In Lunnon, where true 'igh life is, ladies don't refuse to drink toasts.

I know that feyther, both before and after his removal to Lunnon, used to make us all drink the ''Ard ware of Old Hingland'-- by witch," she proceeded, correcting herself by a reproving glance from the sheriff--"by witch he meant what he called the glorious sinews of the country at large, lestwise in the manufacturing districts.

But upon a subject like this"-- and she looked with something like disdain at those who had turned down their glasses--"every lady as is a lady ought to 'ave no objection to hexplain her principles by drinking the toast; but p'raps it ain't fair to press it upon some of 'em." "Well, then," proceeded the squire, with a laugh that seemed to have more than mirth in it, "are all the loyal subjects of the crown ready?
Lord Deilmacare, your glass is not filled; won't you drink it ?" "To be sure," replied his lordship; "I have no hatred against Papists; I get my rent by their labor; but I never wish to spoil sport--get along--I'll do anything." With the exceptions already mentioned, the toast was drank immediately, after which the ladies retired to the drawing-room.
"Now, gentlemen," said the squire, "fill your glasses, and let us enjoy ourselves.

You have a right to be proud of your wife, Mr.Sheriff, and you too, Sir Jenkins--for,--upon my soul, if it had been his Majesty's health, her ladyship couldn't have honored it with a fuller bumper.

And, Smellpriest, your wife did the thing handsomely as well as the rest.
Upon my soul, you ought to be happy men, with three women so deeply imbued with the true spirit of our glorious Constitution." "Ah, Mr.Folliard," said Smellpriest, "you don't know the value of that woman.