For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use, And the choicest of wine is my colour; And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues The fuller I fill it—the fuller! IV. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. ‘Come, cry a truce.
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