"I know that you and your colleagues drink a good deal of this thin stuff." "A good deal," said Sturm, with self-complacency; "it is a custom of ours--it always has been so--porters must be strong men, true men, and beer-drinkers.

Water would weaken us, so would brandy; there is nothing for it but draught beer and olive oil.

Look here, sir," said he, mixing a small glassful of fine oil and beer, stirring plenty of sugar into it, and drinking off the nauseous compound; "this is a secret of ours, and makes an arm like this;" and he laid his on the table, and vainly endeavored to span it.

"But there is a drawback.

Have you ever seen an old porter?
No; for there are none.