his cottage, where, making me sit
down by a deal table in a neatly-sanded kitchen, he produced from an old-
fashioned closet a bottle, holding about a quart, and a couple of cups,
which might each contain about half a pint, then opening the bottle and
filling the cups with a brown-coloured liquor, he handed one to me, and
taking a seat opposite to me, he lifted the other, nodded, and saying to
me--'Health and welcome,' placed it to his lips and drank.

"'Health and thanks,' I replied; and being very thirsty, emptied my cup
at a draught; I had scarcely done so, however, when I half repented. The
mead was deliciously sweet and mellow, but appeared strong as brandy; my
eyes reeled in my head, and my brain became slightly dizzy. 'Mead is a
strong drink,' said the old man, as he looked at me, with a half smile on
his countenance. 'This is, at any rate,' said I, 'so strong, indeed,
that I would not drink another cup for any consideration.' 'And I would
not ask you,' said the old man; 'for, if you did, you would most probably
be stupid all day, and wake next morning with a headache. Mead is a good
drink, but woundily strong, especially to those who be not used to it, as
I suppose you are not.' 'Where do you get it?' said I. 'I make it
myself,' said the old man, 'from the honey which my bees make.' 'Have
you many bees?' I inquired. 'A great many,' said the old man. 'And do
you keep them,' said I, 'for the sake of making mead with their honey?'
'I keep them,' he replied, 'partly because I am fond of them, and partly
for what they bring me in; they make me a great deal of honey, some of
which I sell, and with a little I make me some mead to warm my poor heart
with, or occasionally to treat a friend with like yourself.' 'And do you
support yourself entirely by means of your bees?' 'No,' said the old
man; 'I have a little bit of ground behind my house, which is my
principal means of support.' 'And do you live alone?' 'Yes,' said he;
'with the exception of the bees and the donkey, I live quite alone.' 'And
have you always lived alone?' The old man emptied his cup, and his heart
being warmed with the mead, he told me his history, which was simplicity
itself. His father was a small yeoman, who, at his death, had left him,
his only child, the cottage, with a small piece of ground behind it, and
on this little property he had lived ever since. About the age of twenty-
five he had married an industrious young woman, by wh