it's just as if somebody had stood up above you with a pepper-box, and sprinkled drops of white powdered sugar here and there on your head."

And after this magnificent compliment, Mr. Treeby whizzed off in another waltz in his go-ahead fashion, and Miss Buxton, getting hold of "the Pea-hen" (as Butler irreverently nicknamed the lady of the house), and sitting down by her side, asked her if she knew much of the short, stout young man to whom she had introduced Maria; to which Lady Peacock replied by giving Miss Buxton a little history of that ingenuous gentleman's antecedents previously supplied to her by Mr. Butler.

"I pity the young man very much indeed," added Lady Peacock, "as I do any one whose family has met with reverses of fortune." In which sentiment Miss Buxton quite concurred. Then Mr. Buxton comes up, and wants to know from his sister "who Maria's last partner is the little punchy fellow with the very dark eyebrows." Whereupon Miss Buxton gives Mr. Treeby's trumpet a gentle blow, and the merchant, receiving such a favourable account of him, goes off to learn Maria's opinion, for the old gentleman's interest in everything which concerns his daughter is such that, like a prying old gossip as he is, he must have a confidential chat with her about every gay Lothario whose name is down on her ball-card. Maria endorses her aunt's opinion as to Mr. Treeby's conversational powers, and says he is a better partner than she has had for a long time. This quite exalts Mr. Treeby in Mr. Buxton's favour, and he determines to have a word with him himself; so, accordingly, when some of the company have descended to the supper-room, he discovers the youth discussing an ice at the buffet, and at once attacks him. Off rattles Mr. Augustus when he knows it is Maria's father he is talking to, and that simple old goose swallows everything he says, and laughs hugely at his phraseological slips, and thinks him a jolly, outspoken young fellow, and much above the puppies and man-milliners who generally frequent a ball-room, and commends Maria's taste in liking him, and finally invites the fortune-hunter to dine at Park-lane the next day. And thus this fascinating serpent is welcomed to the Buxton hearth, where he makes himself warm and comfortable, and fascinates his victims more intensely every day; for we may reckon Mr. and Mrs. Buxton and the maiden aunt among his prey just as much as poor Maria herself. When the family put the shutters on the windows of the town mansion, and migrated to The Clumps for their customary holiday, Mr. Treeby accompanied them as a matter of course, and had one of the best of the guest-rooms in the south wing of the house prepared for him, the windows of which overlook the spire of Wendon church. But by that time he was formally engaged to Maria, greatly to the satisfaction of both her parents and likewise of Miss Buxton, who, far from being of the "Miss Wardle" type of spinster, could enjoy having Mr. Treeby's lumps of dubious flattery dashed at her head, and at the same time cheerfully regard him as the betrothed of her niece. Mr. Treeby went out riding regularly with Mr. Buxton and his daughter; and very often the latter gentleman stayed at home, so that Mr. Treeby was left in sole charge of his love.

Maria beat him hollow in riding, for she would set off at a swinging gallop while he came up at a mild canter, puffing and blowing with the

VOL. LXIII.

K

heat into which the efforts to hold in his eager courser had thrown him, and ready to read his companion a lecture on the danger of riding a brute which could do what it liked with her. I wish his own brute had taken the bit in its mouth and run to Jericho with him; but, unfortunately, there was a very tolerable amount of muscle imbedded in that dumpy arm; and, besides, Mr. Treeby was always careful in his instructions to The Clumps. groom to give him Rasper, the softest-mouthed horse in the Clumps stable. Maria loved her escort with all her heart and all her soul; with all the depth, and devotion, and unselfishness which only hearts so guileless and so truly womanly as hers are really capable of. Was any of this affection returned? Well, I believe at this time he liked her as much as he could like any woman; his rude, selfish nature grew occasionally a degree softer under the charm of her tenderness and devoted love, just as the lion laid by his fierceness at the sight of Una; only in this case the animal was far less noble than the lion, and did not turn devoted champion of the lady as he did. Then Mr. Treeby always looked upon Maria as the good fairy who was to endow him with unlimited wealth, and that gave him, in a kind of way, a soft feeling in regard to her. More than all, however, he was immensely flattered by her passionate, absorbing love for himself; and I don't believe there is a man, however hard and cold, and however incapable of a disinterested affection, who would not be touched by having homage so sweet paid to his amour propre.

"She worships me, Teddy, like the golden calf in the desert; and she's the golden calf, you know, not me.-ha, ha! She makes an idol of me, I swear she does; and I believe she'd throw herself down before me, and let me run over her, like that thing in India, the car of-of Jugglegaut, if I told her."

Such was the account Mr. Treeby gave to his friend Butler the night that innocent young man made his appearance at The Clumps on a visit of a week, being specially asked as "Augustus's friend." The marriage was fixed for the 21st of September, and it was arranged that Mr. and Mrs. Treeby should spend the honeymoon on the Continent, after which they were to take up their abode for the winter in Mr. Buxton's town house, so that papa and mamma might still have the pleasure of dear Maria's company, and be able to witness her happiness, while dear Augustus was looking out for some suitable residence which would not be too far from Park-lane. The happy pair would have, at any rate, 600l. a year to live upon for the present. There would be Mr. Treeby's private income and salary, amounting to 2207., with the prospect of the latter being increased in a few years; and Mr. Buxton had determined to settle 10,000l. on his daughter as her marriage-portion, a sum which considerably startled Mr. Treeby, who had counted on something much handsomer from so rich a man and doting a father. But Mr. Buxton had begun life himself on a mere nothing, and had been compelled to work hard and steadily for many years before he came into possession of a tenth of the affluence he now enjoyed; and though devotedly attached to his daughter and to her espoused, for her sake, and wishing them every luxury under the sun, he had a strong feeling about the desirability of young men doing something, and was sure that Augustus would infinitely prefer contributing himself to augmenting the domestic purse to receiving the whole of his wife's fortune on the spot, and living on

that alone. Mr. Augustus, of course, had he been asked his opinion, would have voted for having his cake then, and not for waiting till he got it; but as he wasn't asked he had to pocket his disgust, and content himself by devoutly praying that Mr. Buxton would depart this life at his earliest convenience.

Tardy-footed Time at length brought round the nuptial-day, and the happy pair hied them to Wendon church, where Mr. Tomline, the vicar, joined them in the bands of matrimony, assisted by Mr. Pugh, his curate. Maria had six bridesmaids, and looked sweeter than any of them. Her husband, in his lavender trousers, looked as much of an Adonis as an elaborate toilet, added to prodigious personal charms, could make him. Maria viewed him in that light as she held his hand in hers, and vowed from the bottom of her heart to love, honour, and obey him. Mrs. Buxton wept a good deal, and so did the maiden aunt, and there were even a few drops visible in the eyes of Mr. Buxton as he gave his daughter away; but these were like King Duncan's-the effect of joy, not of sorrow. I doubt if there was ever a happier wedding-party than that assembled in the drawing-room of The Clumps that morning, waiting for "the breakfast" to be announced. Everybody was arrayed in smiles, as well as in fine clothes. Just as the company rose to betake itself to the breakfast-room the post came in, and a letter was handed to Mr. Buxton, which he opened impatiently, as deeming it an unseasonable intruder on the festivities of the hour. And so it was, in good sooth! He read a few lines; those around him saw his face turn ashy pale; and then he staggered to a chair beside his wife, and murmuring, "Oh, Nelly!" fainted away.

I shall not attempt to depict the scene of consternation among the guests; that is much better left to your own imagination, particularly when you learn that a real and overwhelming calamity had fallen on the merchant-that, in fact, he was a ruined man. The letter informed him that news had suddenly arrived from America with tidings of great losses, in which the house of Bunbury and Buxton were fearfully involved, and that his own share of liabilities, as a partner in the house, would swallow up every farthing of the capital he had been accumulating for so many years, for the purpose of leaving his daughter a rich woman at his death. Worse still, on a closer inspection of his liabilities, the merchant found that to meet them fully, and at the same time to settle with his private creditors, would necessitate the abdication of the Park-lane mansion, and the sale of the family estate, The Clumps. The good old man had no pity for himself in this misfortune, nor yet for his wife, who he knew well enough would look upon the mere loss of wealth as a very small matter compared with those profound trials she had experienced since the commencement of her marriage life. His pity and hers, his sympathies and hers, were reserved for their daughter, who was the party most interested in this disaster, and on whose fair head it had fallen in the very midst of what might reasonably be considered the happiest event of her life. It was unspeakable consolation to both parents when that daughter, after reading the letter, and after having partially succeeded in realising the state of affairs, seated herself beside her father, and, with her sweet face cheerful and smiling, took his hand in hers, and assured him that, after all, there was nothing to be sad about, for that she had never expected a

larger fortune than the one he had already given her; that, in fact, she had never expected any fortune at all-was not her father's and mother's love fortune enough for anybody?-that dear Augustus and herself would be far happier than if they had had more money than they should have known what to do with. (What was all the money in the world compared to their deep mutual love, which death alone could destroy?) That papa, and mamma, and Aunt Ruth would now be able always to live with them, which would be delightful; that papa would be much better if he gave up going to that horrid place in the City, where he worked himself to death, for that dear Augustus, with his great talents and high character, would be sure to get rapid promotion in his office, and be able to provide comfortably for everybody, which of course would give twenty times more pleasure to a high-spirited man like him than if he had quietly fallen heir to a large fortune, and lived on what he himself had had no hand in producing; and, lastly, that the only thing she (Maria) would take very much to heart would be the parting with the dear old Clumps, where everybody was like a personal friend, and the sale of her darling little mare, "Red Ridinghood."

Mr. Buxton began to look up again, wonderfully encouraged, and vowed that he would return to a cheap lodging, such as he had lived in when only a clerk in Bloxum and Bunbury, and that he would scrape and economise until he had recovered every farthing of the fortune he had originally intended for "his little comforter." And as to "Red Ridinghood" being sold-"not if he knew it!"

The guests, who had begun to steal away-some to their bedrooms in the remote solitudes of the house, some out of it to their own homes, believing that under the circumstances their absence would be more acceptable than their presence-were recalled by Mr. Buxton, and implored by him to discuss the wedding breakfast in the next room as if nothing had happened; for that, although it was true a misfortune had befallen him and his, he saw no reason why the festivities of the day should not be proceeded with, and why his beloved daughter should not have the pleasure of receiving the congratulations and good wishes of her friends. on her great happiness, especially as that happiness was not the least diminished by the events that had occurred; "and indeed, my friends," added the old gentleman, "the only thing I am anxious about is the state of the good things in the next room, for I fear the hot dishes will all have grown cold." Ah! but the heaviest blow was yet to fall upon that venerable head; the bitterness of the trial was yet to come-more bitter because it came from a source so wholly unexpected.

129

FENIANISM IN AMERICA.

1 SPENT a part of 1864 and all 1865 in the United States, during which time the Fenian movement was advancing to the gigantic extent at which it afterwards arrived.

At first, being a stranger to everything American, I very naturally judged of all I saw according to my "old-country" ideas, making no allowance for the wild extravagance of American sentiment and the total absence of sincerity in all public demonstrations.

I do not mean to imply that I for a moment doubted but that the vast majority of the men enrolled as Fenians were sincere, and subscribed their money under the belief that it was for a good object. I did not doubt that then, nor do I now; but at first I really thought that the native Americans, who so openly showed their sympathy for the movement, were sincere, and fully intended to fulfil all their promises to their Irish dupes.

After a time I came to understand all the motives they had for encouraging the movement amongst the Irish. Previous to the war, the democrats could always command the Irish vote at all their elections, and it went a long way towards keeping them in office. They (the democrats) composed the ruling political party for upwards of twenty years previous to Lincoln's election. To secure the favour of the Irish, they advocated all liberal measures with regard to foreigners and all measures pleasing to the Roman Catholic priesthood; and as the term Democrat is synonymous in America with that of Conservative, as Republican is to Liberal, they upheld all existing institutions, and foremost amongst them that of slavery.

Now, the Irishman in America was always an opponent to the abolition of slavery, for many good reasons. He hated the negro for himself, he dreaded close association with him, and he feared him as a competitor in the labour-market of the North, which was an Irish monopoly, as the native American citizen never works with his hands except upon his own property. The democrats, then, being in favour of slavery, the rights of foreigners and naturalised citizens, and religious freedom, the Irish always voted with them. Moreover, there had sprung up amongst the republicans a party styling themselves "know-nothings," who were adverse to the political and religious rights of foreigners. The republicans being in the majority and in power, owing to the secession of the purely democratic Southern States and to a division amongst the democrats of the North, thought it a good opportunity to win from their political opponents their supporters, the Irish, and could find no better way to do this than to encourage and forward in every way the Fenian movement. Having the Irish in an organised party, they could the more easily seduce them from their old allegiance to their real friends, the democrats. It was, of course, very desirable, both for the present and future, to obtain the Irish vote; but it was also of vast importance to procure recruits for the army during the war, and Fenianism would most decidedly prove the best recruiting-sergeant they could employ. It was an easy matter to persuade the ignorant Irishman that it was necessary to