“’Tis said in the sky—right over Paris, Where the American heaven is found, Where everything brick-like and fast and rare is— The cocks with tumblers for tails run round. They cut to the bar for all things thinkable,— All that is nice is a gratis boon,— Then they come back with your favourite drinkable And their sickle-feather’s a silver spoon! “But he who invented the cocktail brew is The man before you. Thus came the hint: I had once been kissing a pretty Jewess, Who just before had been nibbling mint; And in order to recall the taste Which I found in pressing her luscious two lips, I mingled brandy and mint, in haste, With sugar and ice—and thus made Juleps. “The first step was, therefore, the julep perfected, Which gives us a _menthal_ spirit of wine; And finding myself thereby respected, I sought to make bitter and sweet combine. So I took of bitters aromatic (I prefer the tincture of bark myself, With orange flavoured, but if you lack it, Try any kind on the bar-room shelf). “And I fixed them with sugar, and ice, and spirits, In a silver tumbler, lightning-quick, sir, Which I shook till all their several merits Were combined in one subtle and strange elixir. Then I passed it through a silver sieve Kept carefully free from spot or rust; And the final jimglorious touch to give, I threw in a sprinkle of nutmeg-dust. “And I am told by the spirit-rappers That in the American Paris-heaven, Though they’ve fancy drinks which are total snappers, There’s nothing better than mine are given. So they die in New York without any pangs, For they know in the next world, to requite ’em, They’ll sit over Paris,” said Mr. Bangs, “A-drinking cocktails _ad infinitum_.” Here we got down, and the driver said, “Vell, _you_’re of the kind that will allers bang ’em!” And turning our mocassins homeward, we sped To that great American wigwam, the Langham. Said Bangs, “O’er _my_ eyes there is drawn no wool. That man has no heart who would tell you a mock tale; But story for story I told to the Bull, What I call a real American cocktail.” ----- [10] _Cove_, a word erroneously supposed to be slang. It is derived from the Gypsy _covo_ or _covi_, meaning _that_—that fellow, that thing. JUDGE WYMAN A RURAL YANKEE LEGEND