with what you can see through."

The Marquis of Southdown filled his glass from a bottle of grand old
Chambertin--six of which had been laid most softly in a cupboard of
the wainscote for his use--and then he had it filled again, and saw his
meaning brilliantly.

"Our second point is the defeat of the French, and of this we may now
assure ourselves. They have not been defeated, for the very good reason
that they never would come out to fight; but it comes to the same thing,
because they are giving it over as a hopeless job. I have seen too many
ups and downs to say that we are out of danger yet; but when our fleets
have been chasing theirs all over the world, are they likely to come
and meet us in our own waters? Nelson has anchored at Spithead, and
is rushing up to London, as our host has heard to-day, with his usual
impetuosity. Every man must stick to his own business, even the mighty
Nelson; and he might not meddle with Billy Blue, or anybody else up
Channel. Still, Nelson is not the sort of man to jump into a chaise at
Portsmouth if there was the very smallest chance of the French coming
over to devour us.

"Well, my friends, we have done our best, and have some right to be
proud of it; but we should depart from our nature if we even exercised
that right. The nature of an Englishman is this--to be afraid of nothing
but his own renown. Feeling this great truth, I will avoid offence by
hiding as a crime my admiration of the glorious soldiers and sailors
here, yet beg them for once to remember themselves, as having enabled
me to propose, and all present to pledge, the welfare of our King and
Country."

The Marquis waved his glass above his head, without spilling a single
drop, although it was a bumper, then drained it at a draught, inverted
it, and cleverly snapped it in twain upon the table, with his other hand
laid on his heart, and a long low reverence to the company. Thereupon up
stood squires and dames, and repeating the good toast, pledged it, with
a deep bow to the proposer; and as many of the gentlemen as understood
the art, without peril to fair neighbours, snapped the glass.

His lordship was delighted, and in the spirit of the moment held up
his hand, which meant, "Silence, silence, till we all sing the National
Anthem!" In a clear loud voice he led off the strain, Erle Twemlow from
his hairy depths struck in, then every man, following as he might, and
with all his might, sustained it, and the ladies,