ou have
the "bar-keeper of the boat." His nether man need not be described.
That is the unseen portion of his person, which is below the level of
the bar. No cringing, smirking, obsequious counter-jumper he, but a
dashing sprig, who, perhaps, _owns_ his bar and all its contents, and
who holds his head as high as either the clerk or captain.

As I approached this gentleman, he placed a glass upon the counter, and
threw into it some broken fragments of ice. All this was done without a
word having passed between us.

I had no need to give an order. He saw in my eye the determination to
drink.

"Cobbler?"

"No," said I; "a mint-julep."

"Very well, I'll mix you a julep that'll set your teeth for you."

"Thank you. Just what I want."

The gentleman now placed side by side two glasses--tumblers of large
size. Into one he put, first, a spoonful of crushed white sugar--then a
slice of lemon--ditto of orange--next a few sprigs of green mint--after
that a handful of broken ice, a gill of water, and, lastly, a large
glass measure of cognac. This done, he lifted the glasses one in each
hand, and poured the contents from one to the other so rapidly that ice,
brandy, lemons, and all, seemed to be constantly suspended in the air,
and oscillating between the glasses. The tumblers themselves at no time
approached nearer than two feet from each other! This adroitness,
peculiar to his craft, and only obtained after long practice, was
evidently a source of professional pride. After some half-score of
these revolutions the drink was permitted to rest in one glass, and was
then set down upon the counter.

There yet remained to be given the "finishing touch." A thin slice of
pine-apple was cut freshly from the fruit. This held between the finger
and thumb was doubled over the edge of the glass, and then passed with
an adroit sweep round the circumference.

"That's the latest Orleans touch," remarked the bar-keeper with a smile,
as he completed the manoeuvre.

There was a double purpose in this little operation. The pine-apple not
only cleared the glass of the grains of sugar and broken leaves of mint,
but left its fragrant juice to mingle its aroma with the beverage.

"The latest Orleans touch," he repeated; "scientific style."

I nodded my assent.

The julep was now "mixed"--which fact was made known to me by the glass
being pushed a little nearer, across the marble surface of the counter.

"Have a straw?" was