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THE FLOWING BOWL
essence of ginger, capsicums, croton oil, snufF,
carbolic acid, pain-killer, turpentine, and a little
very young and very potent spirit distilled from
old junk. He placed a bottle of this on the
counter, and the first customer who came along
helped himself to a tumblerful, and, taking it
"straight," swallowed it at a gulp.
As soon as he had got his second wind, he
gasped out: "That's the best doggoned whisky
I've sampled in this yer camp. Sonny, guess
you've fixed me up to rights. It's like swallerin'
a circ'lar saw and pullin' it up again.
So
long."
And with the tears pouring down his cheeks,
and holding on to his diaphragm with bothhands,
he staggered into the open. The saloon-keeper
watched him from the doorway, until he had
passed the second block, and rounded the corner ;
and returned to his counter and his bottles, with
the pious exclamation : " The Lord be praised I
He hasn't died in our parish !"
No chapter on strange drinks would be com
plete without the following story, which, I con
fess at the outset, is one of the most venerable of
" chestnuts." It appeared in the Sporting Thnes
four-and-twenty years ago, and I will not affirm
that it was strictly original even then.
It has
since been translated intoevery known language ;
but it is just possible that some of the rising
generation may not have heard it.
A well-dressed gentleman entered a chemist's
shop one morning, evidently in a violent hurry.
" Can you make me up a dose of castor-oil: "
"Certainly, sir," said the dispenser, with a bow.