Mr. M’Fadden requests that his friends will all come into the bar-room-all jolly fellows; which, when done, he orders mine host to supply as much “good strong stuff” as will warm up their spirits.  He, however, will first take a glass himself, that he may drink all their very good healths.  This compliment paid, he finds himself pacing up and down, and across the room, now and then casting suspicious glances at the notice of reward, as if questioning the policy of offering so large an amount.  But sundown is close upon them, and as the bar-room begins to fill up again, each new-comer anxiously enquires the result of the last search,—­which only serves to increase the disappointed gentleman’s excitement.  The affair has been unnecessarily expensive, for, in addition to the loss of his preacher, the price of whom is no very inconsiderable sum, he finds a vexatious bill running up against him at the bar.  The friendship of those who have sympathised with him, and have joined him in the exhilarating sport of man-hunting, must be repaid with swimming drinks.  Somewhat celebrated for economy, his friends are surprised to find him, on this occasion, rather inclined to extend the latitude of his liberality.  His keen eye, however, soon detects, to his sudden surprise, that the hunters are not alone enjoying his liberality, but that every new comer, finding the drinks provided at M’Fadden’s expense, has no objection to join in drinking his health; to which he would have no sort of an objection, but for the cost.  Like all men suffering from the effect of sudden loss, he begins to consider the means of economising by which he may repay the loss of the preacher.  “I say, Squire!” he ejaculates, suddenly stopping short in one of his walks, and beckoning mine host aside, “That won’t do, it won’t!  It’s a coming too tough, I tell you!” he says, shaking his head, and touching mine host significantly on the arm.  “A fellow what’s lost his property in this shape don’t feel like drinkin everybody on whiskey what costs as much as your ’bright eye.’  You see, every feller what’s comin in’s ‘takin’ at my expense, and claiming friendship on the strength on’t.  It don’t pay, Squire! just stop it, won’t ye?”

Mine host immediately directs the bar-keeper, with a sign and a whisper:—­“No more drinks at M’Fadden’s score, ’cept to two or three o’ the most harristocratic.”  He must not announce the discontinuance openly; it will insult the feelings of the friendly people, many of whom anticipate a feast of drinks commensurate with their services and Mr. Lawrence M’Fadden’s distinguished position in political life.  Were they, the magnanimous people, informed of this sudden shutting off of their supplies, the man who had just enjoyed their flattering encomiums would suddenly find himself plentifully showered with epithets a tyrant slave-dealer could scarcely endure.