Ormond, a Tale

Pshaw, my dear, after having known me, I won't say loved me, a calendar year, how can you be so deceived by outward appearances. Don't you know that I hate drinking; but when I have these county electioneering friends, the worthy red noses, to entertain, I suit myself to the company, by acting spirits instead of swallowing them, for I should scorn to appear to flinch!