The little man extended his invitation to a party of the bloods. The Captain was taken by the arms in a kind of bond fellowship, and escorted into Baker's eating-saloon, a place adjacent to the theatre, and, to a man unaccustomed to the things that are in Charleston, a very rowdy place. This is considered by Charlestonians one of the finest places in the Southern country; where good suppers and secession (the all-engrossing subjects with Charlestonians) form the only important element of conversation. It may be set down as a fact, that among seven-tenths of the people of Charleston, the standard of a gentleman is measured according to his knowledge of secession and his ability to settle the question of hot suppers. We say nothing of that vigorous patriotism so often manifested in a long string of fulsome toasts that disgrace the columns of the Mercury and Courier. At Baker's the place was literally crowded with all kinds and characters, graded from the honorable judge down to the pot-boy; a pot-pouri of courtesy and companionship only exhibited in England on the near approach of elections. The reader may think this strange, but we can assure him that distinctions are strangely maintained; an exclusive arrogance being observed in private life, while a too frequent and general resort to bar-rooms has established plebeianism in public. Voices were sounding at all parts of the counter, and for as many different voices as many different mixtures were named. The Captain received a great many introductions, and almost as many invitations to drink; but the little man, Master George, claimed the exclusive honor, and keeping an eye wide awake, took the advantage of his own dimensions, and began working his way through a barricade of bodies and elbows, until he had reached the counter. His party followed close, at his heels. Altogether, they called for cocktails, smashes, toddies, cobblers, juleps, and legitimates. These disposed of, the company repaired to what is called a “box up-stairs.” Scarcely seated, Master George rang the bell with such violence that he disjointed the cord and tassel, and gave such an alarm that three or four darkies came poking their alarmed countenances through the curtains at once. “There's nothing like making the fellows mind; they've got so infernal independent here, and old Tom thinks so much of his young wife, that his niggers have begun to imitate him. One's enough at a time!” said Master George, with all the importance of his character. A “bright boy,” with his hair nicely parted on the middle of his head, and frizzed for the occasion, made a polite bow, while the others retired. “What have you choice for supper, to-night? We want something ripe for the palate-none of your leavings, now, you infernal nigger, and don't tell us none of your lies.”