All about coffee

From the foregoing it will be apparent that a profit to be allowed based on "market value" for coffees was an impossibility, unless this law had been altered to allow all licensees of other commodities to share. Coffee profits were fixed by the food administration on the advice of, and with acceptance by, the coffee committee. They started too low; and were made more liberal, when the first figures were shown to be impossible. George W. Lawrence reports a conversation that he had with the food administrator on this particular subject, and that was characteristic of his broadness. Mr. Hoover said, "The coffee dealers are complaining of the profits permitted them. I want them satisfied; and if the profits are not reasonable, I shall put them where they will be. This war is not going to last always; and at its conclusion I want every American merchant in a position to be able to continue his business and be no worse off than when the war started."

Resales were prohibited, or limited to one transaction, in order to prevent an accumulation of profits, that, added to each transfer, would result ultimately in higher prices to the consumer.

The fixing of profit based on cost, and not on market or replacement value, is a thing that is impossible in normal times. Carried to the last degree, it would mean ruination; for no provision is made for declines in the market, and resulting losses. As a war measure it was inevitable, and so endured. In normal times it is like trying to make water run uphill. With a united people, it worked; but one can not have a World War always to unite the people. It has been said that government regulation of coffees caused a large increase in price to the consumer. This would be hard to prove. The trade, generally, that refused to buy at ten to twelve cents per pound because it did not, or would not believe the reports of frost damage, and thought prices too high, was frantically bidding up to twenty and twenty-two cents for 4s in March and April, 1919. According to the ideas of some enthusiasts, fifty cents was not an impossibility. Naturally such a bubble must burst eventually. Government control had nothing to do with such natural conditions as frost, or as the buyers' indifference. Expansion and inflation were in the air, and had to run their course. The year 1920 brought the aftermath; and in the deflation, coffee, with all other commodities, went down to prices far below its intrinsic value. The expected European demand did not materialize; the interior buyer was overloaded with stock; and the losses of the coffee trade in 1920 will, it is to be hoped, never be repeated.

The Story of Soluble Coffee

For nearly two decades, many coffee men and chemists have been seeking a soluble coffee, or dried coffee extract, that would simplify the preparation of the beverage. Thus far, all the products that have appeared on the market are somewhat deficient in aroma and in the more delicate flavors of coffee. A satisfying average cup of coffee can be prepared from the better brands; the chief advantages of which are rapidity of preparation, absence of any grounds, and uniformity of drink.

Considerable progress has been made in certain directions; enough to warrant telling here, though briefly, the story of soluble coffee to date.

Some there are among trade experts and coffee connoisseurs who maintain soluble coffee is an ignis fatuus; that it can never be manufactured without destroying the aromatic principle; that at best it is a delusion and a snare. Certainly, many absurd claims have been made for some of the soluble coffees on the market. However, there are others that are not without their merits; and the story of their introduction to the trade and the consuming public is entertaining and instructive.

Dr. Sartori Kato, a Japanese chemist, of Tokio, brought a soluble tea to Chicago about 1899. It was not a commercial success; but it served to bring him in touch with some coffee men and chemists, for whom he produced a soluble coffee in the same year. A company was organized to promote the product. It was called the Kato Coffee Co., and included, in addition to Dr. Kato; Fillip Kreissel, a chemist; W.R. Ruffner, a green-coffee broker; and I.D. Richheimer, a coffee roaster. Kato's soluble coffee was first sold to the public at the Pan-American Exposition in 1901. The first quantity order was received from Captain Baldwin and by him used with satisfaction on the Ziegler Arctic expedition. United States patents on a coffee concentrate, and process for making the same (soluble coffee), were granted to Sartori Kato of Chicago, assignor to the Kato Coffee Co., of the same place, on August 11, 1903.

G. Washington, who was born in Belgium of English parents, and who was living temporarily in Guatemala City, invented about 1906, a soluble coffee that was made ready for the market in 1909.

The George Washington Coffee Refining Co. was organized in 1910 to put the Washington product on the market, which it did first under the name, Red E coffee. This was later changed to G. Washington's Prepared Coffee, as an alternative to Washington's Coffee Extract, a name which was favorably regarded by all except certain authorities at the national capital. Associated with Mr. Washington at the start of the enterprise were: E. Van Etten, former vice-president of the New York Central Railroad; W.J. Arkell; Bartlett Arkell, of the Beechnut Packing Co.; C.M. Warner, of the Warner Sugar Refining Co.; and Charles E. Proctor, of the Singer Sewing Machine Co.

The G. Washington Coffee Refining Company has its coffee-roasting and preparing plant in Brooklyn; but its process is a secret one, and has never been patented.

F. Lehnhoff Wyld, who was the Washingtons' family physician when they lived in Guatemala City, and with whom Mr. Washington had discussed his work in soluble coffee, duplicated the Washington product in 1913; and, with E.T. Cabarrus, he organized the Société du Café Soluble Belna, Brussels, Belgium, to put on the European market a refined soluble coffee under the brand name Belna.

Eight or ten United States patents have been granted on soluble coffees that have never been applied commercially.

Nowhere has soluble coffee met with such success as in the United States, where a number of brands followed the Kato and G. Washington products. Among them, mention should be made of the C.F. Blanke Tea & Coffee Company's Magic Cup, afterward Fairy Cup, and later, Faust brand, brought out in 1912; the Baker Importing Co.'s Barrington Hall Soluble Coffee, brought out in 1917; and the Charles G. Hires Co.'s brand, introduced to the trade in 1918.

It was the World War that brought soluble coffee to the front. E.F. Holbrook, formerly in charge of the coffee section, subsistence division, United States War Department, said, "The use of mustard gas by the Germans made it one of the most important articles of subsistence used by the army." Early in the war, soluble coffee was added to the reserve ration, three-quarters of an ounce being considered at first the proper amount per ration. After trying to put it up in sticks, tablets, capsules, and other forms, it was determined that the best method was to pack it in envelopes. A month before the signing of the armistice, the New York depot was notified that after January 1, 1919, the requirements of soluble coffee were to be 25,000 pounds per day in addition to quantities packed in reserve rations, bringing the total daily output to 42,500 pounds per day. Arrangements were made to have the total output of the New York zone, 40,000 pounds per day, packed in quarter-ounce envelopes, twenty-four to a sealed can.

I.D. Richheimer, promoter of the original soluble coffee of Kato and the Kato patent, organized the Soluble Coffee Co. of America in 1918, to supply soluble coffee to the American army overseas. After the armistice, the company began licensing other merchants under the Kato patent or offering to process the merchants' own coffee for them if desired.

William A. Hamor and Charles W. Trigg, Pittsburgh, assignors to John E. King, Detroit, were granted a United States patent in 1919 on a process for making a new soluble coffee. Their process consists in bringing the volatilized caffeol in contact with a petrolatum, or absorbing medium, where it is held until needed for combination with the evaporated coffee extract. The King Coffee Products Corp. of Detroit was organized in 1920 to manufacture this product, known as Minute coffee, and a coffee base for soft drinks, the latter being marketed under the name of Coffee Pep. Mr. King had believed for many years that soluble coffee was destined to solve many of the vexations of the coffee business, and had been experimenting with the idea since 1906. To facilitate his investigations, he established a fellowship at the Mellon Institute of Industrial Research, Pittsburgh, in 1914, in charge of Charles W. Trigg. This chemically controlled research evolved a product which, after passing through the laboratory stage, was placed upon a small unit plan basis, and then patented. Five additional patents on the product were granted Messrs. Trigg and David S. Pratt in 1921; and all were assigned to John E. King.

Chapter XXXII

Abd-al-Kâdir ibn Mohammed lived in the tenth century of the Hegira—the sixteenth of our era—and wrote his book in 996 A.H., or 1587 A.D. Coffee had then been in common use since about 1450 A.D. in Arabia. It was not in use in the time of the Prophet, who died in 632 A.D.; but he had forbidden the drink of strong liquors which affect the brain, and hence it was argued that coffee, as a stimulant, was unlawful. Even today, the community of the Wahabis, very powerful in Arabia a hundred years ago, and still dominant in part of it, do not permit the use of coffee.

Abd-al-Kâdir's book is thought to have been based on an earlier writing by Shihâb-ad-Dîn Ahmad ibn Abd-al-Ghafâr al Maliki, as he refers to the latter on the third page of his manuscript; but if so, this previous work does not appear to have been preserved. La Roque says Shihâb-ad-Dîn was an Arabian historian who supplied the main part of Abd-al-Kâdir's story. La Roque refers also to a Turkish historian.

Research by the author has failed to disclose anything about Shihâb-ad-Dîn save his name (al Maliki means that he belonged to the Malikites, another of the four great Sunni sects), and that he wrote about a hundred years before Abd-al-Kâdir. No copy of his writings is known to exist.

The illustrations show the title page of Abd-al-Kâdir's manuscript, the first page, the third page, and the fly leaf of the cover, the latter containing an inscription in Latin made at the time the manuscript was first received or classified. It reads:

The translation of the Latin is:

Coffee in Poetry

The Abd-al-Kâdir work immortalized coffee. It is in seven chapters. The first treats of the etymology and significance of the word cahouah (kahwa), the nature and properties of the bean, where the drink was first used, and describes its virtues. The other chapters have to do largely with the church dispute in Mecca in 1511, answer the religious objectors to coffee, and conclude with a collection of Arabic verses composed during the Mecca controversy by the best poets of the time.

De Nointel, ambassador from the court of Louis XIV to the Ottoman Porte, brought back with him to Paris from Constantinople the Abd-al-Kâdir manuscript, and another by Bichivili, one of the three general treasurers of the Ottoman Empire. The latter work is of a later date than the Abd-al-Kâdir manuscript, and is concerned chiefly with the history of the introduction of coffee into Egypt, Syria, Damascus, Aleppo, and Constantinople.

The following are two of the earliest Arabic poems in praise of coffee. They are about the period of the first coffee persecution in Mecca (1511), and are typical of the best thought of the day:

Here is another, rhymed version of the same poem:

During the period of the second religious persecution of coffee in the latter part of the sixteenth century, other Arabian poets sang the praises of coffee. The learned Fakr-Eddin-Aboubeckr ben Abid Iesi wrote a book entitled The Triumph of Coffee, and the poet-sheikh Sherif-Eddin-Omar-ben-Faredh sang of it in harmonious verse, wherein, discoursing of his mistress, he could find no more flattering comparison than coffee. He exclaims, "She has made me drink, in long draughts, the fever, or, rather, the coffee of love!"

The numerous contributions by early travelers to the literature of coffee have been mentioned in chronological order in the history chapters. After Rauwolf and Alpini, there were Sir Antony Sherley, Parry, Biddulph, Captain John Smith, Sir George Sandys, Sir Thomas Herbert, and Sir Henry Blount in England; Tavernier, Thévenot, Bernier, P. de la Roque, and Galland in France; Delia Valle in Italy; Olearius and Niebhur in Germany; Nieuhoff in Holland, and others.

Francis Bacon wrote about coffee in his Hist. Vitae et Mortis and Sylva Sylvarum, 1623–27. Burton referred to it in his "Anatomy of Melancholy" in 1632. Parkinson described it in his Theatrum Botanicum in 1640. In 1652, Pasqua Rosée published his famous handbill in London, a literary effort as well as a splendid first advertisement.

Faustus Nairon (Banesius) produced in Rome, in 1671, the first printed treatise devoted solely to coffee. The same year Dufour brought out the first treatise in French. This he followed in 1684 with his work, The manner of making coffee, tea, and chocolate. John Ray extolled the virtues of coffee in his Universal Botany of Plants, published in London in 1686. Galland translated the Abd-al-Kâdir manuscript into French in 1699, and Jean La Roque published his Voyage de l'Arabie Heureuse in Paris in 1715. Excerpts from nearly all these works appear in various chapters of this work.

Leonardus Ferdinandus Meisner published a Latin treatise on coffee, tea, and chocolate in 1721. Dr. James Douglas published in London (1727) his Arbor yemensis fructum cofè ferens, or a description and history of the Coffee Tree. This work laid under contribution many of the Italian, German, French, and English scholars mentioned above; and the author mentioned as other sources of information: Dr. Quincy, Pechey, Gaudron, de Fontenelle, Professor Boerhaave, Figueroa, Chabraeus, Sir Hans Sloane, Langius, and Du Mont.

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the poets and dramatists of France, Italy, and England found a plentiful supply in what had already been written on coffee; to say nothing of the inspiration offered by the drink itself, and by the society of the cafés of the period.

French poets, familiar with Latin, first took coffee as the subject of their verse. Vaniére sang its praises in the eighth book of his Praedium rusticum; and Fellon, a Jesuit professor of Trinity College, Lyons, wrote a didactic poem called, Faba Arabica, Carmen, which is included in the Poemata didascalica of d'Olivet.

Abbé Guillaume Massieu's Carmen Caffaeum, composed in 1718, has been referred to in chapter III. It was read at the Academy of Inscriptions. One of the panegyrists of this author, de Boze, in his Elogé de Massieu, says that if Horace and Virgil had known of coffee, the poem might easily have been attributed to them; and Thery, who translated it into French, says "it is a pearl of elegance in a rare jewel case."

The following translation of the poem from the Latin original was made for this work:

Coffee

A Poem by Guillaume Massieu of the French Academy
(A literal prose translation from the original Latin in the British Museum.)

How coffee first came to our shores,
What the nature of the divine drink is, what its use,
How it brings ready aid to man against every kind of evils,
I shall here begin to tell in simple verse.

You soft-spoken men, who have often tried the sweetness of this drink,
If it has never deceived your wishes or mocked your hopes
With its empty results, be propitious and lend a willing ear to our song.
And may you, O Phoebus, kindly be present, to acknowledge
As your gift the power of herbs and healthful plants, and to
Dispel sad diseases from our bodies; for they say you are
The author of this blessing, and may you spread your
Gifts among peoples, and everywhere far and wide throughout the entire world.

Across Libya afar, and the seven mouths of the swollen Nile,
Where Asia most joyfully spreads in immense fields
Rich in various resources and filled with fragrant woods,
A region extends. The Sabeans of old inhabited it.
I believe indeed Nature, that best parent of all things,
Loved this place more than all others with a tender love.
Here the air of Heaven always breathes more mildly.
The sun has a gentler power; here are flowers of a different clime;
And the earth with fertile bosom brings forth various fruits,
Cinnamon, casia, myrrh, and fragrant thyme.
Amid the resources and gifts of this blessed land,
Turned to the sun and the warm south winds,
A tree spontaneously lifts itself into the upper air.
Growing nowhere else, and unknown in earlier centuries,
By no means great in size, it stretches not far its
Spreading branches, nor lifts a lofty top to heaven;
But lowly, after the manner of myrtle or pliant broom,
It rises from the ground. Many a nut bends its rich branches.
Small, like a bean, dark and dull in color,
Marked by a slight groove in the centre of its hull.

To transplant this growth to our own fields
Many have tried, and to cultivate it with great care.
In vain; for the plant has not responded to the zeal
And desires of the planters, and has rendered vain their long labor;
Before day the root of the tender herb has withered away.
Either this has happened through fault of climate, or grudging
Earth refuses to furnish fit nourishment to the foreign plant.

Therefore come thou, whoever shall be possesed by a love for coffee,
Do not regret having brought the healthful bean from the far
Remote world of Arabia; for this is its bountiful mother country.
The soothing draught first flowed from those regions through other
Peoples; thence through all Europe and Asia,
and next made its way through the entire world.

Therefore, what you shall know to be sufficient for your needs,
Do you prepare long beforehand; let it be your care to have collected
Yearly a copious store, and providently fill small granaries,
As of yore the farmer, early mindful and provident of the future,
Collected crops from his fields and garnered them in his barns,
And turned his attention to the coming year.

None the less, meanwhile, must the utensils for coffee be cared for.
Let not vessels suited for drinking the beverage be lacking,
And a pot, whose narrow neck should be topped by a small cover
And whose body should swell gradually into an oblong shape.
When these things shall have been provided by you, let your
Next care be to roast well the beans with flames, and to grind them when roasted.
Nor should the hammer cease to crush them with many a blow,
Until they lay aside their hardness, and when thoroughly ground,
Become fine powder; which forthwith pack either in a bag or a box made for such uses.
And wrap it in leather, and smear it over with soft wax, lest
Narrow chinks be open, or hidden channels.
Unless you prevent these, by a secret path gradually small
Particles and whatever of value exists, and the entire strength,
Would leave, wasting into empty air.

There is also a hollow machine, like a small tower, which they
Call a mill, in which you can bruise the useful fruit of the
Roasted bean and crush it with frequent rubbing;
A revolving pivot in the middle, on an easy wheel turning,
Twists its metal joints on a creaking stem.
The top of the wheel, you know, is pierced with an ivory handle
Which will have to be turned by hand, through a thousand revolutions,
And through a thousand circles it moves the pivot.
When you put a kernel in, you will turn the handle with quick hand—
No delay—and you will wonder how the crackling kernel is
With much grinding quickly reduced to a powder.
Once only the lower compartment receives on its kindly bosom
The crushed grains, which are placed in the very depths of the box.

But why do we linger over these less important matters?
Greater things call us. Then is it time to drain the sweet
Draught, either under the new light of the early sun
In the morning, when an empty stomach demands food;
Or, when, after the splendid feasts of a magnificent table
The overburdened stomach suffers from too heavy load, and
Unequal to the demands made upon it, seeks the aid of external heat.
Then come, when now the pot grows ruddy in the fire
Crackling beneath, and you shall behold the liquid, swelling
With mingled powdered coffee, now bubble around the brim,
Draw it from the fire. Unless you should do this, the force of
The water would break forth suddenly, overflowing, and would
Sprinkle the beverage on the fire beneath.
Therefore, let no such accident disturb your joys.
You should keep watch carefully when the water no longer
Restrains itself and bubbles with the heat; then return
The pot to the fire thrice and four times, until the powdered
Coffee steams in the midst of the fire and blends thoroughly with the surrounding water.

This soothing drink ought to be boiled with skill, to be drunk
With art—not in the way men are wont to drink other beverages—
And with reason; for when you shall have taken it steaming from
A quick fire, and gradually all the dregs have settled to the
Very bottom, you shall not drink it impatiently at one gulp.
But rather, sip it little by little, and between draughts
Contrive pleasant delays; and sipping, drain it in long draughts,
So long as it is still hot and burns the palate.
For then it is better, then it permeates our inmost bones, and
Penetrating within to the center of our vitals and our marrow,
It pervades all our body with its vivifying strength.
Often even merely inhaling the odor with their nostrils, men
Have welcomed it, when it has bubbled up from the bottom,
More refreshing than the breeze. So much pleasure is there in a delicious odor.

And now there remains awaiting us the other part of our task,
To make known the secret strength of the divine draught.
But who could hope to understand this wonderful blessing
Or to be able to pursue so great a miracle in verse?
For really, when coffee has quietly glided into your body,
Taking itself within, it sheds a vital warmth through your
Limbs, and inspires joyous strength in your heart. Then if
There is anything undigested, with fire's help, it heats the
Hidden channels, and loosens the thin pores, through which the
Useless moisture exudes, and seeds of diseases flee from all your veins.

Wherefore come, O you who have a care for your health!
You, whose triple chin hangs on your breast,
Who drag your heavy stomach of great bulk,
It is fitting for you, first of all, to indulge in the warm
Beverage; for indeed it will dry the hideous flow of moisture
Which oppresses your limbs, and sends forth streams of perspiration from your whole body.
And in a short time, the swelling of your fat belly will
Gradually begin to decrease, and it will lighten your members, now oppressed by their heavy weight.

O happy peoples, on whom Titan, rising, looks with his first light!
Here, a rather free use of wine has never done harm.
Law and religion forbid us to quaff the flowing wine.
Here one lives on coffee. Here, then, flourishing with joyous strength
One pursues life and knows not what diseases are,
Nor that child of Bacchus and companion of high living—Gout;
Nor what innumerable diseases through this union are ready to attack our world.

Yet, indeed, the soothing power of this invigorating drink
Drives sad cares from the heart, and exhilarates the spirits.
I have seen a man, when he had not yet drained a mighty
Draught of this sweet nectar, walk silently with slow gait,
His brow sad, and forehead rough with forbidding wrinkles.
This same man who had hardly bathed his throat with the sweet
Drink—no delay—clouds fled from his wrinkled brow; and
He took pleasure in teasing all with his witty sayings.
Nor yet did he pursue any one with bitter laughter. For this
Harmless drink inspires no desire of offending, the venom
Is lacking, and pleasant laughter without bitterness pleases.

And in the entire East this custom of coffee drinking
Has been accepted. And, now, France; you adopt the foreign custom,
So that public shops, one after the other, are opened for
Drinking Coffee. A hanging sign of either ivy or laurel invites the passers-by.
Hither in crowds from the entire city they assemble, and
While away the time in pleasant drinking.
And when once the feelings have grown warm, acted upon by
The gentle heat, then good-humored laughter, and pleasant
Arguments increase. General gaiety ensues,
the places about resound with joyous applause.
But never does the liquid imbibed overpower weary minds, but
Rather, if ever slumber presses their heavy eyes and dulls
The brain; and their strength, blunted, grows torpid in the
Body, coffee puts sleep to flight from the eyes, and slothful inactivity from the whole frame.
Therefore to absorb the sweet draught would be an advantage
For those whom a great deal of long-continued labor awaits
And those who need to extend their study far into the night.

And here I shall make known who taught the use of this pleasant
Drink; for its virtue, unknown, has lain hidden through many
Years; and reviewing, I shall relate the matter from the very beginning.

An Arab shepherd was driving his young goats to the well-known
Pastures. They were wandering through lonely wastes and cropping
The grasses, when a tree heavy with many berries—never seen before—met their eyes.
At once, as they were able to reach the low branches, they began
To pull off the leaves with many a nibble, and to pluck the tender
Growth. Its bitterness attracts. The shepherd, not knowing this,
Was meanwhile singing on the soft grass and telling the story of his loves to the woods.
But when the evening star, rising, warned him to leave the field,
And he led back his well-fed flock to their stalls, he perceived
That the beasts did not close their eyes in sweet sleep, but
Joyous beyond their wont, with wonderful delight throughout the
Whole night jumped about with wanton leaps. Trembling with sudden
Fear, the shepherd stood amazed; and crazed by the sound, he
Thought these things were being done through some wicked trick of a neighbor, or by magic art.

Not far from here a holy band of brethren had built their
Humble home in a remote valley; their lot it was to chant
Praises of God, and to load his altars with fitting gifts.
Although throughout the night the deep-toned bell resounded
With great din, and summoned them to the sacred temple, often
The coming of dawn found them lingering on their couches,
Having forgotten to rise in the middle of the night.
So great was their love of sleep!

In charge of the sacred temple, revered and obeyed by his
Willing brethren, was the master, an aged man, a heavy mass of white hair on head and chin.
The shepherd, hastening, came to him and told him the story,
Imploring his aid. The old man smiled to himself; but
He agreed to go, and investigate the hidden cause of the miracle.

When he has come to the hills, he observes the lambs, together
With their mothers, gnawing the berries of an unknown plant,
And cries, "This is the cause of the trouble!" And saying no
More, he at once picks the smooth fruit from the heavily-laden
Tree, and carries it home, places it, when washed, in pure
Water, cooking it over the fire, and fearlessly drinks a large
Cup of it. Forthwith a warmth pervades his veins, a living
Force is diffused through his limbs, and weariness is dispelled from his aged body.
Then, at length, the old man exulting in the blessing thus found,
Rejoices, and kindly shares with all his brothers. They eagerly
At early night-fall, indulge in pleasant banquets and drain great bowls.
No longer is it hard for them to break off sweet sleep and to leave their soft beds as formerly.
O fortunate ones! whose hearts the sweet draught has often
Bathed. No sluggish torpor holds their minds, they briskly
Rise for their prescribed duties and rejoice to outstrip the rays of the first light.

You also, whose care it is to feed minds with divine eloquence
And to terrify with your words the souls of the guilty, you also
Should indulge in the pleasant drink; for, as you know, it
Strengthens weakness. Keen vigor is gained for the limbs from
This source, and spreads through the whole body. From this source,
Too, shall come new strength and new power to your voice.
You also, whom oft harmful vapors harass, whose sick brain the dangerous vertigo shakes,
Ah, come! In this sweet liquid is a ready medicine
And none other better to calm undue agitation.
Apollo planted this power for himself, they say,
The story is worthy to be sung.

Once a disease most deadly to life assailed the disciples of
Apollo's Mount. It spread far and wide, and attacked the brain itself.
Already all the people of genius were suffering with this
Disease; and the arts, deserted, were languishing along with
The workers. Some even pretended to have the disease, and
Assuming feigned suffering, gave themselves over to an idle life.
Unpleasing work grew distasteful, and deadly inertia increased
Everywhere. It pleased all, now released from work and labors,
To indulge in care-free quiet.
Apollo, full of indignation, did not endure longer that the deadly
Contagion of such easy ruin should creep over them thus. And,
That he might take away from seers all means of deception, he
Enticed from the rich bosom of the earth this friendly plant,
Than which no other is more ready either to refresh for work the
Mind wearied by long studies, or to sooth troublesome sorrows of the head.

O plant, given to the human race by the gift of the Gods!
No other out of the entire list of plants has ever vied with you.
On your account sailors sail from our shores
And fearlessly conquer the threatening winds, sandbanks and
Dreadful rocks. With your nourishing growth you surpass dittany,
Ambrosia, and fragrant panacea. Grim diseases flee from you. To
You trusting health clings as a companion, and also the merry
Crowd, conversation, amusing jokes, and sweet whisperings.

The poet Belighi toward the close of the sixteenth century composed a poem, which, freely translated, runs:

In Damascus, in Aleppo, in great Cairo,
At every turn is to be found
That mild fruit which gives so beloved a drink,
Before coming to court to triumph.
There this seditious disturber of the world,
Has, by its unparalleled virtue,
Supplanted all wines from this blessed day.

Jacques Delille (1738–1813) the didactic poet of nature, in chant vi of his "Three Reigns of Nature," thus apostrophizes the "divine nectar" and describes its preparation:

Divine Coffee
Translation from the French

A liquid there is to the poet most dear,
'T was lacking to Virgil, adored by Voltaire,
'T is thou, divine coffee, for thine is the art,
Without turning the head yet to gladden the heart.
And thus though my palate be dulled by age,
With joy I partake of thy dear beverage.
How glad I prepare me thy nectar most precious,
No soul shall usurp me a rite so delicious;
On the ambient flame when the black charcoal burns,
The gold of thy bean to rare ebony turns,
I alone, 'gainst the cone, wrought with fierce iron teeth.
Make thy fruitage cry out with its bitter-sweet breath;
Till charmed with such perfume, with care I entrust
To the pot on my hearth the rare spice-laden dust:
First to calm, then excite, till it seethingly whirls,
With an eye all attention I gaze till it boils.
At last now the liquid comes slow to repose;
In the hot, smoking vessel its wealth I depose,
My cup and thy nectar; from wild reeds expressed,
America's honey my table has blest;
All is ready; Japan's gay enamel invites—
And the tribute of two worlds thy prestige unites:
Come, Nectar divine, inspire thou me,
I wish but Antigone, dessert and thee;
For scarce have I tasted thy odorous steam,
When quick from thy clime, soothing warmths round me stream,
Attentive my thoughts rise and flow light as air,
Awaking my senses and soothing my care.
Ideas that but late moved so dull and depressed,
Behold, they come smiling in rich garments dressed!
Some genius awakes me, my course is begun;
For I drink with each drop a bright ray of the sun.

Maumenet addressed to Galland the following verses:

If slumber, friend, too near, with some late glass should creep—
Dull, poppy-perfumed sleep—
If a too fumous wine confounds at length thy brain—
Take coffee then—this juice divine
Shall banish sleep and steam of vap'rous wine,
And with its timely aid fresh vigor thou shalt find.

Castel, in his poem, Les Plantes (The Plants) could not omit the coffee trees of the tropics. He thus addressed them in 1811:

Bright plants, the favorites of Phoebus,
In these climes the rarest virtues offer,
Delicious Mocha, thy sap, enchantress,
Awakens genius, outvalues Parnasse!

In a collection of the Songs of Brittany in the Brest library there are many stanzas in praise of coffee. A Breton poet has composed a little piece of ninety-six verses in which he describes the powerful attraction that coffee has for women and the possible effects on domestic happiness. The first time that coffee was used in Brittany, says an old song of that country, only the nobility drank it, and now all the common people are using it, yet the greater part of them have not even bread.

A French poet of the eighteenth century produced the following:

Lines on Coffee
Translation from the French

Good coffee is more than a savory cup,
Its aroma has power to dry liquor up.
By coffee you get upon leaving the table
A mind full of wisdom, thoughts lucid, nerves stable;
And odd tho' it be, 't is none the less true,
Coffee's aid to digestion permits dining anew.
And what 's very true, tho' few people know it,
Fine coffee 's the basis of every fine poet;
For many a writer as windy as Boreas
Has been vastly improved by the drink ever glorious.
Coffee brightens the dullness of heavy philosophy,
And opens the science of mighty geometry.
Our law-makers, too, when the nectar imbibing,
Plan wondrous reforms, quite beyond the describing;
The odor of coffee they delight in inhaling,
And promise the country to alter laws ailing.
From the brow of the scholar coffee chases the wrinkles,
And mirth in his eyes like a firefly twinkles;
And he, who before was but a hack of old Homer,
Becomes an original, and that 's no misnomer.
Observe the astronomer who 's straining his eyes
In watching the planets which soar thro' the skies;
Alas, all those bright bodies seem hopelessly far
Till coffee discloses his own guiding star.
But greatest of wonders that coffee effects
Is to aid the news-editor as he little expects;
Coffee whispers the secrets of hidden diplomacy,
Hints rumors of wars and of scandals so racy.
Inspiration by coffee must be nigh unto magic,
For it conjures up facts that are certainly tragic;
And for a few pennies, coffee's small price per cup,
"Ye editor's" able to swallow the Universe up.

Esménard celebrated Captain de Clieu's romantic voyage to Martinique with the coffee plants from the Jardin des Plantes, in some admirable verses quoted in chapter II.

Among other notable poetic flights in praise of coffee produced in France mention should be made of: "L'Elogé du Café" (Eulogy of Coffee) a song in twenty-four couplets, Paris, Jacques Estienne, 1711; Le Café (Coffee), a fragment from the fourth chant (song) of La Grandeur de Dieu dans les merveilles de la Nature (The Grandeur of God in the Wonders of Nature) Marseilles; Le Café, extract from the fourth gastronomic song, by Berchoux; "A Mon Café" (To My Coffee), stanzas written by Ducis; Le Café, anonymous stanzas inserted in the Macedoine Poetique, 1824; a poem in Latin in the Abbé Olivier's collection; Le Bouquet Blanc et le Bouquet Noir, poesie en quatre chants; Le Café, C.D. Mery, 1837; Elogé du Café, S. Melaye, 1852.

Many Italian poets have sung the praises of coffee. L. Barotti wrote his poem, Il Caffè in 1681. Giuseppe Parini (1729–1799), Italy's great satirical and lyric poet and critic of the eighteenth century, in Il Giorno (The Day), gives a delightful pen picture of the manners and customs of Milan's polite society of the period. William Dean Howells quotes as follows from these poems (his own translation) in his Modern Italian Poets. The feast is over, and the lady signals to the cavalier that it is time to leave the table:

Spring to thy feet
The first of all, and, drawing near thy lady,
Remove her chair and offer her thy hand,
And lead her to the other room, nor suffer longer
That the stale reek of viands shall offend
Her delicate sense. Thee with the rest invites
The grateful odor of the coffee, where
It smokes upon a smaller table hid
And graced with Indian webs. The redolent gums
That meanwhile burn, sweeten and purify
The heavy atmosphere, and banish thence
All lingering traces of the feast. Ye sick
And poor, whom misery or whom hope, perchance!
Has guided in the noonday to these doors.
Tumultuous, naked, and unsightly throng,
With mutilated limbs and squalid faces,
In litters and on crutches from afar
Comfort yourselves, and with expanded nostrils
Drink in the nectar of the feast divine
That favourable zephyrs waft to you;
But do not dare besiege these noble precincts,
Importunately offering her that reigns
Within your loathsome spectacle of woe!
And now, sir, 't is your office to prepare
The tiny cup that then shall minister,
Slow sipped, its liquor to thy lady's lips;
And now bethink thee whether she prefer
The boiling beverage much or little tempered
With sweet; or if, perchance, she likes it best,
As doth the barbarous spouse, then when she sits
Upon brocades of Persia, with light fingers,
The bearded visage of her lord caressing.

This is from Il Mezzogiorno (Noon). The other three poems, rounding out The Day, are Il Mattino (Morning), Il Vespre (Evening), and La Notte (Night). In Il Mattino, Parini sings:

Should dreary hypochondria's woes oppress thee,
Should round thy charming limbs in too great measure
Thy flesh increase, then with thy lips do honor
To that clear beverage, made from the well-bronzed,
The smoking, ardent beans Aleppo sends thee,
And distant Mocha too, a thousand ship-loads;
When slowly sipped it knows no rival.

Belli's Il Caffè supplies a partial bibliography of the Italian literature on coffee. There are many poems, some of them put to music. As late as 1921, there were published in Bologna some advertising verses on coffee by G.B. Zecchini with music by Cesare Cantino.

Pope Leo XIII, in his Horatian poem on Frugality composed in his eighty-eighth year, thus verses his appreciation of coffee:

Last comes the beverage of the Orient shore,
Mocha, far off, the fragrant berries bore.
Taste the dark fluid with a dainty lip,
Digestion waits on pleasure as you sip.

Peter Altenberg, a Vienna poet, thus celebrated the cafés of his native city:

To The Coffee House!

When you are worried, have trouble of one sort or another—to the coffee house!
When she did not keep her appointment, for one reason or other—to the coffee house!
When your shoes are torn and dilapidated—coffee house!
When your income is four hundred crowns and you spend five hundred—coffee house!
You are a chair warmer in some office, while your ambition led you to seek professional honors—coffee house!
You could not find a mate to suit you—coffee house!
You feel like committing suicide—coffee house!
You hate and despise human beings, and at the same time you can not be happy without them—coffee house!
You compose a poem which you can not inflict upon friends you meet in the street—coffee house!
When your coal scuttle is empty, and your gas ration exhausted—coffee house!
When you need money for cigarettes, you touch the head waiter in the—coffee house!
When you are locked out and haven't the money to pay for unlocking the house door—coffee house!
When you acquire a new flame, and intend provoking the old one, you take the new one to the old one's—coffee house!
When you feel like hiding you dive into a—coffee house!
When you want to be seen in a new suit—coffee house!
When you can not get anything on trust anywhere else—coffee house!

English poets from Milton to Keats celebrated coffee. Milton (1608–1674) in his Comus thus acclaimed the beverage:

One sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams.

Alexander Pope, poet and satirist (1688–1744), has the oft-quoted lines:

Coffee which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.

In Carruthers' Life of Pope, we read that this poet inhaled the steam of coffee in order to obtain relief from the headaches to which he was subject. We can well understand the inspiration which called forth from him the following lines when he was not yet twenty:

As long as Mocha's happy tree shall grow,
While berries crackle, or while mills shall go;
While smoking streams from silver spouts shall glide,
Or China's earth receive the sable tide,
While coffee shall to British nymphs be dear,
While fragrant steams the bended head shall cheer,
Or grateful bitters shall delight the taste,
So long her honors, name and praise shall last.

Pope's famous Rape of the Lock grew out of coffee-house gossip. The poem contains the passage on coffee already quoted:

For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crowned;
The berries crackle and the mill turns round;
On shining altars of Japan they raise
The silver lamp: the fiery spirits blaze:
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide,
While China's earth receives the smoking tide.
At once they gratify their scent and taste.
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast
Straight hover round the fair her airy band;
Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned:
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes displayed,
Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade.
Coffee (which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.)
Sent up in vapors to the baron's brain
New stratagems, the radiant lock to gain.

Pope often broke the slumbers of his servant at night by calling him to prepare a cup of coffee; but for regular serving, it was his custom to grind and to prepare it upon the table.

William Cowper's fine tribute to "the cups that cheer but not inebriate", a phrase which he is said to have borrowed from Bishop Berkeley, was addressed to tea and not to coffee, to which it has not infrequently been wrongfully attributed. It is one of the most pleasing pictures in The Task.

Cowper refers to coffee but once in his writings. In his Pity for Poor Africans he expresses himself as "shocked at the ignorance of slaves":

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see;
What! Give up our desserts, our coffee and tea?

thus contenting himself, like many others, with words of pity where more active protest might sacrifice his personal ease and comfort.

Leigh Hunt (1784–1859), and John Keats (1795–1834), were worshippers at the shrine of coffee; while Charles Lamb, famous poet, essayist, humorist, and critic, has celebrated in verse the exploit of Captain de Clieu in the following delightful verses:

The Coffee Slips

Whene'er I fragrant coffee drink,
I on the generous Frenchman think,
Whose noble perseverance bore
The tree to Martinico's shore.
While yet her colony was new,
Her island products but a few;
Two shoots from off a coffee tree
He carried with him o'er the sea.
Each little tender coffee slip
He waters daily in the ship.
And as he tends his embryo trees.
Feels he is raising 'midst the seas
Coffee groves, whose ample shade
Shall screen the dark Creolian maid.
But soon, alas! His darling pleasure
In watching this his precious treasure
Is like to fade—for water fails
On board the ship in which he sails.
Now all the reservoirs are shut.
The crew on short allowance put;
So small a drop is each man's share.
Few leavings you may think there are
To water these poor coffee plants—
But he supplies their grasping wants,
Even from his own dry parched lips
He spares it for his coffee slips.
Water he gives his nurslings first,
Ere he allays his own deep thirst,
Lest, if he first the water sip,
He bear too far his eager lip.
He sees them droop for want of more;
Yet when they reach the destined shore,
With pride the heroic gardener sees
A living sap still in his trees.
The islanders his praise resound;
Coffee plantations rise around;
And Martinico loads her ships
With produce from those dear-saved slips.

In John Keats' amusing fantasy, Cap and Bells, the Emperor Elfinan greets Hum, the great soothsayer, and offers him refreshment:

"You may have sherry in silver, hock in gold, or glass'd champagne
... what cup will you drain?"

"Commander of the Faithful!" answered Hum,
"In preference to these, I'll merely taste
A thimble-full of old Jamaica rum."
"A simple boon," said Elfinan; "thou mayst
Have Nantz, with which my morning coffee's laced."

But Hum accepts the glass of Nantz, without the coffee, "made racy with the third part of the least drop of crème de citron, crystal clear."

Numerous broadsides printed in London, 1660 to 1675, have been referred to in chapter X. Few of them possess real literary merit.

"Coffee and Crumpets" has been much quoted. It was published in Fraser's Magazine, in 1837. Its author calls himself "Launcelot Littledo". The poem is quite long, and only those portions are printed here that refer particularly to "Yemen's fragrant berry":

Coffee and Crumpets
By Launcelot Littledo of Pump Court, Temple, Barrister-at-law.

There's ten o'clock! From Hampstead to the Tower
The bells are chanting forth a lusty carol;
Wrangling, with iron tongues, about the hour,
Like fifty drunken fishwives at a quarrel;
Cautious policemen shun the coming shower;
Thompson and Fearon tap another barrel;
"Dissolve frigus, lignum super foco.
Large reponens." Now, come Orinoco!

To puff away an hour, and drink a cup,
A brimming breakfast-cup of ruddy Mocha—
Clear, luscious, dark, like eyes that lighten up
The raven hair, fair cheek, and bella boca
Of Florence maidens. I can never sup
Of perigourd, but (guai a chi la tocca!)
I'm doomed to indigestion. So to settle
This strife eternal,—Betty, bring the kettle!

Coffee! oh, Coffee! Faith, it is surprising.
'Mid all the poets, good, and bad, and worse.
Who've scribbled (Hock or Chian eulogizing)
Post and papyrus with "Immortal verse"—
Melodiously similitudinising
In Sapphics languid or Alcaics terse
No one, my little brown Arabian berry,.
Hath sung thy praises—'tis surprising! very!

Were I a poet now, whose ready rhymes.
Like Tommy Moore's, came tripping to their places—
Reeling along a merry troll of chimes,
With careless truth,—a dance of fuddled Graces;
Hear it—Gazette, Post, Herald, Standard, Times,
I'd write an epic! Coffee for its basis;
Sweet as e'er warbled forth from cockney throttles
Since Bob Montgomery's or Amos Cottle's.

Thou sleepy-eyed Chinese—enticing siren,
Pekoe! the Muse hath said in praise of thee,
"That cheers but not inebriates"; and Byron
Hath called thy sister "Queen of Tears", Bohea!
And he, Anacreon of Rome's age of iron,
Says, how untruly "Quis non potius te."
While coffee, thou—bill-plastered gables say,
Art like old Cupid, "roasted every day."

I love, upon a rainy night, as this is,
When rarely and more rare the coaches rattle
From street to street, to sip thy fragrant kisses;
While from the Strand remote some drunken battle
Far-faintly echoes, and the kettle hisses
Upon the glowing hob. No tittle-tattle
To make a single thought of mine an alien
From thee, my coffee-pot, my fount Castalian.

The many intervening verses cover an unhappy termination to an otherwise delightful ball. He is sitting with his charming "Mary", about to ask her to be his bride, when the unfortunate overturning of a glass of red wine into her white satin gown, at the same time overthrows all his dreams of bliss, "for the shrew displaces the angel he adored", and he resigns himself to the life of "a man in chambers."

'Tis thus I sit and sip, and sip and think.
And think and sip again, and dip in Fraser,
A health, King Oliver! to thee I drink:
Long may the public have thee to amaze her.
Like Figaro, thou makest one's eyelids wink,
Twirling on practised palm thy polished razor—
True Horace temper, smoothed on attic strop;
Ah! thou couldst "faire la barbe a tout l'Europe."

***

Come, Oliver, and tell us what the news is;
An easy chair awaits thee—come and fill 't.
Come, I invoke thee, as they do the muses,
And thou shalt choose thy tipple as thou wilt.
And if thy lips my sober cup refuses,
For ruddier drops the purple grape has spilt,
We can sing, sipping in alternate verses,
Thy drink and mine, like Corydon and Thyrsis.

***

Fill the bowl, but not with wine.
Potent port, or fiery sherry;
For this milder cup of mine
Crush me Yemen's fragrant berry.

***

Gentle is the grape's deep cluster,
But the wine's a wayward child;
Nectar this! of meeker lustre—
This the cup that "draws it mild."
Deeply drink its streams divine—
Fill the cup, but not with wine.

Prior and Montague inserted the following poetic vignette in their City Mouse and Country Mouse, written in burlesque of Dryden's Hind and Panther:

Then on they jogg'd; and since an hour of talk
Might cut a banter on the tedious walk,
As I remember, said the sober mouse,
I've heard much talk of the Wits' Coffee-house;
Thither, says Brindle, thou shalt go and see
Priests supping coffee, sparks and poets tea;
Here rugged frieze, there quality well drest,
These baffling the grand Senior, those the Test,
And there shrewd guesses made, and reasons given,
That human laws were never made in heaven;
But, above all, what shall oblige thy sight,
And fill thy eyeballs with a vast delight,
Is the poetic judge of sacred wit,
Who does i' th' darkness of his glory sit;
And as the moon who first receives the light,
With which she makes these nether regions bright,
So does he shine, reflecting from afar
The rays he borrowed from a better star;
For rules, which from Corneille and Rapin flow,
Admired by all the scribbling herd below,
From French tradition while he does dispense
Unerring truths, 't is schism, a damned offense,
To question his, or trust your private sense.

Geoffrey Sephton, an English poet and novelist, many years resident in Vienna, whose fantastic stories and fairy tales are well known in Europe, has written the following sonnets on coffee:

To the Mighty Monarch, King Kauhee[350]
By Geoffrey Sephton

I

Away with opiates! Tantalising snares
To dull the brain with phantoms that are not.
Let no such drugs the subtle senses rot
With visions stealing softly unawares
Into the chambers of the soul. Nightmares
Ride in their wake, the spirits to besot.
Seek surer means, to banish haunting cares:
Place on the board the steaming Coffee-pot!
O'er luscious fruit, dessert and sparkling flask,
Let proudly rule as King the Great Kauhee,
For he gives joy divine to all that ask,
Together with his spouse, sweet Eau de Vie
Oh, let us 'neath his sovran pleasure bask.
Come, raise the fragrant cup and bend the knee!

II

O great Kauhee, thou democratic Lord,
Born 'neath the tropic sun and bronzed to splendour
In lands of Wealth and Wisdom, who can render
Such service to the wandering Human Horde
As thou at every proud or humble board?
Beside the honest workman's homely fender,
'Mid dainty dames and damsels sweetly tender,
In china, gold and silver, have we poured
Thy praise and sweetness, Oriental King.
Oh, how we love to hear the kettle sing
In joy at thy approach, embodying
The bitter, sweet and creamy sides of life;
Friend of the People, Enemy of Strife,
Sons of the Earth have born thee labouring.

In America, too, poets have sung in praise of coffee. The somewhat doubtful "kind that mother used to make" is celebrated in James Whitcomb Riley's classic poem:

Like His Mother Used To Make[351]
"Uncle Jake's Place," St. Jo., Mo., 1874.

"I was born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim,
As us fellers in the restaurant was kindo' guyin' him,
And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another punkin pie
And a' extry cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye—
"I was born in Indiany—more'n forty years ago—
And I hain't ben back in twenty—and I'm work-in' back'ards slow;
But I've et in ever' restarunt twixt here and Santy Fee,
And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittin' home, to me!"
"Pour us out another. Daddy," says the feller, warmin' up,
A-speakin' crost a saucerful, as Uncle tuk his cup—
"When I see yer sign out yander," he went on, to Uncle Jake—
"'Come in and git some coffee like yer mother used to make'—
I thought of my old mother, and the Posey county farm,
And me a little kid again, a-hangin' in her arm,
As she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs and poured 'em in"—
And the feller kindo' halted, with a trimble in his chin;
And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood
As solemn, fer a minute, as a' undertaker would;
Then he sorto' turned and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen door—and next,
Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs—
And she rushes fer the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him!—
Thank God we've met him comin'!—Don't you know yer mother, Jim?"
And the feller, as he grabbed her, says,—"You bet I hain't forgot—
But," wipin' of his eyes, says he, "yer coffee's mighty hot!"

One of the most delightful coffee poems in English is Francis Saltus' (d. 1889) sonnet on "the voluptuous berry", as found in Flasks and Flagons:

Coffee

Voluptuous berry! Where may mortals find
Nectars divine that can with thee compare,
When, having dined, we sip thy essence rare,
And feel towards wit and repartee inclined?

Thou wert of sneering, cynical Voltaire,
The only friend; thy power urged Balzac's mind
To glorious effort; surely Heaven designed
Thy devotees superior joys to share.

Whene'er I breathe thy fumes, 'mid Summer stars,
The Orient's splendent pomps my vision greet.
Damascus, with its myriad minarets, gleams!
I see thee, smoking, in immense bazaars,
Or yet, in dim seraglios, at the feet
Of blond Sultanas, pale with amorous dreams!

Arthur Gray, in Over the Black Coffee (1902) has made the following contribution to the poetry of coffee, with an unfortunate reflection on tea, which might well have been omitted:

Coffee

O, boiling, bubbling, berry, bean!
Thou consort of the kitchen queen—
Browned and ground of every feature,
The only aromatic creature,
For which we long, for which we feel,
The breath of morn, the perfumed meal.

For what is tea? It can but mean,
Merely the mildest go-between.
Insipid sobriety of thought and mind
It "cuts no figure"—we can find—
Save peaceful essays, gentle walks,
Purring cats, old ladies' talks—

But coffee! can other tales unfold.
Its history's written round and bold—
Brave buccaneers upon the "Spanish Main",
The army's march across the lenght'ning plain,
The lone prospector wandering o'er the hill,
The hunter's camp, thy fragrance all distill.

So here's a health to coffee! Coffee hot!
A morning toast! Bring on another pot.

The Tea and Coffee Trade Journal published in 1909 the following excellent stanzas by William A. Price:

An Ode to Coffee

Oh, thou most fragrant, aromatic joy, impugned, abused, and often stormed against,
And yet containing all the blissfulness that in a tiny cup could be condensed!
Give thy contemners calm, imperial scorn—
For thou wilt reign through ages yet unborn!

Some ancient Arab, so the legend tells, first found thee—may his memory be blest!
The world-wide sign of brotherhood today, the binding tie between the East and West!
Good coffee pleases in a Persian dell,
And Blackfeet Indians make it more than well.

The lonely traveler in the desert range, if thou art with him, smiles at eventide—
The sailor, as thy perfume bubbles forth, laughs at the ocean as it rages wide—
And where the camps of fighting men are found
Thy fragrance hovers o'er each battleground.

"Use, not abuse, the good things of this life"—that is a motto from the Prophet's days,
And, dealing with thee thus, we ne'er shall come to troublous times or parting of the ways.
Comfort and solace both endure with thee,
Rich, royal berry of the coffee tree!

The New York Tribune published in 1915 the following lines by Louis Untermeyer, which were subsequently included in his "—— and Other Poets."[352]

Gilbert K. Chesterton Rises to the Toast of Coffee

Strong wine it is a mocker; strong wine it is a beast.
It grips you when it starts to rise; it is the Fabled Yeast.
You should not offer ale or beer from hops that are freshly picked,
Nor even Benedictine to tempt a benedict.
For wine has a spell like the lure of hell, and the devil has mixed the brew;
And the friends of ale are a sort of pale and weary, witless crew—
And the taste of beer is a sort of a queer and undecided brown—
But, comrades, I give you coffee—drink it up, drink it down.
With a fol-de-rol-dol and a fol-de-rol-dee, etc.

Oh, cocoa's the drink for an elderly don who lives with an elderly niece;
And tea is the drink for studios and loud and violent peace—
And brandy's the drink that spoils the clothes when the bottle breaks in the trunk;
But coffee's the drink that is drunken by men who will never be drunk.
So, gentlemen, up with the festive cup, where Mocha and Java unite;
It clears the head when things are said too brilliant to be bright!
It keeps the stars from the golden bars and the lips of the tipsy town;
So, here's to strong, black coffee—drink it up, drink it down!
With a fol-de-rol-dol and a fol-de-rol-dee, etc.

The American breakfast cup is celebrated in up-to-date American style in the following by Helen Rowland in the New York Evening World:

What Every Wife Knows

Give me a man who drinks good, hot, dark, strong coffee for breakfast!
A man who smokes a good, dark, fat cigar after dinner!
You may marry your milk-faddist, or your anti-coffee crank, as you will!
But I know the magic of the coffee pot!
Let me make my Husband's coffee—and I care not who makes eyes at him!
Give me two matches a day—
One to start the coffee with, at breakfast, and one for his cigar, after dinner!
And I defy all the houris in Christendom to light a new flame in his heart!

Oh, sweet supernal coffee-pot!
Gentle panacea of domestic troubles,
Faithful author of that sweet nepenthe which deadens all the ills that married folks are heir to.
Cheery, glittering, soul-soothing, warmed hearted, inanimate friend!
What wife can fail to admit the peace and serenity she owes to you?
To you, who stand between her and all her early morning troubles—
Between her and the before-breakfast grouch—
Between her and the morning-after headache—
Between her and the cold-gray-dawn scrutiny?
To you, who supply the golden nectar that stimulates the jaded masculine soul,
Soothes the shaky masculine nerves, stirs the fagged masculine mind, inspires the slow masculine sentiment,
And starts the sluggish blood a-flowing and the whole day right!

What is it, I ask you, when he comes down to breakfast dry of mouth, and touchy of temper—
That gives him pause, and silences that scintillating barb of sarcasm on the tip of his tongue,
With which he meant to impale you?
It is the sweet aroma of the coffee-pot—the thrilling thought of that first delicious sip!

What is it, on the morning after the club dance,
That hides your weary, little, washed-out face and straggling, uncurled coiffure from his critical eyes?
It is the generous coffee-pot, standing like a guardian angel between you and him!
And in those many vital psychological moments, during the honeymoon, which decide for or against the romance and happiness of all the rest of married life—
Those critical before-breakfast moments when temperament meets temperament, and will meets "won't"—
What is it that halts you on the brink of tragedy,
And distracts you from the temptation to answer back?
It is the absorbing anxiety of watching the coffee boil!
What is it that warms his veins and soothes your nerves,
And turns all the world suddenly from a dismal gray vale of disappointment to a bright rosy garden of hope—
And starts another day gliding smoothly along like a new motor car?
What is it that will do more to transform a man from a fiend into an angel than baptism in the River Jordan?
It is the first cup of coffee in the morning!