After all, it was only very low
people who got drunk and wallowed in the mire. _Gentlemen_ (I thought)
never get drunk, and they always seem so happy and joyous after they
have been drinking! How they shake hands, and swear eternal friendship,
and seem generously willing to lend or give away all they have in the
world! So thought I, as my mind was made up to accept the invitation of
my friend. It is singular that I had forgotten all about the murder
which had just taken place in that bar-room, and which had been directly
produced by intemperance.

"The fact is, my dear _Greenhorn_," said my friend, impressively, as he
flourished his hand after the manner of some aged, experienced and
eloquent orator, "the fact is, the _use_ of liquor, and its _abuse_, are
two very different things. A man (here he drew himself up) can drink
like a gentleman, or he can swill like a loafer, or a beast. Now _I_
prefer the gentlemanly portion of the argument, and therefore we'll go
up and take a gentlemanly drink. I shall be happy, young man, to
initiate you into the divine joys and mysteries of Bacchus--ahem!"

I looked at my friend with increased wonder, for he displayed an
assurance, a self-possession, an elegant _nonchalance_, that were far
beyond his years, for he was only about twelve years old--my own age
exactly. And then what language he used--so refined, glowing, and
indicative of a knowledge of the world! I longed to be like him--to
equal him in his many perfections--to sport as much money as he did, and
to wear as good "_harness_." I forgot to mention that he carried a
splendid gold watch, and that several glittering rings adorned his
fingers. "Who can he be?" was the question which I asked myself; and of
course, I could not find an answer.

"Felix," said my friend, addressing the bar-keeper in a style of
patronizing condescension, as we approached the bar, "Felix, my good
fellow, just mix us a couple of brandy cocktails, will you, and make
them _strong_, d'ye hear, for the night is wet, and I and my verdant
friend here, are about to travel in search of amusement, even as the
Caliph and his Vizier used to perambulate the streets of Baghdad. Come,
hurry up!"

The bar-keeper grinned, mixed the liquor, and handed us the tumblers. My
friend knocked his glass against mine, and remarked "here's luck," a
ceremony and an observation which both somewhat surprised me at the
time, although I have long since become thoroughly acquainted