horrible at the last. Go into that hall of revelry, where ungodly
mirth staggers and blasphemes. Listen to the senseless gabble, see the
last trace of intelligence dashed out from faces made in God's own
image.
"Aha! aha!" says the roystering inebriate; "this is joy for you; fill
high your cups, my boys. I drink to my wife's misery and my children's
rags and my God's defiance." And he knows not that a fiend stirs the
goblet in his hand and that adders uncoil from the dregs and thrust
their forked tongues hissing through the froth on the rim.