A very large man, with a long brocaded coat of ruby-coloured cloth, and white satin breeches, a waistcoat of primrose plush emblazoned with the Union-jack (then the popular device) in gorgeous silks with a margin of bright gold, and a neckcloth pointed and plaited in with the rarest lace, worth all the rest put together--what a pity it seemed that such a man should get drunk, or at any rate try so hard to do it.

There was not a pimple on his face, his cheeks were rosy and glistening, but not flushed; and his eyes were as bright and clear and deep as a couple of large sapphires.
This nobleman said a few words, without any excitement, or desire to create it, every word to the point, and the best that could be chosen not to go beyond the point.

There was no attempt at eloquence, and yet the speech was eloquent, because it suggested so much more than was said.

More excitable natures, overcome by half a bottle, resolved to have the other half, in honour of that toast.
Then the Marquis did a very kind and thoughtful thing, for which he deserved a bottle of the Royal Tokay, such as even Napoleon could not obtain.

When the cheering was done, and every eye was fixed upon the blushing Scudamore--who felt himself, under that fixture, like an insect under a lens which the sun is turning into a burning-glass--the Chairman perceived his sad plight, and to give him more time and more spirit, rose again.
"Gentlemen," he said, "or I would rather call you brother Englishmen at this moment, I have forgotten one thing.