In Midmost Of The Stream, Embraced In

The Rat, Meanwhile, Was Busy Examining The Label On One Of The Beer-bottles. "i Perceive This To Be Old Burton," He Remarked Approvingly. "sensible Mole! The Very Thing! Now We Shall Be Able To Mull Some Ale. Get The Things Ready, Mole, While I Draw The Corks."

Banquets Are Always Pleasant Things, Consisting Mostly, As They Do, Of Eating And Drinking; But The Specially Nice Thing About A Banquet Is, That It Comes When Something's Over, And There's Nothing More To Worry About, And To-morrow Seems A Long Way Off.

Well, Very Long Ago, On The Spot Where The Wild Wood Waves Now, Before Ever It Had Planted Itself And Grown Up To What It Now Is, There Was A City - A City Of People, You Know

An Errant May-fly Swerved Unsteadily Athwart The Current In The Intoxicated Fashion Affected By Young Bloods Of May-flies Seeing Life. A Swirl Of Water And A 'cloop!' And The May-fly Was Visible No More

The Mole Was Bewitched, Entranced, Fascinated. By The Side Of The River He Trotted As One Trots, When Very Small, By The Side Of A Man Who Holds One Spellbound By Exciting Stories; And When Tired At Last, He Sat On The Bank, While The River Still Chattered On To Him, A Babbling Procession Of The Best Stories In The World, Sent From The Heart Of The Earth To Be Told At Last To The Insatiable Sea.