But will the reader believe what was the practice of these petty officers? We can assure them that such instances as the one we shall relate are not only practised in Charleston to an unlimited extent, but the fact is well known to both magistrates and the public; the former treat it as moonshine, and the latter rail against it, but never take proper action. Scarcely had little Tommy left them at the head of the wharf, before they intimated that it would be well to consider a morning dram. To this end, they walked into a “Dutch corner shop,” and passing into the back room, gave sundry insinuations that could not be misunderstood. “Well! come, who pays the shot?” said Dunn, stepping up to the counter, and crooking his finger upon his nose at a dumpling-faced Dutchman, who stood behind the counter, waiting for his man to name it. The Dutchman was very short and very thick, leaving the impression that he had been very much depressed in his own country when young. He rubbed his hands and flirted his fingers in motion of anxiety, “Every ting vat de shentleman vant him--dare notin like to my zin and brondty vat him got mit ze zity,” said Dutchy. “Gentlemen, I should be glad to have you drink with me, if it be proper to ask,” said Manuel. “Oh! yes--certainly, yes!--just what we come for, something to cut away the cobwebs--'twouldn't do to go out in the morning fog without a lining,” said Dunn. “Name it! name it! shentlemen,” exclaimed the Dutchman, as he rapped his fingers upon the counter, and seemed impatient to draw forth his filthy stuff. They named their drinks, each with a different name. Manuel not being a Charleston graduate in the profession of mixing drinks and attaching slang names to them, Mr. Dusenberry undertook to instruct him in a choice. The Dutchman was an adept at mixing, and the “morning pulls” were soon set out to the extreme satisfaction of Dunn and Dusenberry. “All right! tip her down, my old fellow; none o' yer screwed faces over such liquor as that. We drink on the legitimate, in Charleston, and can put it down until we see stars,” said Dusenberry, addressing himself to Manuel, who was making a wry face, while straining to swallow the cut-throat stuff. Dusenberry now left Manuel in charge of Dunn, saying he was going out to attend to some business. Manuel drew from his pocket a quarter of a Colombian doubloon, and throwing it upon the counter, told the Dutchman to give him change. The Dutchman picked it up, turned it over several times, and squinting at it, inquired, in a very unpretending manner, what its value was. He knew already, yet this was only done to try Manuel. At the same moment he winked to Dunn, who, stepping up, gave it a significant toss upon the counter. “The divil a bit more than two dollars; all right, Swizer,” said he. “'Tis four dollar, West Inge-I want my change,” said Manuel, shrugging his shoulders. “I no want no more than my own; and no man to cheat-e me.”