"Here," said he, filling the glass, "is some of the real Llangollen
ale. I got it from the little inn, the Eagle, over the way, which
was always celebrated for its ale. They stared at me when I went
in and asked for a pint of ale, as they knew that for twenty years
I have drunk no liquor whatever, owing to the state of my stomach,
which will not allow me to drink anything stronger than water and
tea. I told them, however, it was for a gentleman, a friend of
mine, whom I wished to treat in honour of the fall of Sebastopol."
I would fain have excused myself, but the old gentleman insisted on
my drinking.
"Well," said I, taking the glass, "thank God that our gloomy
forebodings are not likely to be realised. Oes y byd i'r glod
Frythoneg! May Britain's glory last as long as the world!"
Then, looking for a moment at the ale, which was of a dark-brown
colour, I put the glass to my lips and drank.
"Ah!" said the old church clerk, "I see you like it, for you have
emptied the glass at a draught."
"It is good ale," said I.
"Good," said the old gentleman rather hastily, "good; did you ever
taste any so good in your life?"
"Why, as to that," said I, "I hardly know what to say; I have drunk
some very good ale in my day. However, I'll trouble you for
another glass."
"Oh ho, you will," said the old gentleman; "that's enough; if you
did not think it first-rate, you would not ask for more. This,"
said he, as he filled the glass again, "is genuine malt and hop
liquor, brewed in a way only known, they say, to some few people in
this place. You must, however, take care how much you take of it.
Only a few glasses will make you dispute with your friends, and a
few more quarrel with them. Strange things are said of what
Llangollen ale made people do of yore; and I remember that when I
was young and could drink ale, two or three glasses of the
Llangollen juice of the barleycorn would make me - however, those
times are gone by."
"Has Llangollen ale," said I, after tasting the second glass, "ever
been sung in Welsh? is there no englyn upon it?"
"No," said the old church clerk, "at any rate, that I am aware."
"Well," said I, "I can't sing its praises in a Welsh englyn, but I
think I can contrive to do so in an English quatrain, with the help
of what you have told me. What do you think of this? -
"Llangollen's brown ale is with malt and hop rife;
'Tis good; but don't quaff it from evening till dawn;
For too much of that ale will incline you to strife;
Too much of that ale has caused knives to be drawn."
"That's not so bad," said the old church clerk, "but I think some
of our bards could have produced something better - that is, in
Welsh; for example old - What's the name of the old bard who wrote
so many englynion on ale?"
"Sion Tudor," said I; "O yes; but he was a great poet.
