According to Stoddard, a little group at one time during this period headed by Taylor delighted to meet on certain ambrosial nights to dissipate in poetic composition, in deliberate burlesquings and parodyings and imitatings of the various poets […]

He vaunts his voice upon an hired stage, With high-set steps and princely carriage, Now souping in side robes of royalty.

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“Well, let's hope you're right, darling. In the meantime,” said Kipper, “if I don't get that whisky-and-soda soon, I shall disintegrate. Would you mind if I went in search of it, Mrs Travers?” “It's the very thing I was about to suggest myself. Dash along and drink your fill, my unhappy young stag at eve.” “I'm feeling rather like a restorative, too,” said Bobbie. “Me also,” I said, swept along on the tide of the popular movement. “Though I would advise,” I said, when we were outside, “making it port. More authority. We'll look in on Swordfish. He will provide.” We found Pop Glossop in his pantry polishing silver, and put in our order. He seemed a little surprised at the inrush of such a multitude, but on learning that our tongues were hanging out obliged with a bottle of the best …