“Very pleasant sensations” are, it is said, caused by this custom, and the effect is so invigorating that the Arab soldier who goes in steadily for _Kafta_ can do “sentry go” all night without feeling in the least drowsy. Whether the soldiers of the Khalifa did much chewing on the night before the battle of Omdurman deponent sayeth not. Frequently the _kat_ leaves are boiled in milk sweetened with honey, and the result is the same. The infusion is intoxicating, but the effect is not of long endurance; and at a synod of the most learned Mahomedans it was pronounced lawful for the faithful to chew, or drink _Kafta_, “as, whilst it did not impair the health nor hinder the observance of religious duties, it increased hilarity and good humour.” Sly rogues, these followers of the Prophet! If a man wants to retain his old friends and {123} to make fresh ones let not that man take to selling wines or spirits on commission. Some years ago I gave an old schoolfellow an order for a case of Scotch whisky, which he declared upon oath to be absolutely the best procurable. Home came the whisky, and the first cork was drawn. Pop! The stuff was literally effervescent, like champagne, or Russian birch-wine. “My dear,” I observed to the partner of my joys and cares, “we had better not drink much of this.” At the next Sandown Park race-meeting I met the whisky agent, who, I forgot to mention before, was a bit of a stammerer. “And wh-wh-wh-what,” he asked, “d’you think of that wh-wh-wh-wh-whisky?” Stammering is occasionally to be caught. “I think,” was my reply, “it’s the d-d-d-dashedest m-m-m-muck I ever t-t-t-t-tasted.” “Wh-wh-what’s the m-m-m-matter with it?” “It f-f-f-fizzes like g-g-g-ginger p-p-p-pop.” “My d-d-dear sir,” he protested, “that is no dr-dr-drawback. That’s the p-p-p-peat-r-r-reek.” Peat-reek or no, that whisky was not used for household purposes-not even for the Christmas pudding; but was kept for the special benefit of such police-constables, Inland Revenue officers, process-servers, tax-gatherers, book agents, and retailers of certain winners, as might call around, with a thirst in them. Strange whisky reminds me of the American story of the proprietor of a spirit-store in Arizona, who found the ordinary brand of “Rye” was not sufficiently attractive to his customers. So he fitted together a blend of his own, consisting of {124} essence of ginger, capsicums, croton oil, snuff, carbolic acid, pain-killer, turpentine, and a little very young and very potent spirit distilled from old junk. He placed a bottle of this on the counter, and the first customer who came along helped himself to a tumblerful, and, taking it “straight,” swallowed it at a gulp. As soon as he had got his second wind, he gasped out: “That’s the best doggoned whisky I’ve sampled in this yer camp. Sonny, guess you’ve fixed me up to rights. It’s like swallerin’ a circ’lar saw and pullin’ it up again. So long.”