pleasure proves anything but "without mixture without measure."

The jam-tarts are brought to light, and are found to have got a little
jam too much. The bottles are cracked before their time, and the liberal
supplies of pale sherry and old port are turned into a--little current.

They turn out their jar of ghirkins, and find them mixed, and all their
store in a sad pickle.

The leg of mutton is the only thing that has stood in the general melee.

The plates are all dished, and the dishes only fit for a lunatic asylum,
being all literally cracked.

Even the knives and forks are found to ride rusty on the occasion. The
bread is become sop; and they have not even the satisfaction of getting
salt to their porridge, for that is dissolved into briny tears.

Like the provisions, they find themselves uncomfortably hamper'd; for
they generally chuse such a very retired spot, that there is nothing to
be had for love or money in the neighbourhood, for all the shops are as
distant as--ninety-ninth cousins!

However delightful the scenery may be, it is counterbalanced by the
prospect of starvation.

Although on the borders of a stream abounding in fish, they have neither
hook nor line; and even the young gentlemen who sing fail in a catch for
want of the necessary bait. Their spirits are naturally damped by their
disappointment, and their holiday garments by a summer shower; and though