Morning journal and courier., 1885-08-14
The Origin of Bottled Beer.


 In the year 154S Alexander Novel was
 held prebendary stall in the Abbey. But
 besides these appointments he possessed in
 his own right 8 charming country residence
 called Readhall, near Clitheroe, in Lancashire
 which afforded pleasant retreat during his
 holidays. In 1858 Edward VI. died, and Qneen Mary came to the throne. Her ascent
 was immediately followed by the arrest of
 those leaders of the Protestant party who had not taken time by the forelock and fled into
 the country or across the channel. Preben-
 diary Novel; had for years, both with voice
 and pen, opposed the Romish church, so he
 left the shady cloisters of Westminster and
 retired to his country seat.
 Now, through the park of Readhall there
 flows little trout stream, where in swirling
 pool and sunlit shadow, lies many speckled
 darling. One fine May morning, then, good
 Dr. Novel thought he would take his rod and
 go a-fishing. He got his tackle ready, and
 also, as it promised to be 8 hot day, he filled
 stone bottle with good ale, and started on
 his way. The sun came out, and Dr. Novel
 got warm, and so he left his stone bottle in
 safe place until he felt inclined for luncheon.
 So he rammed the cork well in, and placed
 the bottle in the hollow root of an old pol
 lard tree which overhung the brook, where
 the stream, gently swirling round the base of
 the bottle, would keep the contents fresh and
 cool. This done. he continued his course up
 the stream; and, having fshed for an hour,
 he was beginning to retrace his steps to the
 pollard tree when he suddenly heard a voice ] calling him, and looking round he saw his page boy running up, red in the face and
 breathless. They've come, sirl they've come, sir!' he cried. 'Who have come?"
 Bloody Mary" replied the orthodox youth;
 'they're looking everywhere for you; and one varlet has piece of paper with great seal and the queens name on it. :" "Has he?" grimly replied the prebendary; and without further ado-forgetful of his fish, forgetful of his stone bottle, forgetful of everything but his own skin-he fled across the mead ows speedily and craftily.
 After some days he got to Chester in safe ty, and, getting passage in sailing boat, he reached the continent. For the next five years he lived in Germany, principally at Strasburg and Frankfort, and played prom inent part in the great Frankfort conference. In 1858, however, Queen Mary died; and the accession of good Queen Bess saw Alexander Novel once more in his stall at Westmin- ster, no more as 8 prebendary, but Arch deacon of Westminster. In the spring of '59 he returned to his beloved ReadhaIl, and once again on bright May morning he went forth to fish,
 It was once again very hot day, but Dr.
 
 with ale. And, higher as the sun rose, the archdeacon became very tired and very, very thirsty. He put down his rod and lay on the bank, and as he watched the stream lazi- | ly floating past his thoughts drifted back through the dim mist of time to a certain May morning six years before, and then | strange to say, to stone bottle he had left | in the hollow of a pollard tree. With an in stinctive feeling of hope he leaped up and ! walked briskly down stream till he came te pollard with large hole in the root. With parched palate and expectant heart he thrust | his hand down yes, there was the stone bottle which had lain unheeded for six event full years, washed by the little stream. The cork was swollen with damp and age; and while Dr. Novel was extracting it he won ! dered if the ale would be drinkable after such a lapse of time. Being essentially g man of caution, he took at first little sip. The result apparently was satisfactory. for he at once put the bottle to his lips and-drank. Oh, the delight of that draught, the ann Der ale, mellowed by time and cooled to per lection, trickled down the p rched throat of the good archdeacon. What were the wines of Rhineland-what were the boasted vim tages of Burgundy and Loire-nay, indeed, what even was the archiepiscopA port at Lambeth, as compared with this deleotable fuids We all know the ecstasy felt by Bobo, the son of Hoti, when he first tasted roast pork Multiply that ecstasy by twelve, and you may form some idea of what Archdeacon Novel felt when he took that mighty pull School boys of England, who have groaned over Dr. Novels catechism, whose brains hay wearily plodded through the incompar able dullness of that look, remember this That stone bottle of Dean Novels is the first authentic instance of bottled beer. That afternoon the archdeacon summonei his household in solemn conclave. Every empty pitcher, jar and bottle that could b. found was filed with honest English ale; ant this most delectable of drinks became as muel | recognized institution as the British jury l or the throne. Long may all three remain | infacff