Jason turned away in alarm, to see who was looking on; and, when the cup
was put into his hand, he shut his eyes, determined to gulp its contents at
a swallow, in the most approved "bitters" style. About half the liquor went
down his throat, the rest being squirted back in a small white stream.

"Buttermilk, by Jingo!" exclaimed the disappointed pedagogue, who expected
some delicious combination of spices with rum. St. Jingo was the only
saint, and a "darnation" or "darn you," were the only oaths his puritan
education ever permitted him to use.

[Footnote 9: The dinner of the last half century is, in one sense, but a
substitute for the _petits soupers_ of the century or two that preceded. It
is so entirely rational and natural, that the cultivated and refined should
meet for the purposes of social enjoyment after the business of the day has
terminated, that the supper has only given place to the same meal under
another name, and at hours little varying from those of the past. The
Parisian dines at half-past six, remaining at table until eight. The
Englishman, later in all his hours, and more ponderous in all his habits,
sits down to table about the time the Frenchman gets up; quitting it
between nine and ten. The Italian pays a tribute to his climate, and has
his early dinner and light supper, both usually alone, the habits of the
country carrying him to the opera and the _conversazione_ for social
communion. But what is the American? A jumble of the same senseless
contradictions in his social habits, as he is fast getting to be in his
political creeds and political practices; a being that is _in transitu_,
pressed by circumstances on the one side, and by the habit of imitation on
the other; unwilling, almost unable, to think and act for himself. The only
American who is temporarily independent in such things, is the unfledged
provincial, fresh from his village conceit and village practices, who,