"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.