enough for the purpose, the puddings
were stirred up in the milking-pail, and boiled in the three-legged bell-
metal crock, of great weight and antiquity, which every travelling tinker
for the previous thirty years had tapped with his stick, coveted, made a
bid for, and often attempted to steal.

In the liquor line Loveday laid in an ample barrel of Casterbridge
'strong beer.' This renowned drink--now almost as much a thing of the
past as Falstaff's favourite beverage--was not only well calculated to
win the hearts of soldiers blown dry and dusty by residence in tents on a
hill-top, but of any wayfarer whatever in that land. It was of the most
beautiful colour that the eye of an artist in beer could desire; full in
body, yet brisk as a volcano; piquant, yet without a twang; luminous as
an autumn sunset; free from streakiness of taste; but, finally, rather
heady. The masses worshipped it, the minor gentry loved it more than
wine, and by the most illustrious county families it was not despised.
Anybody brought up for being drunk and disorderly in the streets of its
natal borough, had only to prove that he was a stranger to the place and
its liquor to be honourably dismissed by the magistrates, as one
overtaken in a fault that no man could guard against who entered the town
unawares.

In addition, Mr. Loveday also tapped a hogshead of fine cider that he had
had mellowing in the house for several months, having bought it of an
honest down-country man, who did not colour, for any special occasion
like the present. It had been pressed from fruit judiciously chosen by
an old hand--Horner and Cleeves apple for the body, a few Tom-Putts for
colour, and just a dash of Old Five-corners for sparkle--a selection
originally made to please the palate of a well-known temperate earl who
was a regular cider-drinker, and lived to be eighty-eight.

On the morning of the Sunday appointed for her coming Captain Bob Loveday
set out to meet his bride. He had been all the week engaged in painting
the gig, assisted by his brother at odd times, and it now appeared of a
gorgeous yellow, with blue streaks, and tassels at the corners, and red
wheels outlined with a darker shade. He put in the pony at half-past
eleven, Anne looking at him from the door as he packed himself into the
vehicle and drove off. There may be young women who look out at young
men driving to meet their brides as Anne looked at Captain Bob, and yet
are quite indiffere