, and sometimes
luxurious, taste. The society was a very pleasure-loving organization,
enjoying the gifts of situation, of climate and of fortune to their
full. _On dit_, it sometimes forgot the Spartan code; but the
stranger was never made aware of that, for it ever sedulously
remembered good taste.

Between the drives, dinners and other time-killers, one week slipped
around with great rapidity; and we could hardly realize it when the
colonel looked over his newspaper at breakfast and said:

"Last day, boys! Egad! the cooking here _is_ a little different from
Montgomery--but we must take the 'Cuba' this evening."

So adieux were spoken, and at dusk we went aboard the snug, neat little
Gulf steamer of the New Orleans line. She was a trimmer craft than our
floating card-house of river travel, built for a little outside work in
case of necessity, or the chances of a norther.

We scudded merrily down the bay towards Fort Morgan, the grim sentinel
sitting dark and lonely at the harbor's mouth and showing a row of
teeth that might be a warning. The fort was now put in thorough repair
and readiness by Colonel Hardee, of the regular army of the Confederate
States.

I was following Styles down from the upper deck, when we heard high
voices from the end of the boat, and recognized one exclaiming:

"Curse you! I'll cut your ear off!"

Round the open bar we found an excited crowd, in the center of which
was our worldly-minded middie of river-boat memory and "Spring
Chicken," his colleague; both talking very loud, and the latter
exhibiting a bowie-knife half as long as himself. By considerable talk
and more elbowing, we made our way to the boys; and, with the aid of a
friendly stoker, got them both safely in my state-room.

Once there, the man of the world--who, unlike the needy knife-grinder,
had a story--told it. After getting on the boat, Spring Chicken had
been taking mint with sugar and something; and he took it once too
often. Seeing this, the worldling tried to get him forward to his
state-room; but, as we passed the fort, a jolly passenger, who had also
taken mint, waved his hat at the fortification and cried out:

"Hurrah for Muggins!"

Spring Chicken stopped, balanced himself on his heels and announced
with much dignity--

"Sir, _I_ am Muggins!"

"Didn't know you, Muggins," responded the shouter, who fortunately had
not taken fighting whisky. "Beg pardon, Muggins! Hurrah for Peacock!
_Yah--a-h!_"

"See h