--and one doesn't see why he shouldn't
be, for after all an editor is not, generally speaking, a greater
blackguard than most of our Congressmen--Whitey, I say, who for our sins
is nominally attached to the Conservative party, conceived the bright
idea of overbidding the enemy for popular favor, and proposed--no, he
didn't actually propose in so many words, but only strongly hinted at
the desirableness of the measure--that there should be no more paying
rent, and a general division of property. I am not sure but there were
some additional suggestions on the expediency of abolishing the
Christian religion and the institution of matrimony, but that has
nothing to do with politics. This last drop in the bucket quite
overflowed poor Harrison; so, as if he had said to himself, "Let us eat
and drink and get married, for to-morrow we shall have a proscription
and _novae tabulae_," he rushed off and proposed to Miss Macintyre."

"Then, if she accepted him after he lost his fortune, it shows she did
not marry for money, at any rate."

"There you have missed it. He lost the whole of _a_ fortune, but not the
whole of _his_. He must have a million of dollars left, and a man with
that is not poor in any country--certainly it was a great catch for Miss
Macintyre, without a red cent of her own. She jilted a Frenchman for
him: the unfortunate, or fortunate cast-off had ordered much jewelry and
other wedding presents, and when left in the lurch he quietly proposed
that, as he had no longer any use for the articles, Harrison, who had,
should take them off his hands; and this offer was accepted. Very French
in him to make it--don't you think so?--and rather American in the other
to take it. Well, I hope Harrison will come this way soon; I should
really like you to know him."

One or two days after this conversation Ashburner met his friend walking
up and down the interminable piazza of the Bath Hotel, arm-in-arm with a
middle-aged man, who presented as great a contrast to Benson's usual
associates, and to Benson himself, as could well be imagined. The
new-comer was short of stature and square-built, rather ugly, and any
thing but graceful; he wore very good clothes, but they were badly put
on, and looked as if they had never undergone the brush since leaving
the tailor's hands; he wore no gloves, and in short had altogether an
unfashionable appearance. But though indubitably an unfashionable man,
he did not give you the impression of a