And how gracefully did the middle-aged gentleman play the host! inviting his guest (though little invitation was needed) with the kindest words, and helping him to the daintiest morsels. And it was not until this supper-out of the first lustre had fully indulged his eating propensities, and cleared the board, that he found leisure to look up from his plate, and contemplate the execution he had done. But when a cauliflower-wigged tankard of stout crowned the repast, he pressed it with ecstasy to his lips, and sang joyously—
Porter! drink for noble souls!
Raise the foaming tankard high I
Water drink, you water think—
So said Johnson—so say I!
Let me take a Dutchman's draught—
Ha I—I breathe!—a glorious pull!
Malt and hops are British drops—
Froth for Frenchmen! Stout for Bull!
If you ask why Britons fight