It has only one fault—that you can't drink enough
At a draught, for the fumes seem to fizz up one's nose,
And dispute with your breath for the passage like foes."
Thus spake the Count Panther; but, too busy to speak,
The rest nodded assent, and their glass again seek.
They ne'er had fall'n in with that liquor before,
And Fate had determined they never should more.
For drinking they sat, till so drunk, they're not able
To keep on their seats—so rolled under the table;
Where some Indians out early next morning them found,