This has nothing to do with warm asparagus, so have no fear. It is simply another big-tumbler mixture, of one wine-glassful of brandy, a liqueur-glassful of curaçoa, a squeeze of lemon, two teaspoonfuls sugar, one of syrup of strawberries, one wine-glassful of water, and the thin rind of a lemon; fill up the tumbler with crushed ice, shake, and put slices of ripe apricots atop. Drink how you like.
Most of the above are hot-weather beverages, and the great beauty of some of them will be found in the small quantity of water in the mixture. Here is a punch which may be drunk in any weather, and either hot or cold.
Regent Punch.
Pour into a bowl a wine-glassful of champagne, the same quantities of hock, curaçoa, rum, and madeira. Mix well, and add a pint of boiling tea, sweetened. Stir well and serve.
Apropos of the derivation of “punch,” I was unaware until quite recently that Messrs. Bradbury’s & Agnew’s little paper had any connection therewith. But I was assured by one who knew all about it, that such was the case.
“What?” I exclaimed. “How can the London Charivari possibly have anything to do with this most seductive of beverages?”
“My dear fellow,” was the reply, “have you never heard of Mark Lemon?”
I turned to smite him hip and thigh; but the jester had fled.
And now a word or two as to “Toddy.” One of the authorities quoted in the punch difficulty declares that toddy is also an Indian drink. So it is. But that drink no more resembles what is known in more civilised lands as toddy than I resemble the late king Solomon. The palm-sap which the poor Indian distils into arrack and occasionally drinks in its natural state for breakfast after risking his neck in climbing trees to get it, can surely have no connection with hot whisky and water? Yet the authority says so; but he had best be careful ere he promulgates his theory in the presence of Scotsmen and others who possess special toddy-glasses. This is how I make