Derivation of the word questioned — Not an Asiatic drink — “Pale-punts” — No relation to pale punters — Properties of rum — Toddy as a tonic — Irish punch — Glasgie ditto — O’er muckle cauld watter — One to seven — Hech sirs! — Classical sherbet — Virtues of the feet of calves — West India dry gripes — Make your own punch — No deputy allowed — Attraction of capillaire — Gin punch — Eight recipes for milk punch — University heart-cheerers.
When e’en a bowl of punch we make,
Four striking opposites we take:
The strong, the small, the sharp, the sweet,
Together mix’d, most kindly meet,
And when they happily unite
The bowl is pregnant with delight.

In Cakes and Ale, grave doubts are expressed as to whether the usually-accepted derivation of punch is the correct one. Why Asia should be raked to find a name for a purely European concoction, is beyond my powers of argument; and, as observed in another place, in the concoction of this seductive brew it is by no means necessary to limit oneself to five ingredients.

It may be news to the adopters of the panch (five) theory to read that punch was at one time {102} called “pale-punts,” why or wherefore de-po-nent sayeth not; here is the extract from a work published A.D. 1691:—

“Pale-punts, here vulgarly known by the name of Punch; a drink compounded of brandy or aqua vit?, juice of lemons, oranges, sugar, or such like; very usual amongst those that frequent the sea, where a bowl of punch is an usual beverage.”

But it was “usual” only in the days of sailing-ships and long voyages; and with fast steamers and whole evenings devoted to the beauties of poker, or selling pools, a more usual modern mari-time drink is a mod-i-cum of whisky diluted with a?rated water.

“The liquor called Punch,” writes another professional authority, “has become so truly English, it is often supposed to be indigenous to this country, though its name at least is Oriental. The Persian punj, or Sanscrit pancha, i.e. five (vide Fryer’s Travels), is the etymon of its title, and denotes the number of ingredients of which it is composed. Addison’s ‘fox-hunter,’ who testified so much surprise when he found that of the materials of which this ‘truly English’ beverage was made only the water belonged to England, would have been still more astonished had his informant also told him that it derived even its name from the East.”

But did natives of the East drink it? Tell me that.

“Various opinions are enter-tained respect-ing this com-pound drink. Some au-thors praise it as a cool-ing and re-fresh-ing beverage, when drunk {103} in mod-er-a-tion; others con-demn the use of it as prejudicial to the brain and nervous system. Dr. Cheyne, a celebrated Scotch physician, author of an essay on ‘Long Life and Health,’ and who by a system of diet and regimen reduced himself from the enormous weight of thirty-two stone to nearly one-third, which enabled him to live to the age of seventy-two, insists that there is but one wholesome ingredient in it, and that is the water. Dr. Willich, on the contrary, asserts that if a proper quantity of acid be used in making punch, it is an excellent antiseptic, and well calculated to supply the place of wine in resisting putrefaction, especially if drank cold with plenty of sugar; it also promotes perspiration; but if drank hot and immoderately it creates acidity in the stomach, weakens the nerves, and gives rise to complaints of the breast. He further states that after a heavy meal it is improper, as it may check digestion, and injure the stomach.

“Rennie states that he once heard a facetious physician at a public hospital prescribe for a poor fellow sinking under the atrophy of starvation a bowl of punch. Mr. Wadd gives us a prescription:—

“?‘Rum, aqua dulci miscetur acetum, et fiet ex tali f?dere nobile Punch.’

“He also states that toddy, or punch without acid, when made for a day or two before it is used, is a good and cheap substitute for wine as a tonic, in convalescence from typhus fever, etc.”

It is here worthy of note that what is meant by “punch” in Ireland is, and has been for at least two centuries, whisky, sugar, lemon, and {104} the less water the better. A very old way of concocting it is to melt the sugar within the tumbler (which should be covered, pro tem.) with the smallest quantity of water sufficient for the purpose, the thin lemon-rind having been previously added. Then comes the whisky; “and,” according to the old formula, “the laste dhrop o’ wather” added atop of the “crathur” will spoil the punch. But in all English works in which punch has been mentioned—previous to the early seventies, at all events—by the active ingredients of punch should be understood either rum, brandy, or gin.
“English Punch,”

says a writer of our own time, “is, as regards the spirit, mostly of two kinds—brandy and rum, mixed in proportions which must be left to taste. The rum generally predominates. The acid is nearly always lemon juice. The spice is nearly always lemon-peel, but sometimes tea-leaf”—now marry come up!—“sometimes nutmeg; and as for the sugar and the water they explain themselves.”

The Scotch make toddy in very much the same way as the Irish concoct their punch. But
Glasgow Punch,

according to John Gibson Lockhart, was compounded with the coldest spring-water—a commodity which would seem to be growing somewhat scarce in Caledonia—for the purpose of punch-making, at all events. {105}

    The sugar being melted with a little cold water, the artist squeezed about a dozen lemons through a wooden strainer, and then poured in water enough almost to fill the bowl. In this state the liquor goes by the name of sherbet, and a few of the connoisseurs in his immediate neigh-bour-hood were requested to give their opinion of it—for in the mixing of the sherbet lies, according to the Glasgow creed at least, one half of the whole battle. This being approved by an audible smack from the lips of the umpires, the rum was added to the beverage, I suppose in something about the proportion of one to seven?――.

Hech sirs?! Or, does it mean seven of rum to one of the spring?

    Last of all the maker cut a few limes, and running each section rapidly round the rim of his bowl, squeezed in enough of this more delicate acid to flavour the whole composition. In this consists the true tour-de-ma?tre of the punch-maker.

Oxford Punch
or
Classical Sherbet

is a very ancient beverage, and from the sustaining powers of the calves’-foot jelly (under what heading, amongst punch ingredients, does this come, by the way?) inserted therein might fairly pose as meat and drink.

    Extract the juice from the rind of three lemons, by rubbing loaf-sugar on them. The peeling of two Seville oranges and two lemons, cut extremely {106} thin. The juice of four Seville oranges and ten lemons. Six glasses of calves’-feet jelly in a liquid state. The above to be put into a jug and stirred well together. Pour two quarts of boiling water on the mixture, cover the jug closely, and place it near the fire for a quarter of an hour. Then strain the liquid through a sieve into a punch bowl or jug, sweeten it with a bottle of capillaire (the recipe for this follows), and add half a pint of white wine, a pint of French brandy, a pint of Jamaica rum, and a bottle of orange shrub; the mixture to be stirred as the spirits are poured in. If not sufficiently sweet, add loaf-sugar, or a little more capillaire. To be served either hot or cold.

In making the punch limes are sometimes used instead of lemons, but are not so wholesome; in fact Arbuthnot, in his work on aliments, says: “The West India dry gripes are occasioned by lime-juice in punch.” And nobody wants them.

Ignorant servants sometimes put oxalic acid into punch, to give it a flavour; but unless the throats of the drinkers be lined with brass, this acid is of no real service. And the host who would entrust the making of any sort of punch to a subordinate, must be either very ignorant, or very careless of the comfort of his guests—and possibly both. Cups, punches, and salads should always be concocted by somebody who will make personal trial of their merits.

To make
Capillaire,

    put two ounces of freshly-gathered maidenhair fern into a jug, with sufficient boiling water to cover it. {107} Let it stand in front of the fire to infuse for some hours; then strain and put it into a clear syrup made by boiling together three pounds of sugar and three pints of water; add two tablespoonfuls of orange-flower water, and stir the mixture over the fire for a few minutes. Strain through a jelly-bag, and bottle when cold.

A more potent punch can be made from the same recipe as the Oxford Punch, by leaving out the calves’-feet jelly, and substituting green tea for water. And this sort is invariably drunk hot. Mix three wine-glasses of noyeau with the original recipe and it is entitled to the name of
Noyeau Punch.

Omit the rum, brandy, and shrub, and substitute two bottles of gin, and it becomes
Gin Punch.

If I could only afford to keep a secretary, a clever stenographer and type-writer, I might be able to supply the world with gratuitous recipes for cooling cups, dainty drinks, and peerless punches, and earn, maybe, the thanks of both Houses of Parliament, and a granite bust on the Thames Embankment or in Shaftesbury Avenue. It is entirely due to lack of funds that I am issuing books on the subject of meat and drink; and I will now proceed to enlighten the thousands of alleged bons-vivants, who ask questions as to the concoction of
Milk Punch.

There are many recipes for this seductive drink, each one better than its predecessor. {108}

        1. Warm two quarts or water and one of new milk, then mix them well together, and sweeten with a sufficient quantity of loaf-sugar. Rub a few lumps of sugar on the peel of a lemon, put them into a jug with the above, and half a pint of lemon juice, stirring the mixture well as it is po............