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Updated: May 18, 2025
He seemed like a breath of real life in the great New York depot, surrounded by streams of black-coated, pale-cheeked men. Pritchard laughed softly as he passed his arm through his friend's. "Come, my Briton," he said, "my primitive man, I have rooms for you in a hotel close here. A bath and a mint julep, then I'll take you to a tailor's. What about the big country?
In his bosom the secret julep tingled radiantly. At that hour of the evening the shining bustle of the central streets was drawing the life of the city to itself. In the residential by-ways through which his route took him the pavements were nearly deserted. A delicious sense of extravagant adventure possessed him.
In one hand he held a crumpled collar and a high, black silk stock; with the other he grasped the julep. His hair was tousled, his face shriveled up and pinched by his heavy nap, his eyes watery and vague. He reminded me of the man one sometimes meets in the aisle of a sleeping-car when one boards the train at a way station in the night.
"No aunt," said Emilie, "he will be better without that, he is only overcome." "And is not that just the very thing I was saying, Emilie, child, give him some camphor julep then; camphor julep is a very reviving thing doctor! Mr. Parker, won't you give him something to revive him." "I think," said Emilie, who understood his emotion and guessed its cause, "I think he will be better alone.
Tell me, how do you make a julep, sir?" Eddring hitched a little nearer on the board-pile. "Well, Colonel Blount," said he, "in our family we used to have an old silver mug sort of plain mug, you know, few flowers around the edge of it been in the family for years.
In mixing up the sparkling julep, that by its potent operation was to scour away the dregs and feculence and peccant humours of the body politic, he seemed to stand with his back to the drawers in a metaphysical dispensary, and to take out of them whatever ingredients suited his purpose. In this way he had an antidote for every error, an answer to every folly.
My master had family worship, night and morning. At night, the slaves were called in to attend; but in the mornings, they had to be at their work, and master did all the praying. My master and mistress were great lovers of mint julep, and every morning, a pitcher-full was made, of which they all partook freely, not excepting little master William.
"And you don't think we're going to have another smash-up?" puffed Harding. "No," said St. George, edging his way toward the steps of the club as he spoke. He was now entirely through with Harding; his financial forebodings were as distasteful to him as his comments on his clothes and bank account. "But you'll have a julep, won't you? I've just sent John for them. Don't go sit down.
Colonel Carvel rose, and with his own hand offered one to Stephen. "Your health, Mr. Brice," he said, "and I hope you will feel at home here, sir. Jackson will bring you anything you desire, and should you wish to drive, I shall be delighted to show you the country." Stephen drank that julep with reverence, and then the Colonel gave him a cigar.
He began to look over the letter, but was evidently slurring it with superficial politeness, when Corbin said: "Read it out loud." The Colonel slightly lifted his shoulders, fortified himself with another sip of the julep, and, leaning back, oratorically began to read, the stranger leaning over him and following line by line with shining eyes.
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