With us generally the fault is the other way, and our Amphitryons 'lay on' the beverage too freely, which is also, though not equally, a mistake, for the best champagne when drunk pure, cloys upon the palate sooner than any other wine.

Just what makes that little old ant / Think he'll move a big rubber plant? / Anyone knows an ant can't / Move a rubber tree plant / But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes / he's got high apple pie, in the sky hopes[…]

It opens his designs to his family, it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity and warm prepossession.

[A] long and affectionate embrace supplied the place of language in bidding each other adieu; …