are that,
and the residue is "volatile principle," for which all the dictionaries
of science have no explanation.

"Volatile principle"--there it is, that is the secret. That is the life
of the thing; by no possible means can you obtain that volatile
principle--that alchemic force--except contained in genuine old ale.

Only it must be genuine, and it must be old; such as Iden brewed.

The Idens had been famous for ale for generations.

By degrees Alere's hand grew less shaky; the glass ceased to chink
against his teeth; the strong, good ale was setting his Fleet Street
liver in order.

You have "liver," you have "dyspepsia," you have "kidneys," you have
"abdominal glands," and the doctor tells you you must take bitters,
_i.e._, quassia, buchu, gentian, cascarilla, calumba; aperients and
diluents, podophyllin, taraxacum, salts; physic for the nerves and
blood, quinine, iron, phosphorus; this is but the briefest outline of
your draughts and preparations; add to it for various purposes, liquor
arsenicalis, bromide of potassium, strychnia, belladonna.

Weary and disappointed, you turn to patent medicines--American and
French patent physic is very popular now--and find the same things
precisely under taking titles, enormously advertised.

It is a fact that nine out of ten of the medicines compounded are
intended to produce exactly the same effects as are caused by a few
glasses of good old ale. The objects are to set the great glands in
motion, to regulate the stomach, brace the nerves, and act as a tonic
and cordial; a little ether put in to aid the digestion of the
compound. This is precisely what good old ale does, and digests itself
very comfortably. Above all things, it contains the volatile principle,
which the prescriptions have not got.

Many of the compounds actually are beer, bittered with quassia instead
of hops; made nauseous in order that you may have faith in them.

"Throw physic to the dogs," get a cask of the true Goliath, and "_drenk
un down to the therd hoop_."

Long before Alere had got to the first hoop the rats ceased to run up
the wall, his hand became less shaky, he began to play a very good knife
and fork at the bacon and Iden's splendid potatoes; by-and-by he began
to hum old German songs.

But you may ask, how do _you_ know, you're not a doctor, you're a mere
story-spinner, you're no authority? I reply that I am in a position to
know much more than a doctor.

How can that be?

Beca