly here, for--we'll hold him he's sure.

The Lawyer, who's always in quest of his Prey, May find fools here to feed upon every Day; And the sage Politician, in Coffee-Grounds known, May point out the Fate of each Crown but--his own.

Then, Gallants, since ev'rything here you may find That pleasures the Fancy or profits the Mind, Come all, and take each a full Dish of Delight, And crowd up our Coffee-House every night.

[Illustration: SONG FROM "THE COFFEE HOUSE"]

John Timbs tells us this play "met with great opposition on its representation, owing to its being stated that the characters were intended for a particular family (that of Mrs. Yarrow and her daughter) who kept Dick's, the coffee-house which the artist had inadvertently selected as the frontispiece. It appears," Timbs continues, "that the landlady and her daughter were the reigning toast of the Templars, who then frequented Dick's; and took the matter up so strongly that they united to condemn the farce on the night of its production; they succeeded, and even extended their resentment to everything suspected to be this author's (the Rev. James Miller) for a considerable time after."

Carlo Goldoni, who has been called the Molière of Italy, wrote _La Bottega di Caffè_, (The Coffee House), a naturalistic comedy of bourgeois Venice, satirizing scandal and gambling, in 1750. The scene is a Venetian coffee house (probably Florian's), where several actions take place simultaneously. Among several remarkable studies is one of a prattling slanderer, Don Marzio, which ranks as one of the finest bits of original character drawing the stage has ever seen. The play was produced in English by the Chicago Theatre Society in 1912. Chatfield-Taylor[353] thinks Voltaire probably imitated _La Bottega di Caffè_ in his _Le Café, ou l'Ecossaise_. Goldoni was a lover of coffee, a regular frequenter of the coffee houses of his time, from which he drew much in the way of inspiration. Pietro Longhi, called the Venetian Hogarth, in one of his pictures presenting life and manners in Venice during the years of her decadence, shows Goldoni as a visitor in a café of the period, with a female mendicant soliciting alms. It is in the collection of Professor Italico Brass.

Goldoni, in the comedy _The Persian Wife_, gives us a glimpse of coffee making in the middle of the eighteenth century. He puts these words into the mouth of Curcuma, the slave:

Here is the coffee, ladies, coffee native of Arabia, And carried by the caravans into Ispahan. The coffee of Arabia is certainly always the best. While putting forth its leaves on one side, upon the other the flowers appear; Born of a rich soil, it wishes shade, or but little sun. Planted every three years is this little tree in the surface of the soil. The fruit, though truly very small, Should yet grow large enough to become somewhat green. Later, when used, it should be freshly ground. Kept in a warm and dry place and jealously guarded.

* * * * *

But a small quantity is needed to prepare it. Put in the desired quantity and do not spill it over the fire; Heat it till the foam rises, then let it subside again away from the fire; Do this seven times at least, and coffee is made in a moment.

In 1760 there appeared in France _Le Café, ou l'Ecossaise, comédie_, which purported to have been written by a Mr. Hume, an Englishman, and to have been translated into French. It was in reality the work of Voltaire, who had brought out another play, _Socrates_, in the same manner a short time before. _Le Café_, was translated into English the same year under the title _The Coffee House, or Fair Fugitive_. The title page says the play is written by "Mr. Voltaire" and translated from the French. It is a comedy in five acts. The principal characters are: Fabrice, a good-natured man and the keeper of the coffee house; Constantia, the fair fugitive; Sir William Woodville, a gentleman of distinction under misfortune; Belmont, in love with Constantia, a man of fortune and interest; Freeport, a merchant and an epitome of English manners; Scandal, a sharper; and Lady Alton, in love with Belmont.

_Il Caffè di Campagna_, a play with music by Galuppi, appeared in Italy in 1762.

Another Italian play, a comedy called _La Caffettiéra da Spirito_ was produced in 1807.

_Hamilton_, a play by Mary P. Hamlin and George Arliss, the latter also playing the title rôle, was produced in America by George C. Tyler in 1918. The first-act scene is laid in the Exchange coffee house of Philadelphia, during the period of Washington's first administration. Among the characters introduced in this scene are James Monroe, Count Tallyrand, General Philip Schuyler, and Thomas Jefferson.

The authors very faithfully reproduce the atmosphere of the coffee house of Washington's time. As Tallyrand remarks, "Everybody comes to see everybody at the Exchange Coffee House.... It is club, restaurant, merchants' exchange, everything."

_The Autocrat of the Coffee Stall_, a play in one act, by Harold Chapin, was published in New York in 1921.

_Coffee and Literature in General_

An interesting book might be written on the transformation that tea and coffee have wrought in the tastes of famous literary men. And of the two stimulants, coffee seems to have furnished greater refreshment and inspiration to most. However, both beverages have made civilization their debtor in that they weaned so many fine minds from the heavy wines and spirits in which they once indulged.

Voltaire and Balzac were the most ardent devotees of coffee among the French _literati_. Sir James Mackintosh (1765-1832), the Scottish philosopher and statesman, was so fond of coffee that he used to assert that the powers of a man's mind would generally be found to be proportional to the quantity of that stimulant which he drank. His brilliant schoolmate and friend, Robert Hall (1764-1831), the Baptist minister and pulpit orator, preferred tea, of which he sometimes drank a dozen cups. Cowper; Parson and Parr, the famous Greek scholars; Dr. Samuel Johnson; and William Hazlitt, the writer and critic, were great tea drinkers; but Burton, Dean Swift, Addison, Steele, Leigh Hunt, and many others, celebrated coffee.

Dr. Charles B. Reed, professor in the medical school of Northwestern University, says that coffee may be considered as a type of substance that fosters genius. History seems to bear him out. Coffee's essential qualities are so well defined, says Dr. Reed, that one critic has claimed the ability to trace throughout the works of Voltaire those portions that came from coffee's inspiration. Tea and coffee promote a harmony of the creative faculties that permits the mental concentration necessary to produce the masterpieces of art and literature.

Voltaire (1694-1778) the king of wits, was also king of coffee drinkers. Even in his old age he was said to have consumed fifty cups daily. To the abstemious Balzac (1799-1850) coffee was both food and drink.

In Frederick Lawton's _Balzac_ we read: "Balzac worked hard. His habit was to go to bed at six in the evening, sleep till twelve, and, after, to rise and write for nearly twelve hours at a stretch, imbibing coffee as a stimulant through these spells of composition."

In his _Treatise on Modern Stimulants_, Balzac thus describes his reaction to his most beloved stimulant:

This coffee falls into your stomach, and straightway there is a general commotion. Ideas begin to move like the battalions of the Grand Army on the battlefield, and the battle takes place. Things remembered arrive at full gallop, ensign to the wind. The light cavalry of comparisons deliver a magnificent deploying charge, the artillery of logic hurry up with their train and ammunition, the shafts of wit start up like sharpshooters. Similes arise, the paper is covered with ink; for the struggle commences and is concluded with torrents of black water, just as a battle with powder.

When Balzac tells how Doctor Minoret, Ursule Minoret's guardian, used to regale his friends with a cup of "Moka," mixed with Bourbon and Martinique, which the Doctor insisted on personally preparing in a silver coffee pot, it is his own custom that he is detailing. His Bourbon he bought only in the rue Mont Blanc (now the chaussé d'Antin); the Martinique, in the rue des Vielles Audriettes; the Mocha, at a grocer's in the rue de l'Université. It was half a day's journey to fetch them.

There have been notable contributions to the general literature of coffee by French, Italian, English, and American writers. Space does not permit of more than passing mention of some of them.

The reactions of the early French and English writers have been touched upon in the chapters on the coffee houses of old London and the early Parisian coffee houses, and in the history chapters dealing with the evolution of coffee drinking and coffee manners and customs.

After Dufour, Galland, and La Roque in France, there were Count Rumford, John Timbs, Douglas Ellis, and Robinson in England; Jardin and Franklin in France; Belli in Italy; Hewitt, Thurber, and Walsh in America.

Mention has been made of coffee references in the works of Aubrey, Burton, Addison, Steele, Bacon, and D'Israeli.

Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826) the great French epicure, knew coffee as few men before him or since. In his historical elegy, contained in _Gastronomy as a Fine Art, or the Science of Good Living_, he exclaims:

You crossed and mitred abbots and bishops who dispensed the favors of Heaven, and you the dreaded templars who armed yourselves for the extermination of the Saracens, you knew nothing of the sweet restoring influence of our modern chocolate, nor of the thought-inspiring bean of Arabia--how I pity you!

O. de Gourcuff's _De la Café, épître attribué à Senecé_, is deserving of honorable mention.

An early French writer pays this tribute to the inspirational effects of coffee:

It is a beverage eminently agreeable, inspiring and wholesome. It is at once a stimulant, a cephalic, a febrifuge, a digestive, and an anti-soporific; it chases away sleep, which is the enemy of labor; it invokes the imagination, without which there can be no happy inspiration. It expels the gout, that enemy of pleasure, although to pleasure gout owes its birth; it facilitates digestion, without which there can be no true happiness. It disposes to gaiety, without which there is neither pleasure nor enjoyment; it gives wit to those who already have it, and it even provides wit (for some hours at least) to those who usually have it not. Thank heaven for Coffee, for see how many blessings are concentrated in the infusion of a small berry. What other beverage in the world can compare with it? Coffee, at once a pleasure and a medicine; Coffee, which nourishes at the same moment the mind, body and imagination. Hail to thee! Inspirer of men of letters, best digestive of the gourmand. Nectar of all men.

In Bologna, 1691, Angelo Rambaldi published _Ambrosia arabica, caffè discorso_. This work is divided into eighteen sections, and describes the origin, cultivation, and roasting of the bean, as well as telling how to prepare the beverage.

During the time that Milan was under Spanish rule, Cesare Beccaria directed and edited a publication entitled _Il Caffè_, which was published from June 4, 1764, to May, 1766, "edited in Brescia by Giammaria Rizzardi and undertaken by a little society of friends," according to the salutatory. Besides the Marchese Beccaria, other editors and contributors were Pietro and Alexander Verri, Baillon, Visconti, Colpani, Longhi, Albertenghi, Frisi, and Secchi. The same periodical, with the same editorial staff, was published also in Venice in the Typografia Pizzolato.

Another publication called _Il Caffè_, devoted to arts, letters, and science, was published in Venice in 1850-52. Still another, having the same name, a national weekly journal, was published in Milan, 1884-89.

An almanac, having the title _Il Caffè_, was published in Milan in 1829.

A weekly paper, called _Il Caffè Pedrocchi_, was published in Padua in 1846-48. It was devoted to art, literature and politics.

A publication called _Coffee and Surrogates_ (tea, chocolate, saffron, pepper, and other stimulants) was founded by Professor Pietro Polli, in Milan, in 1885; but was short-lived.

An early English magazine (1731) contains an account of divination by coffee-grounds. The writer pays an unexpected visit, and "surprised the lady and her company in close cabal over their coffee, the interest very intent upon one whom, by her address and intelligence, he guessed was a tire woman, to which she added the secret of divining by coffee grounds. She was then in full inspiration, and with much solemnity observing the atoms around the cup; on the one hand sat a widow, on the other a maiden lady. They assured me that every cast of the cup is a picture of all one's life to come, and every transaction and circumstance is delineated with the exactest certainty."

The advertisement used by this seer is quite interesting:

An advise is hereby given that there has lately arrived in this city (Dublin) the famous Mrs. Cherry, the only gentlewoman truly learned in the occult science of _tossing of coffee grounds_; who has with uninterrupted success for some time past practiced to the general satisfaction of her female visitants. Her hours are after prayers are done at St. Peter's Church, until dinner.

(N.B. She never requires more than 1 oz. of coffee from a single gentlewoman, and so proportioned for a second or third person, but not to exceed that number at any one time.)

If the one ounce of coffee represented her payment for reading the future, the charge could not be considered exorbitant!

English writers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were noticeably affected by coffee, and the coffee-houses of the times have been immortalized by them; and in many instances they themselves were immortalized by the coffee houses and their frequenters. In the chapters already referred to and at the close of this chapter, will be found stories, quips, and anecdotes, in which occur many names that are now famous in art and literature.

Modern journalism dates from the publication, April 12, 1709, of the _Tatler_, whose editor was Sir Richard Steele (1672-1729) the Irish dramatist and essayist. He received his inspiration from the coffee houses; and his readers were the men that knew them best. In the first issue he announced:

All accounts of gallantry, pleasure and entertainment shall be under the article of White's Coffee House; poetry under that of Will's Coffee House; learning under the title of Grecian; foreign and domestic news you will have from St. James's Coffee House, and what else I shall on any other subject offer shall be dated from my own apartment.

Steele's _Tatler_ was issued three times weekly until 1711, when it suspended to be succeeded by the _Spectator_, whose principal contributor was Joseph Addison (1672-1719), the essayist and poet, and Steele's school-fellow.

Sir Richard Steele immortalized the Don and Don Saltero's coffee house in old Chelsea in No. 34 of the _Tatler_, wherein he tells us of the necessity of traveling to know the world, by his journey for fresh air, no farther than the village of Chelsea, of which he fancied that he could give an immediate description--from the five fields, where the the robbers lie in wait, to the coffee house, where the literati sit in council. But he found, even in a place so near town as this, that there were enormities and persons of eminence, whom he before knew nothing of.

The coffee house was almost absorbed by the museum, Steele says:

When I came into the coffee-house, I had not time to salute the company, before my eyes were diverted by ten thousand gimcracks round the room, and on the ceiling. When my first astonishment was over, comes to me a sage of thin and meagre countenance, which aspect made me doubt whether reading or fretting had made it so philosophic; but I very soon perceived him to be that sort which the ancients call "gingivistee", in our language "tooth-drawers". I immediately had a respect for the man; for these practical philosophers go upon a very practical hypothesis, not to cure, but to take away the part affected. My love of mankind made me very benevolent to Mr. Salter, for such is the name of this eminent barber and antiquary.

The Don was famous for his punch, and for his skill on the fiddle. He drew teeth also, and wrote verses; he described his museum in several stanzas, one of which is:

Monsters of all sorts are seen: Strange things in nature as they grew so; Some relicks of the Sheba Queen, And fragments of the fam'd Bob Crusoe.

Steele then plunges into a deep thought why barbers should go farther in hitting the ridiculous than any other set of men; and maintains that Don Saltero is descended in a right line, not from John Tradescant, as he himself asserts, but from the memorable companion of the Knight of Mancha. Steele certifies to all the worthy citizens who travel to see the Don's rarities, that his double-barreled pistols, targets, coats of mail, his sclopeta (hand-culverin) and sword of Toledo, were left to his ancestor by the said Don Quixote; and by his ancestor to all his progeny down to Saltero. Though Steele thus goes far in favor of Don Saltero's great merit, he objects to his imposing several names (without his license) on the collection he has made, to the abuse of the good people of England; one of which is particularly calculated to deceive religious persons, to the great scandal of the well-disposed and may introduce heterodox opinions. (Among the curiosities presented by Admiral Munden was a coffin, containing the body or relics of a Spanish saint, who had wrought miracles.) Says Steele:

He shows you a straw hat, which I know to be made by Madge Peskad, within three miles of Bedford; and tells you "It is Pontius Pilate's wife's chambermaid's sister's hat." To my knowledge of this very hat, it may be added that the covering of straw was never used among the Jews, since it was demanded of them to make bricks without it. Therefore, this is nothing but, under the specious pretense of learning and antiquities, to impose upon the world. There are other things which I can not tolerate among his rarities, as, the china figure of the lady in the glass-case; the Italian engine, for the imprisonment of those who go abroad with it; both of which I hereby order to be taken down, or else he may expect to have his letters patent for making punch superseded, be debarred wearing his muff next winter, or ever coming to London without his wife.

Babillard says that Salter had an old grey muff, and that, by wearing it up to his nose, he was distinguishable at the distance of a quarter of a mile. His wife was none of the best, being much addicted to scolding; and Salter, who liked his glass, if he could make a trip to London by himself, was in no haste to return.

Don Saltero's proved very attractive as an exhibition, and drew crowds to the coffee house. A catalog was published of which were printed more than forty editions. Smollett, the novelist, was among the donors. The catalog, in 1760, comprehended the following rarities:

Tigers' tusks; the Pope's candle; the skeleton of a Guinea-pig; a fly-cap monkey, a piece of the true Cross; the Four Evangelists' heads cut out on a cherry stone; the King of Morocco's tobacco-pipe; Mary Queen of Scots' pincushion; Queen Elizabeth's prayer-book; a pair of Nun's stockings; Job's ears, which grew on a tree; a frog in a tobacco stopper; and five hundred more odd relics!

The Don had a rival, as appears by _A Catalogue of the Rarities to be seen at Adam's, at the Royal Swan, in Kingsland-road, leading from Shoreditch Church, 1756_. Mr. Adams exhibited, for the entertainment of the curious:

Miss Jenny Cameron's shoes; Adam's eldest daughter's hat; the heart of the famous Bess Adams, that was hanged at Tyburn with Lawyer Carr, January 18, 1736-37; Sir Walter Raleigh's tobacco pipe; Vicar of Bray's clogs; engine to shell green peas with; teeth that grew in a fish's belly; Black Jack's ribs; the very comb that Abraham combed his son Isaac and Jacob's head with; Wat Tyler's spurs; rope that cured Captain Lowry of the head-ach, ear-ach, tooth-ach, and belly-ach; Adam's key of the fore and back door of the Garden of Eden, etc., etc.

These are only a few out of five hundred other equally marvellous exhibits.

The success of Don Saltero in attracting visitors to his coffee house, induced the proprietor of the Chelsea bunhouse to make a similar collection of rarities, to attract customers for his buns; and to some extent it was successful.

In the first number of the _Spectator_, Addison says:

There is no place of general resort wherein I do not often make my appearance. Sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a round of politicians at Will's, and listening with great attention to the narratives that are made in those little circular audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at Child's, and while I seem attentive to nothing but the _Postman_, overhear the conversation of every table in the room. I appear on Sunday nights at St. James' coffee house, and _sometimes_ join the little committee of politics in the inner room as one who comes there to hear and improve. My face is likewise very well known at the Grecian, the Cocoa Tree, and in the theatres both of Drury Lane and the Hay Market. I have been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange for above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in the assembly of stock jobbers at Jonathan's; in short, wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with them, though I never open my lips, but in my own club.

In the second number he tells that:

I am now settled with a widow woman, who has a great many children and complies with my humor in everything. I do not remember that we have exchanged a word together for these five years; my coffee comes into my chamber every morning without asking for it, if I want fire I point to the chimney, if water, to my basin; upon which my landlady nods as much as to say she takes my meaning, and immediately obeys my signals.

Three of Addison's papers in the _Spectator_ (Nos. 402, 481, and 568) are humorously descriptive of the coffee houses of the period. No. 403 opens with the remark that:

The courts of two countries do not so much differ from one another, as the Court and the City, in their peculiar ways of life and conversation. In short, the inhabitants of St. James, notwithstanding they live under the same laws, and speak the same language, are a distinct people from those of Cheapside, who are likewise removed from those of the Temple on the one side, and those of Smithfleld on the other, by several climates and degrees in their way of thinking and conversing together.

For this reason, the author takes a ramble through London and Westminster, to gather the opinions of his ingenious countrymen upon a current report of the king of France's death.

I know the faces of all the principal politicians within the bills of mortality; and as every coffee-house has some particular statesman belonging to it, who is the mouth of the street where he lives, I always take care to place myself near him, in order to know his judgment on the present posture of affairs. And, as I foresaw the above report would produce a new face of things in Europe, and many curious speculations in our British coffee-houses, I was very desirous to learn the thoughts of our most eminent politicians on that occasion.

That I might begin as near the fountain-head as possible, I first of all called in at St. James's, where I found the whole outward room in a buzz of politics; the speculations were but very indifferent towards the door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper end of the room, and were so much improved by a knot of theorists, who sat in the inner room, within the steams of the coffee-pot, that I there heard the whole Spanish monarchy disposed of, and all the line of Bourbons provided for in less than a quarter of an hour.

I afterwards called in at Giles's, where I saw a board of French gentlemen sitting upon the life and death of their grand monarque. Those among them who had espoused the Whig interest very positively affirmed that he had departed this life about a week since, and therefore, proceeded without any further delay to the release of their friends in the galleys, and to their own re-establishment; but, finding they could not agree among themselves, I proceeded on my intended progress.

Upon my arrival at Jenny Man's I saw an alert young fellow that cocked his hat upon a friend of his, who entered just at the same time with myself, and accosted him after the following manner: "Well, Jack, the old prig is dead at last. Sharp's the word. Now or never, boy. Up to the walls of Paris, directly;" with several other deep reflections of the same nature.

I met with very little variation in the politics between Charing Cross and Covent Garden. And, upon my going into Will's, I found their discourse was gone off, from the death of the French King, to that of Monsieur Boileau, Racine, Corneille, and several other poets, whom they regretted on this occasion as persons who would have obliged the world with very noble elegies on the death of so great a prince, and so eminent a patron of learning.

At a coffee-house near the Temple, I found a couple of young gentlemen engaged very smartly in a dispute on the succession to the Spanish monarchy. One of them seemed to have been retained as advocate for the Duke of Anjou, the other for his Imperial Majesty. They were both for regarding the title to that kingdom by the statute laws of England; but finding them going out of my depth, I pressed forward to Paul's Churchyard, where I listened with great attention to a learned man, who gave the company an account of the deplorable state of France during the minority of the deceased king.

I then turned on my right hand into Fish-street, where the chief politician of that quarter, upon hearing the news, (after having taken a pipe of tobacco, and ruminated for some time) "If," says he, "the King of France is certainly dead, we shall have plenty of mackerel this season: our fishery will not be disturbed by privateers, as it has been for these ten years past." He afterwards considered how the death of this great man would affect our pilchards, and by several other remarks infused a general joy into his whole audience.

I afterwards entered a by-coffee-house that stood at the upper end of a narrow lane, where I met with a Nonjuror engaged very warmly with a laceman who was the great support of a neighboring conventicle. The matter in debate was whether the late French King was most like Augustus Caesar, or Nero. The controversy was carried on with great heat on both sides, and as each of them looked upon me very frequently during the course of their debate, I was under some apprehension that they would appeal to me, and therefore laid down my penny at the bar and made the best of my way to Cheapside.

I here gazed upon the signs for some time before I found one to my purpose. The first object I met in the coffee-room was a person who expressed a great grief for the death of the French King; but upon his explaining himself, I found his sorrow did not arise from the loss of the monarch, but for his having sold out of the Bank about three days before he heard the news of it. Upon which a haberdasher, who was the oracle of the coffee-house, and had his circle of admirers about him, called several to witness that he had declared his opinion, above a week before, that the French King was certainly dead; to which he added, that considering the late advices we had received from France, it was impossible that it could be otherwise. As he was laying these together, and debating to his hearers with great authority, there came a gentlemen from Garraway's, who told us that there were several letters from France just come in, with advice that the King was in good health, and was gone out a hunting the very morning the post came away; upon which the haberdasher stole off his hat that hung upon a wooden peg by him, and retired to his shop with great confusion. This intelligence put a stop to my travels, which I had prosecuted with so much satisfaction; not being a little pleased to hear so many different opinions upon so great an event, and to observe how naturally, upon such a piece of news, every one is apt to consider it to his particular interest and advantage.

Johnson wrote in his _Life of Addison_ concerning the _Tatler_ and the _Spectator_ that they were:

Published at a time when two parties, loud, restless and violent, each with plausible declarations, and both perhaps without any distinct determination of its views, were agitating the nation; to minds heated with political contest they supplied cooler and more inoffensive reflections.... They had a perceptible influence on the conversation of the time, and taught the frolic and the gay to unite merriment with decency, effects which they can never wholly lose.

Harold Routh in the Cambridge _History of Literature_, speaking of the _Spectator_, says:

It surpassed the _Tatler_ in style and in thought. It gave expression to the _power_ of commerce. For more than a century traders had been characterized as dishonest and avaricious, because playwrights and pamphleteers generally wrote for the leisure classes, and were themselves too poor to have any but unpleasant relations with men of business. Now merchants were becoming ambassadors of civilization, and had developed intellect so as to control distant and, as it seemed, mysterious sources of wealth; by a stroke of the pen and largely through the coffee houses they had come to know their own importance and power.

Samuel Pepys (1633-1703) was very fond of good eating, and almost daily entries were made in his _Diary_ of dinner delicacies that he had enjoyed. One dinner, that he considered a great success, was served to eight persons, and consisted of oysters, a hash of rabbits, a lamb, a rare chine of beef; next a great dish of roasting fowl ("cost me about 30 s.") a tart, then fruit and cheese. "My dinner was noble enough ... I believe this day's feast will cost me near 5 pounds." But it will be noted that coffee was not mentioned as a part of the menu.

He makes countless references to visits paid to this and that coffee house, but records only one instance of actually drinking coffee:

Up betimes to my office, and thence at seven o'clock to Sir G. Carteret, and there with Sir J. Minnes made an end of his accounts, but staid not to dinner my Lady having made us drink our morning draft there of several wines, but I drank nothing but some of her coffee, which was poorly made, with a little sugar in it.

This note which he considered worthy of record was certainly not inspired by the excellence of the good lady's matutinal coffee.

William Cobbett (1762-1835) the English-American politician, reformer, and writer on economics, denounced coffee as "slops"; but he was one of a remarkably small minority. Before his day, one of England's greatest satirists, Dean Swift, (1667-1745) led a long roll of literary men who were devotees of coffee.

Swift's writings are full of references to coffee; and his letters from Stella came to him under cover, at the St. James coffee house. There is scarcely a letter to Esther (Vanessa) Vanhomrigh which does not contain a significant reference to coffee, by which the course of their friendship and clandestine meetings may be traced. In one dated August 13, 1720, written while traveling from place to place in Ireland, he says:

We live here in a very dull town, every valuable creature absent, and Cad says he is weary of it, and would rather prefer his coffee on the barrenest mountain in Wales than be king here.

A fig for partridges and quails, Ye dainties I know nothing of ye; But on the highest mount in Wales, Would choose in peace to drink my coffee.

In another letter, about two years later, replying to one in which Vanessa has reproached him and begged him to write her soon, he advises:

The best maxim I know in life, is to drink your coffee when you can, and when you cannot, to be easy without it; while you continue to be splenetic, count upon it I will always preach. Thus much I sympathize with you, that I am not cheerful enough to write, for, I believe, coffee once a week is necessary, and you know very well that coffee makes us severe, and grave, and philosophical.

These various references to coffee are thought to have been based upon an incident in the early days of their friendship, when on the occasion of the Vanhomrigh family journeying from Dublin to London, Vanessa accidentally spilt her coffee in the chimney-place at a certain inn, which Swift considered a premonition of their growing friendship. Writing from Clogher, Swift reminds Vanessa:

Remember that riches are nine parts in ten of all that is good in life, and health is the tenth--drinking coffee comes long after, and yet it is the eleventh, but without the two former you cannot drink it right.

In another letter he writes facetiously, in memory of her playful badinage:

I long to drink a dish of coffee in the sluttery and hear you dun me for a secret, and "Drink your coffee; why don't you drink your coffee?"

Leigh Hunt had very pleasant things to say about coffee, giving to it the charm of appeal to the imagination, which he said one never finds in tea. For example:

Coffee, like tea, used to form a refreshment by itself, some hours after dinner; it is now taken as a digester, right upon that meal or the wine, and sometimes does not even close it; or the digester itself is digested by a liquor of some sort called a _Chasse-Café_ [coffee-chaser]. We like coffee better than tea for taste, but tea "for a constancy." To be perfect in point of relish (we do not say of wholesomeness) coffee should be strong and hot, with little milk and sugar. It has been drunk after this mode in some parts of Europe, but the public have nowhere, we believe, adopted it. The favorite way of taking it at a meal, abroad, is with a great superfluity of milk--very properly called, in France _café au lait_ (coffee _to the_ milk). One of the pleasures we receive in drinking coffee is that, being the universal drink in the East, it reminds of that region of the "Arabian Nights" as smoking does for the same reason; though neither of these refreshments, which are identified with Oriental manners, is to be found in that enchanting work. They had not been discovered when it was written; the drink then was sherbet. One can hardly fancy what a Turk or a Persian could have done without coffee and a pipe, any more than the English ladies and gentlemen, before the civil wars, without tea for breakfast.

In his old age, Immanuel Kant, the great metaphysician, became extremely fond of coffee; and Thomas de Quincey relates a little incident showing Kant's great eagerness for the after-dinner cup.

At the beginning of the last year of his life, he fell into a custom of taking, immediately after dinner, a cup of coffee, especially on those days when it happened that I was of his party. And such was the importance that he attached to his little pleasure that he would even make a memorandum beforehand, in the blank paper book that I had given him, that on the next day I was to dine with him, and consequently "_that there was to be coffee_." Sometimes in the interest of conversation, the coffee was forgotten, but not for long. He would remember and with the querulousness of old age and infirm health would demand that coffee be brought "upon the spot." Arrangements had always been made in advance, however; the coffee was ground, and the water was boiling: and in the very moment the word was given, the servant shot in like an arrow and plunged the coffee into the water. All that remained, therefore, was to give it time to boil up. But this trifling delay seemed unendurable to Kant. If it were said, "Dear Professor, the coffee will be brought up in a moment," he would say, _"Will be!_ There's the rub, that it only _will_ be." Then he would quiet himself with a stoical air, and say, "Well, one can die after all; it is but dying; and in the next world, thank God, there is no drinking of coffee and consequently no waiting for it."

When at length the servant's steps were heard upon the stairs, he would turn round to us, and joyfully call out: "Land, land! my dear friends, I see land."

Thackeray (1811-1863) must have suffered many tea and coffee disappointments. In the _Kickleburys on the Rhine_ he asks: "Why do they always put mud into coffee aboard steamers? Why does the tea generally taste of boiled boots?"

In _Arthur's_, A. Neil Lyons has preserved for all time the atmosphere of the London coffee stall. "I would not," he says, "exchange a night at Arthur's for a week with the brainiest circle in London." The book is a collection of short stories. As already recorded, Harold Chapin dramatized this picturesque London institution in _The Autocrat of the Coffee Stall_.

In General Horace Porter's _Campaigning with Grant_, we have three distinct coffee incidents within fifty-odd pages; or explicitly, see pages 47, 56, 101; where, deep in the fiercest snarls of The Wilderness campaign we are treated to:

General Grant, slowly sipping his coffee ... a full ration of that soothing army beverage.... The general made rather a singular meal preparatory to so exhausting a day as that which was to follow. He took a cucumber, sliced it, poured some vinegar over it, and partook of nothing else except a cup of strong coffee.... The general seemed in excellent spirits, and was even inclined to be jocose. He said to me, "We have just had our coffee, and you will find some left for you." ... I drank it with the relish of a shipwrecked mariner.

One of the first immediate supplies General Sherman desired from Wilmington, on reaching Fayetteville and lines of communication in March, 1865, was, expressly, coffee; does he not say so himself, on page 297 of the second volume of his _Memoirs_?

Still more expressly, towards the close of his _Memoirs_, and among final recommendations, the fruit of his experiences in that whole vast war, General Sherman says this for coffee:

Coffee has become almost indispensable, though many substitutes were found for it, such as Indian corn, roasted, ground and boiled as coffee, the sweet potato, and the seed of the okra plant prepared in the same way. All these were used by the people of the South, who for years could procure no coffee, but I noticed that the women always begged of us real coffee, which seemed to satisfy a natural yearning or craving more powerful than can be accounted for on the theory of habit. Therefore I would always advise that the coffee and sugar ration be carried along, even at the expense of bread, for which there are many substitutes.

George Agnew Chamberlain's novel _Home_ contains a vivid description of coffee-making on an old plantation, and could only have been written by a devoted lover of this drink. Gerry Lansing, the American, has escaped drowning in the river, and is now lost in the Brazilian forest. He finds his way at last to an old plantation house:

A stove was built into the masonry, and a cavernous oven gaped from the massive wall. At the stove was an old negress, making coffee with shaky deliberation.... The girl and the wrinkled old woman made him sit down at the table, and then placed before him crisp rusks of mandioc flour and steaming coffee whose splendid aroma triumphed over the sordidness of the scene and through the nostrils reached the palate with anticipatory touch. It was sweetened with dark, pungent syrup and was served black in a capacious bowl, as though one could not drink too deeply of the elixir of life. Gerry ate ravenously and sipped the coffee, at first sparingly, then greedily.... Gerry set down the empty bowl with a sigh. The rusks had been delicious. Before the coffee the name of nectar dwindled to impotency. Its elixir rioted in his veins.

In the _Rosary_, Florence L. Barclay has a Scotch woman tell how she makes coffee. She says:

Use a jug--it is not what you make it in; it is how ye make it. It all hangs upon the word fresh--freshly roasted--freshly ground--water freshly boiled. And never touch it with metal. Pop it into an earthenware jug, pour in your boiling water straight upon it, stir it with a wooden spoon, set it on the hob ten minutes to settle; the grounds will all go to the bottom, though you might not think it, and you pour it out, fragrant, strong and clear. But the secret is, _fresh, fresh, fresh_, and don't stint your coffee.

Cyrus Townsend Brady's _The Corner in Coffee_ is "a thrilling romance of the New York coffee market."

Coffee, Du Barry, and Louis XV figure in one scene of the story of _The Moat with the Crimson Stains_, as told by Elizabeth W. Champney in her _Romance of the Bourbon Chateaux_.[354] It tells of the German apprentice Riesener, who assisted his master Oeben in designing for Louis XV a beautiful desk with a secret drawer, which it took ten years of unremitting industry to execute. At the end, Riesener was to be accepted by his master as a partner and a son-in-law. Little Victoire, who loved to sit in a punt and trail her doll in the waters of the Bievre to see to what color its frock would be changed by the dyes of the Gobelin factory, was then only five, and Madam Oeben twenty-three. As the years rolled by, Riesener grew to love the mother and not the daughter, who, meanwhile, shot up into a slim girl, not of her mother's beauty, but of a loveliness all her own. Then there was a quarrel because the young apprentice thought the master should have resented the suggestion of M. Duplessis that his wife pose in the nude for the statuettes which were to hold the sconces on the king's desk; and Riesener left in a fine youthful frenzy, vowing he would never return while the _maître_ lived. The latter, unable to complete the masterpiece which he loved more than anything else on earth, sought death, and perished in the crimson waters of the Bievre.

The _maître_ had no enemies, but his quarrel with Riesener caused a fear to spring up in the widow's heart that the apprentice might have been guilty of his murder, so she refused to see him when, hearing of his master's death, he returned, stricken with remorse, to finish the desk. On it were the statuettes modeled in perfect likeness of Mlle. de Vaubernier, a wily little milliner of Riesener's bohemian set who had taken this way to bring herself to the attention of Louis XV. The ruse was successful; and after the acceptance of the desk, there was installed a new _maîtresse en titre_, the notorious Madame Du Barry, erstwhile the pretty milliner, Mlle. de Vaubernier.

Later, Madame Du Barry sent for the now famous _ebeniste_ (cabinet maker); and, when her negro page Zamore admitted him, he found His Majesty Louis XV kneeling in front of the fireplace, making coffee for her while she laughed at him for scalding his fingers. He had been summoned to show the king the mechanism of the secret drawer, so cunningly concealed in the king's desk that no one could find it. But Riesener knew not the secret of his master, who had died without revealing it. Then the red revolution came; and when the pretty pavilion at Louveciennes was sacked, and its costly furniture hurled down the cliff to the Seine, the king's desk, shattered almost beyond repair, was carried to the Gobelins' factory and presented to Mme. Oeben in recognition of her husband's workmanship. Then the secret compartment was found to have been disclosed, and Riesener was absolved by a letter therein, from the _maître_, who intimated he was about to end it all because of paralysis. Riesener marries the widow and all ends happily.

James Lane Allen, in _The Kentucky Warbler_, tells a tale of the Blue Grass country and of a young hero who wanders after a bird's note to find romance and the key to his own locked nature. Here is an incident from his first forest adventure:

There was one tree he curiously looked around for, positive that he should not be blind to it if fortunate enough to set his eyes on one--the coffee tree. That is, he felt sure he'd recognize it if it yielded coffee ready to drink, of which never in his life had they given him enough. Not once throughout his long troubled experience as to being fed had he been allowed as much coffee as he craved. Once, when younger, he had heard some one say that the only tree in all the American forests that bore the name of Kentucky was the Kentucky coffee tree, and he had instantly conceived a desire to pay a visit in secret to that corner of the woods. To take his cup and a few lumps of sugar and sit under the boughs and catch the coffee as it dripped down.... No one to hold him back ... as much as he wanted at last.... The Kentucky coffee tree--his favorite in Nature!

John Kendrick Bangs relates, in _Coffee and Repartee_[355], some amusing skirmishes indulged in at the boarding-house table, between the Idiot and the guests, where coffee served the purpose of enlivening the tilt:

"Can't I give you another cup of coffee?" asked the landlady of the School Master.

"You may," returned the School Master, pained at the lady's grammar, but too courteous to call attention to it save by the emphasis with which he spoke the word "may".

Said the Idiot: "You may fill my cup too, Mrs. Smithers."

"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."

One other little skit remains at the expense of Mrs. Smithers' coffee. At the breakfast table, where the air, as usual, is charged with repartee, Mr. Whitechoker, the minister, says to his landlady:

"Mrs. Smithers, I'll have a dash of hot water in my coffee, this morning." Then with a glance toward the Idiot, he added, "I think it looks like rain."

"Referring to the coffee, Mr. Whitechoker?" queried the Idiot....

"Ah,--I don't quite follow you," replied the Minister with some annoyance.

"You said something looked like rain, and I asked you if the thing referred to was the coffee, for I was disposed to agree with you," said the Idiot.

"I am sure," put in Mrs. Smithers, "that a gentleman of Mr. Whitechoker's refinement would not make any such insinuation, sir. He is not the man to quarrel with what is set before him."

"I must ask your pardon, Madam," returned the Idiot politely. "I hope I am not the man to quarrel with my food, either. Indeed, I make it a rule to avoid unpleasantness of all sorts, particularly with the weak, under which category I find your coffee."

_Coffee Quips and Anecdotes_

Coffee literature is full of quips and anecdotes. Probably the most famous coffee quip is that of Mme. de Sévigné, who, as already told in

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