From The Inns of Greece & Rome, and a history of Hospitality from the Dawn of Time to the Middle Ages, by W. C. Firebaugh, with an Introduction by Wallace Rice and Illustrations by Norman Lindsay, Chicago: Pascal Covici; 1928; pp. 1-17.




Inns and Taverns of Antiquity — A Nation’s Inns an index to its roads and methods of transportation — Inns of the great routes of Egypt — Beer a National beverage — Vintage Wines in the time of Rameses — Tavern Songs — Drinking and conviviality among students — Method of making wine — Cabarets of Alexandria — Athenaeus the glutton — Drunkenness among women — Juvenal’s accounts of the debaucheries of the Egyptians.

One whose habits of mind prompt him to seek diversion amongst company more select than that brought together by chance in some inn or tavern may deem such a subject unworthy of consideration and may even find fault with the writer for presuming to invite him upon such a ramble, for it will be a ramble, and along the little known byways of culture. In fact, a history of hospitality can not be less than a contribution to the most interesting chapter in anthropology: the chapter which deals with Survivals in Culture. Let us then remind him of the cellar of the Auerbachs, and the legends which have grown up around it: the ventas and posadas of the Spain of Cervantes, of many an enchanting passage in the Letters of James Howell, of the Wild Boar’s Head kept by Mrs. Hurtig, in Eastcheap, of the Tabard Inne of Chaucer, and last, but not least, of the Mermaid Tavern, where Ben Jonson gained inspiration for much of his finest work!

The inns and taverns of antiquity were not lacking in scenes which deserve to be reanimate and preserved. It is true that such establishments occupied a lowly station 2 and that the calling of the innkeeper was looked down upon, and even despised, but fortunately, the subject has an interest aside from the poetic, an interest which justifies the most minute treatment in detail. The nature of this interest will begin to make itself felt when we give thought to our inns and palatial hotels and the condition which brought about such development. The institutions of our day fill a double purpose; they minister to the comforts and needs of their patrons, they cater to the amusement and social needs of the pubic. That interchange of ideas which, more than any other factor, has refined and broadened civilization, and contributed to refinement in taste and standards of comfort, has its origin in three primary causes: wars of conquest, travel and commerce, and the last named has contributed more than the other two. The greatest progress in the modern world has been made in the direction of overcoming space, whether by telephone, airplane, ocean greyhound, or luxurious transcontinental trains, and the impetus behind all these is commerce.

If, then, we examine the public houses of the ancients with closer attention, is it not in fact the same as though we were to dissect their civilization for purposes of contrast with our own?

Are not a nation’s inns an index to its roads and methods of transportation, as well as a true reflection of the national character?

With this in mind we shall collect the scattered notices upon the subject and attempt to bring it together into a connected whole. For the present, we shall devote our principal efforts to the inns and taverns of Egypt, the Levant, Greece, and Rome; though in the future we hope to pursue the subject through the Dark Ages, and deal with the refectories and monastic orders which took upon themselves the burden which a dying commerce could no 3 longer support. The growth of gilds in France, Italy, the Low Countries, and England slowly rehabilitated commerce and the monastic orders were gradually relieved of their burden as we reach the age of Chaucer.

With the most primitive ages we have no concern, for where traffic and commerce do not exist, where individuals do not travel, and the wild hordes wandering in search of spoil and pasturage are the only wayfarers, there is no necessity for an inn.

The Heroic Age, however, furnishes us with an entirely different picture and one infinitely more beautiful and agreeable. Following an age of chaotic social relations we are confronted with a rude culture which finds its closest parallel in the writings of the Old Testament, It has been well said that the two great literary works which bear the closest resemblance to one another are the works of Homer and the Old Testament. This, on its face, is a startling assertion, but a little reflection will make the conviction stronger. These two collections of writings are emphatically the productions of two opposed civilizations which had progressed to about the same stage of development. In both we have wars and rapine; both are largely poetic and poetry is older than prose as a literary medium. In both we find a realistic description of practically the entire circle of life down to its smallest details: might begins to yield the palm to wisdom and guile, but hospitality is still a duty and an obligation. Even in that age individual traveling was by no means common. Save in the instances of Egypt, Tyre, and Sidon, and probably Cnossos, commercial intercourse was of little importance: it was carried on almost exclusively upon the water and at its best was but little removed from piracy. The urge to go out into the world to gain knowledge, that divine dissatisfaction from which all progress comes and which, in the ages to follow, was to inspire the works of Herodotus 4 and Rutilius, had not yet awakened. A few, perhaps, visited relatives or friends living near at hand, or some vagrant may have fled from the scene of his crime of passion. Yet even in that age, and before it, we know of the sack of Cnossos, and read of the wanderings of Ulysses. He, however, was an unwilling traveler and was driven by powers beyond his control.

In the early heroic age there were no special establishments designed to profit from the necessities of strangers. An arrangement nobler and more beautiful served as a substitute, and a general hospitality, founded upon religion, custom, and obligation, was practised.

Taking our subject in order, we will begin with Egypt, whose monuments have preserved more than one scene in wine-shop and tavern, and whose festivals are the very stuff of which the present hospitality (purissimae impuritatis) was made.

“No people,” says Brugsch, in his Historie d’Egypt, “could be gayer, more lively, or of more childish simplicity, than those old Egyptians who loved life with all their hearts and found the deepest joy in their very existence. Everybody was fond of enjoyment, sang, drank, danced, and made excursions into the country.”

“They loved the flowing cup when work was done,” remarks Arnold, in his History of Beer and Brewing,” and perhaps, sometimes, when work was not yet done. Thus the hieroglyphics tell us, and thus, too, do their ancient literature, their imperishable monuments, their inscriptions, their papyri, nay, even their temples and their tombs.”

“Beer was the national beverage of the Egyptians, and it was perhaps with them first of all, prior to the Babylonians and Assyrians, that barley was grown and beer made. Beer was as intimately interwoven with Egyptian life as it is with that of any modern European country 5 where the vine is not grown in abundance. Four thousand years ago the Egyptian peasant and landowner drank it, as did the craftsman, the soldier, the merchant, the priest, and the king. They brewed beer and they drank beer down to the very last of the Pharaohs, under the Ptolemies, as under the Roman rule. Even today, the poverty-stricken fellah drinks his old fashioned Egyptian beer, just as his ancestors did under Senefru or Thothmes, or Rameses, and he is still bearing the same yoke they did, thousands of years ago, and as much imposed upon and as much tyrannized over as they were. But he does not alone DRINK his beer in the same fashion, HE ALSO MAKES IT IN THE SAME WAY.”

Maspero, in his “Sketch from Life in an Ancient Egyptian City,” has combined and condensed an immense amount of material from original sources into a connected and lucid description which we hasten to quote:

The scene is probably laid in some Egyptian city of the New Empire, circa 1300 B. C., in the time of Rameses II. In our wanderings through the streets of this city we come at length to a beer-house or tavern.

“The reception-room has been freshly lime washed,” says Maspero. “It is furnished with mats, stools, and armchairs, upon which the habitual customers sit side by side, fraternally drinking beer, wine, palm brandy (shodu), cooked and perfumed liquors, which would probably seem detestable to us, but for which the Egyptians display a strong taste. The wine is preserved in large amphorae, pitched outside, and closed with a wooden or clay stopper, over which some mud is laid, painted blue and then stamped with the name of the owner or the reigning Pharaoh. An inscription in ink, traced upon the jar, indicates the origin and the exact date of the wine: THE YEAR XXIII, IMPORTED WINE; THE YEAR XIX, WINE OF BOUTO, and so on.

Black and white pen and ink drawing by Norman Lindsay, of a standing man in a tunic, talking to another man, who is seated at a table with a candlestick, plate and cup on it.



“There is wine of every variety, white and red; wine from Mareotis, wine from Pelusium, wine of the Star of Horus, Master of Heaven, native growths from the oases, wines of Syene, without counting the wines of Ethiopia, nor the golden wines which the Phoenician galleys bring from Syria.

“Beer has always been the favorite beverage of the people. It is made in a mash-tub of barley steeped in water, and raised by fermented crumbs of bread. When freshly made it is soft and pleasant to the taste, but it is easily disturbed and soon turns sour. Most of the vinegar used in Egypt is made from beer. This defect is obviated by adding an infusion of lupine (?) to the beer, which gives it a certain bitterness and preserves it.

“Sweet beer, iron beer, sparkling beer, spiced beer, perfumed beer . . .  cold or hot, beer of thick, sticky millet like that prepared in Nubia and amongst the negroes of the Upper Nile. The beer-houses contain stores of as many varieties of beer as of different qualities of wine.

“If you enter, you are scarcely seated before a slave or a maid-servant hastens forward and accosts you: ‘Drink unto rapture, let it be a good day, listen to the conversation of thy companions and enjoy thyself.’ Every moment the invitation is renewed: ‘Drink, do not turn away, for I will not leave thee until thou hast drunk.’ The formula changes, but the refrain is always the same . . . drink, drink, and again, drink. The regular customers do not hesitate to reply to these invitations by jokes, usually of the most innocent kind: ‘Come now, bring me eighteen cups of wine with thine own hand. I will drink till I am happy, and the mat under me is a good straw bed upon which I can sleep myself sober.” (The remarks of the drinkers are taken from a scene of a funeral meal in the tomb of Ranni, at El-Keb. I have paraphrased them to make them intelligible to modern readers.)


They discuss together the different effects produced by wine and beer. The wine enlivens and produces benevolence and tenderness; beer makes men dull, stupefies them, and renders them liable to fall into brutal rages. A man tipsy from wine falls on his face, but anyone intoxicated by beer falls and lies on his back. The moralists reprove the excesses, and cannot find words strong enough to express the danger of them. “Wine first loosens the tongue of man, even wresting from him dangerous words, and afterwards it prostrates him, so that he is no longer capable of defending his own interests. Do not, therefore, forget thyself in breweries; be afraid that words may come back to thee that thou hast uttered without knowing that thou hast spoken. When at last thou fallest, thy limbs failing thee, no one will help thee, thy boon companions will leave thee, saying: ‘beware of him, he is a drunkard!’ Then, when thou art wanted for business, thou art found prone upon the earth, like a little child. Young men especially should avoid this shameful vice, for beer destroys their souls. He that abandons himself to drink is like an oar broken from its fastening, which no longer obeys on either side; he is like a chapel without its god, like a house without bread, in which the wall is wavering and the beam shaking. The people that he meets in the street turn away from him, for he throws mud and hoots after them until the police interfere and carry him away to regain his senses in prison.”*

Thus has Maspero given us an intimate picture of Egyptian life under Rameses II, enabling us to glance back over the centuries.

We shall probably be greeted with song and laughter in the next tavern we enter. The company will be jolly and bent on festivities and both string and wind instruments will contribute to the occasion. While we are catching up with the rest of the party and sampling the 8 stock in trade, singers will entertain us with something like the following:

Let sweet odors and oils be placed for thy nostrils,
Wreaths of lotos flowers for thy limbs
And for the bosom of thy sister (mistress), dwelling in thy heart,
Sitting beside thee.
Let song and music be made before thee.
Cast behind thee all cares and mind thee of pleasure,
Till cometh the day when we draw towards the land
That loveth silence.1

The Horatian philosophy of Carpe Diem was thus not original with the Augustan. Why should they not make merry:

“Whether your term of life drags on in sorrow,
  Or in some grassy nook you forget tomorrow,
  Dallying and idling at your leisure
  Wooing with Falernian your pleasure,
  While Youth and Fortune grant you power,
  While yet the Sisters’ thread endure. . . . 

and the Egyptian, fatalist and almost Epicurean, withal, goes on to say:

For no one can take away his goods with him,
Yea, no one returns again who has gone hence.2

Every now and then there is mention of students’ private drinking bouts with doubtless all the concomitants of a successful party, for it was not the Egyptian custom to deprive the women of the social indulgences in which the men took such delight. Abstemiousness was no part of the creed of Egyptian womanhood, as is easily seen from tomb decorations, frescoes, contemporary literature, and the like, and the gilded youth of the day took its pleasures where it found them even as 9 our own today. In proof of this statement we have the evidence of a letter written by some teacher or tutor to his pupil who “did forsake his books,” and “did wander from street to street.”

Thou art caught as thou dost climb upon walls,
And dost break the plank,
The people flee from thee,
And thou dost strike and wound them.”3

Yes, even in that dark age the college boys were enlightened enough to have acquired a taste for beer, wine, palm brandy, or other ardent spirits: “every evening, the smell of beer, the smell of beer (that) drives men away.” Our rah-rah boy of long ago was also “instructed how to sing to the flute, to give a monologue to the accompaniment of the pipe, to intone the lure, to sing to the harp.”

Another budding genius who probably found the cost of high living totally out of all proportion to the allowance granted him by his father, is advised by that worthy man “to content himself with two jugs of beer and three loaves of bread.”4

Nor are drinking and conviviality the only subjects allied to hospitality upon which antiquity has commented. As there was a cause, so also was there an effect and we learn quite a little about that famous “pulling of the hair,” that morning-after-the-night-before feeling. The Egyptians used a very simple and popular remedy to cure it; a remedy which, since the discovery of the bromide pick-me-up, has become obsolete in the so-called western civilizations, but one which the writer has often used when the guests of some Chinese mandarin were a trifle heavy and lumpy in spots after undergoing a 10 course of sprouts at the august table. Athenaeus also mentions the same specific, and the English translator of his work has put the verses into English rhyme:

Last evening you were drinking deep,
So now your head aches, go to sleep;
Take some boiled cabbage, when you wake
And there’s an end of your headache.

And, fortifying his position still further, he runs on, “and Eubulus says, somewhere or other,”

Quick wife! Some cabbage boil of virtues healing,
That I may rid me of this seedy feeling.

Some idea of the amount of wine ad beer available in Egypt (its population probably did not exceed some seven and one-half millions) may be gained from the Great Harris Papyrus, a document one hundred and thirty-feet in length, in which are recorded the endowments of Rameses III, during a reign of about thirty-one years. The amounts of wine and beer granted by him to the temples were:

Jars of wine...............256,460
Jugs of beer...............466,303

The capacity of the beer jugs is not known to us, but, judging by their bulk in proportion to the human figures in the frescoes, they must have held more than one gallon, and we thus arrive at the conclusion that the average annual contribution of beer for sacrificial purposes was about fifteen thousand gallons, and, of wine, probably about nine thousand five hundred gallons. Nor should we assume that these beer and wine endowments were in the form of a levy upon the people. They probably came direct from the royal treasury and are set down as regular expenses for the sacrificial fund. “There can be no doubt that the department for the management of 11 the royal domains, that is, in this case, the royal brewery, made the beer.”5

From what has gone before we can infer that the taverns of old Egypt were no less popular there than elsewhere, and we have the testimony of Strabo, the geographer, to the conditions which in his day prevailed at Canopus.

“They sail by this canal to Schedia,” says mine author, “to the great river, and to Canopus, but the first place at which they arrive is Eleusis. This is a settlement near Alexandreia and Nicopolis, and situate on the Canopic Canal. It has houses of entertainment which command beautiful views, and hither resort men and women who are inclined to indulge in noisy revelry, a prelude to Canopic life, and the dissolute manners of the people of Canopus.”6

Nor is this the only passage in which Strabo makes mention of the taverns and cabarets of that joyous clime:

“But remarkable above everything else is the multitude of persons who resort to the public festivals, and come from Alexandreia by the Canal. For day and night there are crowds of men and women in boats, singing and dancing without restraint, and with utmost licentiousness. Others, at Canopus itself, keep hostelries, situated on the banks of the Canal, which are well adapted for such kinds of diversions and revelry.”7

The theory of decantation as a preservative and ripener was well known to the Egyptians, who taught it to the Hebrews. According to Strabo the Mareotic vintage was very highly esteemed after having ripened and aged, the process being aided by decantation. The Egyptians had several methods of pressing the grapes. 12 Sometimes they trod them under foot in stone troughs but their more general practice seems to have been as follows: they would weave an osier weir, enclose the grapes therein, as though in a hammock of fine meshed net, and then have recourse to torsion by means of bars to press the juice and permit it to flow into a vessel placed to receive it. Wilkerson has produced a bas-relief in which this process is illustrated.

In the age of the Ptolemies, wine had come to be regarded as one of the sources of wealth and one of the glories of that sensual land. Athenaeus has transmitted much information concerning the vintages, indicating their respective claims to excellence, their bouquet, taste, and so on. That of Coptos is light and an aid to digestion, and was prescribed to patients with fevers. The Mareotic was an excellent white wine, with an exquisite bouquet, diuretic, and as it destroyed neither co-ordination nor lucidity, it was little likely to give one that morning-after-the-night-before feeling. Another there is called by some Alexandrine the best, but the finest of all was the wine which was produced on that tongue of land between the sea and the lake, which was called the Taeniotic, the ne plus ultra of the Egyptian wines, and it was of a dark yellow color.

Athenaeus, always the glutton whom he professes to be, omits, nevertheless, a number of vintages which ought to be included. Far be it from us to reproach him for having omitted to mention the wine of Libya, a detestable beverage which the proletariat at Alexandria drank and guzzled whenever anything but water or beer came its way. “It is bad,” says Strabo. “One is likely to discover more sea water than wine in one of those casks, which, along with their beer, is the drink of the commoners at Alexandria.” One is reminded of the smuggling conventions 13 on the China coast, when, if one were to substitute counterfeit coin on the Chinese bootlegger who was good enough to supply the needs of the enlisted personnel of the Navy, his successor was certain to have as many bottles of sea water as there were counterfeit coins in the original order. And this, at five Mexican dollars per head, notwithstanding the peril of hauling such contraband cargo up the side of white ship with a white pack thread, there was always the danger that some officious officer might look overside and beat the bottle to its destination before the prospective owner could cache it and himself. But the elegant gastronomer and refined host and entertainer should not have failed to mention the Sebennytici vini which were derived from the mixture and blending of the juices of three different grapes, whose slips came from there different parts of Greece, and which the gluttons at Rome set such store by.

“The Sebennytici,” says Pliny, “come from three varieties of grapes called Thasian, Oethalus, and Peuce.” It would only be just, then, should Athenaeus, in speaking of the wine that abounded under the name of Arsinoite, and which came from the oasis of that name, to pay tribute to it. Lastly, Athenaeus, in editing his list of the wines of Egypt, should not have passed over in silence the wine of Meroe, which is often confounded with Mareotic, its pale rival, more especially as Lucan, in a passage no less bombastic than eloquent, has taken the trouble to distinguish between these two exquisite vintages. The passage occurs in his description of the banquet of Caesar and Cleopatra, and is one of the finer points in Egyptian wine making:

“Many birds and wild beasts did they set before them, the Gods of Egypt; and crystal supplied the water of the Nile for their hands, and capacious bowls studded with gems received the wine, but not of the grape of Mareotis, 14 but noble Falernian, to which, in a few years, Meroe had imparted maturity, compelling it, otherwise full of maturity, to ferment.”8

The immoderate thirst of the drunkards of Egypt could not have been assuaged by anything short of that abundance of liquors of exquisite savor, nor could the unbridled passion for drunkenness which the women manifested have been sated otherwise. The bas-reliefs and tombs furnish peremptory evidence of this devouring passion, and, among a host, one illustration is often cited, in which two women are represented, one of them paying her dues to nature, being full of drink, while the other holds her head and renders her kind service. The orgies of Memphis and Alexandreia have been perpetuated by pictorial art as well as by literature, and the scenes in Pierre Louys’ Aphrodite are by no means an exaggeration. On the contrary, they are well within the limits of art and are, if anything, less than realistic. A slave, holding a basin whilst her mistress discharges the bile from a stomach which can endure no more, is also an illustration well known to the Egyptologist, and in still another bas-relief we see two slaves supporting their master, who is dead drunk, on his precarious voyage home from the commessatio. Joseph, therefore, had reason on his side when he remarked that of all people in the world, the Egyptians were the most debauched, and there is little of hyperbole in the statements of Strabo, quoted above, or in the terrible passage from Juvenal which follows. A passage that seethes with energy and contempt, with sarcasm and satire, a banquet at Tentyra or Canopus or Ombi, the brawling and fighting which are the inevitable sequelae, more especially when the same city limits contained the revelers and their enemies. The passage occurs in Satire XV, lines 33 to 83.§


“Between the neighboring towns of Ombi and Tentrya there burns an ancient and long cherished feud and undying hatred, whose wounds are not to be healed. Each people is filled with fury against the other because each hates his neighbors’ gods, deeming that none can be held as deities save its own. So when one of these peoples held a feast, the chiefs and leaders of their enemies thought good to seize the occasion, so that their foe might not enjoy a glad and merry day, with the delight of grand banquets, with tables set out at every temple and every crossroad, and with night-long feasts, and with couches spread all day and all night, and sometimes discovered by the sun on the seventh morn. Egypt doubtless is a rude country, but in indulgence, as far as I myself have noted, its barbarous rabble yields not to the ill-famed Canopus. Victory, too, would be easy, it was thought, over men steeped in wine, stuttering and stumbling in their cups. On the one side were men dancing to a swarthy piper, with unguents, such as they were, and flowers and chaplets on their heads; on the other side a ravenous hate. First come loud words as preludes to the fray; these serve as a trumpet to arouse their hot passions; then, shout answering shout, they charge. Bare hands do the fell work of war. Scarce a cheek is left without a gash; scarce one nose, if any, comes out of the battle unbroken. Through all the ranks might be seen battered faces, and features other than they were; bones gaping through torn cheeks, and fists dripping with blood from eyes. Yet the combatants deem themselves at play and waging a boyish warfare because there are no corpses to trample. What avails a mob of so many thousand warriors if no lives be lost? So, fiercer and fiercer grows the fight; now they search the ground for stones, the natural weapons of civic strife, and hurl them with bended arms against the foe; not such stones as Turnus or Ajax flung, or like that with 16 which the son of Tydeus struck Aeneas on the hip, but such as may be cast by hands unlike to theirs, and born in these days of ours. For even in Homer’s day the race of man was on the wane; earth now produces nothing but weak and wicked men that provoke such gods as see them to laughter and loathing.

“To come back from our digression, the one side, reinforced, boldly draws the sword, and attacks with a shower of arrows; the dwellers in the shady palm groves of the neighboring Tentyra turn their backs in headlong flight before the Ombite charge. Hereupon, one of them, overafraid and hurrying, tripped and was caught; the conquering host cup up his body into scraps and morsels, that one dead man might suffice for everyone, and devoured it, bones and all. There was no stewing of it in boiling pots, no roasting upon spits — so slow and tedious they thought it to wait for a fire that they contented themselves with the corpse uncooked.”

Wine, however, not only intervened in the affairs of the Egyptians and Hebrews, Phoenicians and Assyrians, to arouse them to violence and cause such bloody affairs as that described above, it also played an important part in the settlement of disputes and business difficulties everywhere. It was one of the principal sinews of commerce and credit though all antiquity, and, incidentally, the one means by which a contract was sometimes concluded. Among the Romans, and among our own forefathers of the Middle Ages, no affair of importance was disposed of without taking a drink upon it, and it is so today, in the countries still fortunate enough to be free from the propaganda of zealots and bigoted reformers, whether it be the little intrigue of some artizan or the vital concern of some cabinet minister, whether the pledge be red zinfandel or some rare brandy, the ratification (rata fiat) is never complete without this last formality. 17 And it was the same amongst the Phoenicians, and after them with the Hebrews, for they derived many of their business usages from the merchant princes of Tyre and Sidon. When a bargain had been struck, and a satisfactory understanding reached they shook hands, and ordered a drink called “Chopen,” that is to say, metaphorically, the wine of the land, to drink to celebrate the treaty. The French word chopine is said to have come from this custom. It is not impossible, but it is certainly very ingenious, if true, or, in our newspaper parlance, interesting if true.

We have said above that beer was the drink most in demand in Egypt, and Diodorus Siculus has credited Osiris with the invention of it. “Wherever a country did not permit the culture of the vine, there he (Osiris) taught the people how to brew the beverage which is made of barley, and which is not greatly inferior to wine in odor and potency.”9


 1  Duemichen, Hist. Insc. II, 40.

 2  Harris 500 Pap. Maspero Etud. Egypt. I.

 3  Pap. Anastasi, in Sel. Papyri.

 4  Sallier Papyri.

 5  Arnold, supra cit. p. 77.

 6  Lib. XVII, Chap. I, No. 16.

 7  Lib. XVII, Chap. I, No. 17.

 8  Pharsalia, Lib. X, 159-165.

 9  Lib. I, 20.

Elf.Ed Notes.

 *  This is an exact quote, not translated by Firebaugh as implied, but plagiarized from the anonymous translator of Maspero, in Life in Ancient Egypt and Assyria, from the French of G. Maspéro, New York: D. Appleton and Company; 1895, pp. 29 sqq.

   This, and the next translations of Egyptian verse are not Firebaugh’s translation or due to his research reading the papyri cited, but taken exactly from from Life in Ancient Egypt, described by Adolph Erman and translated by H. M. Tirard, London: Macmillan and Co.; 1894.

   Yonge is the English translator of Athenaeus he fails to fully credit. The quotes are from The Deipnosophists or The Banquet of the Learned, of Athenaeus, literally translated by C. D. Yonge, Volume I, London: Henry G. Bohn, 1854.

 §  This, too, is not Firebaugh’s translation. It is the English translation by G. G. Ramsay, which is on Roger Pearse's site, Juvenal, Satire 15. The only difference is the Americanization of the spelling, as “neighbouring” to “neighboring.”