[Original]
Having finished his charge he filled the tin cup full of whiskey, put in a handful of brown sugar, and with his forefinger stirred up the sweetening, then surveying the canditates he pulled off his cap, remarking, as he did so:
“Old age, allays, afore beauty!—your daddy furst, in course,” then holding up the cup he offered a toast, as follows:
“Here is to the string that binds the states; may it never be bit apart by political rats!” Then holding up the cup to his head he took a hearty swig, and passed it to the next oldest looking candidate. While they were tasting it, Sugar kept up a fire of lingo at them:
“Pass it along lively, gentlemen, but don't spar the fluid. You can't help tellin' truth arter you've swaller'd enough of my mixtur', jest fur this reason, its ben 'stilled in honesty, rectified in truth, and poured out with wisdom! Take a leetle drop more,” said he to a fastidious candidate, whose stomach turned at thought of the way the “mixtur”' was mixed. “Why, Mister,” said Sugar, coaxingly.
'Ef you wur a babby, jest new born,
'Twould do you good, this juicy corn!' ”
“No more, I thank you,” said the candidate, drawing back from the proffer.
Sugar winked his eye at some of his cronies, and muttered—“He's got an a-ristocracy stomach, and can't go the native licker.” Then dismissing the candidates he shouted,—“crowd up, constitooents, into a circle, and let's begin fair—your daddy furst, allays; and mind, no changin' places in the circle to git the sugar in the bottom of the cup. I know you're arter it Tom Williams, but none on your yankeein' round to git the sweetnin'—it's all syrup, fellars, cause Sugar made and mixed it. The gals at the frolicks allays git me to pre-par' the cordials, 'cause they say I make it mity drinkable. Who next? What you, old Ben Dent!—Well, hold your hoss for a minit, and I'll strengthen the tin with a speck more, jest because you can kalkilate the valee of the licker, and do it jestiss!”