To a philosopher and a philanthropist (and I am somewhat of both, after a Bushwhackerish fashion) the word _Lager Bier_ should undoubtedly be one of the most precious additions to a language already rich in such expressive linguistic combinations as Jersey Lightning, Gin Sling, Rum and Gum, Rye and Rock, Kill-Round-The-Corner, Santa Cruz Sour, Stone Fence, Forty-Rod, Dead Shot, etc., etc., etc., not to mention a host of such etymological simples as Juleps, Smashes, Straights, and Cobblers. For the introduction into this country of the mild tipple it indicates has unquestionably done more to arrest drunkenness than all the temperance societies that have been, are, or shall be. Still, the word itself, spell it how you will, has hardly a distinguished air; and hence I long sought, and should gladly have adopted, some such aristocratic expression as Brew of the Black Forest, Nectar of Gambrinus, Deutscher’s Dew, Suevorum Gaudium (_i.e._ Schwabs’ Bliss)—some genteel phrase, in a word—but that I was unwilling to sacrifice precision to elegance. Now, the necessity that I am under of alluding to the Solace of Arminius at all, arises in the simplest way. At the period of which I am writing, this beverage, newly introduced, had great vogue in Richmond, notably among the young men. Especially did college-bred young fellows give in a prompt adhesion to the new faith; and if, in any party of such, assembled to discuss, in a double sense, this new ethereal mildness, there was found any man who had attended the German universities, that man was the lion of the evening. His it was to excite our wonder by reciting deeds of prowess that he had witnessed; his to tell us what had been done; his to show us how it could be done again. I wonder whether a young medical man whom I knew in those days (now a staid and solid doctor) remembers the laugh which greeted him when he essayed to explain, to an attentive class that he was coaching in the new knowledge, how the German students managed actually to pour their beer down their throats,—swallowed it without swallowing, that is. “It is the simplest thing in the world,” said he. “See here.” And turning a glass upside down over his mouth, its entire contents disappeared without the slightest visible movement of his throat. “Didn’t you see how it was done? The whole secret lies in the _voluntary suppression of the peristaltic action of the œsophagus_.” “The deuse you say!” cried a pupil. “Then, if that be so, I for one say, Let’s all suppress.” And that became the word with our set for that season, and much beer perished. Why is it that a man recalls with such pleasure the follies of his youth? And why is it that the wise things we do make so little impression on our minds? For my own part, I can remember, without an effort, scores of absurdities that I have been guilty of, while of acts of wisdom scarcely one occurs to me.