Democritus forever, thought I.
In profound silence, I sat smoking, when lo!--pop! pop! pop!--right
under the table, a terrible popping.
This time we all four sprang up, and my pipe was broken.
‘Good heavens! what’s that?’
‘Spirits! spirits!’ cried Julia.
‘Oh, oh, oh!’ cried Anna.
‘Shame!’ said my wife, ‘it’s that new bottled cider, in the cellar,
going off. I told Biddy to wire the bottles to-day.’