“A little brandy twice a day; so the doctor said.”  This was uttered half aloud.

Just at the moment a slight pain crossed his stomach.  It was the first sensation of the kind he had experienced since the epidemic he so much dreaded had appeared in the city; and it caused a slight shudder to go through his frame, for he was nervous in his fear of cholera.

“A little mint with the brandy would make it better still.  I don’t like this feeling.  I’ll try a glass of brandy and mint.”  Thus spoke Mr. Hobart to himself.

Putting on his hat, he went forth for the purpose of getting some brandy and mint.  As he stepped into the street the pain was felt again, and more distinctly.  The effect was to cause a slight perspiration to manifest itself on the face and forehead of Mr. Hobart, and to make, in his mind, the necessity for the brandy and mint more imperative.  He did not just like to be seen going boldly in at the door of a refectory or drinking-house in a public place, for he was a Son of Temperance, and any one who knew this and happened to see him going in, could not, at the same time, know that he was acting under his physician’s advice.  So he went off several blocks from the neighborhood in which his store was located, and after winding his way along a narrow, unfrequented street, came to the back entrance of a tavern, where he went in, as he desired, unobserved.

Years before, Hobart had often stood at the bar where he now found himself.  Old, familiar objects and associations brought back old feelings, and he was affected by an inward glow of pleasure.

“What! you here?” said a man who stood at the bar, with a glass in his hand.  He was also a member of the Order.

“And you here!” replied Mr. Hobart.

“It isn’t for the love of it, I can assure you,” remarked the man, as he looked meaningly at his glass.  “These are not ordinary times.”

“You are right there,” said Hobart.  “A little brandy sustains and fortifies the system.  That all admit.”

“My physician has ordered it for me.  He takes a glass or two every day himself, and tells me that, so far, he has not been troubled with the first symptom.”

“Indeed.  That is testimony to the point.”

“So I think.”

“Who is your physician?”

“Dr. L—.”

“He stands high.  I would at any time trust my life in his hands.”

“I am willing to do so.”  Then turning to the bar-keeper, Mr. Hobart said—­“I’ll take a glass of brandy and water, and you may add some mint.”

“Perhaps you’ll have a mint julep?” suggested the barkeeper, winking aside to a man who stood near, listening to what passed between the two members of the Order.

“Yes—­I don’t care—­yes.  Make it a julep,” returned Hobart.  “It’s the brandy and mint I want.  I’ve had a disagreeable sensation,” he added, speaking to the friend he had met, and drawing his hand across his stomach as he spoke, “that I don’t altogether like.  Here it is again!”