The mead was deliciously sweet and mellow, but appeared strong as brandy; my eyes reeled in my head, and my brain became slightly dizzy.

"Mead is a strong drink," said the old man, as he looked at me, with a half smile on his countenance.

"This is at any rate," said I, "so strong, indeed, that I would not drink another cup for any consideration." "And I would not ask you," said the old man; "for, if you did, you would most probably be stupid all day, and wake the next morning with a headache.

Mead is a good drink, but woundily strong, especially to those who be not used to it, as I suppose you are not." "Where do you get it ?" said I.

"I make it myself," said the old man, "from the honey which my bees make." "Have you many bees ?" I inquired.