have, they got, those pretty, gentle English girls,
far away from home and friends, but finding the
world in one. Would that the State could care
for them as they deserve!

These canteens are admirably conducted, yet
at first they were supposed to favour the
propagation of sedition. An American Celt, bearded,
bronzed, and swaggering, chucked those pretty
golden dollar pieces in his hand, when a few
soldiers gathered round the doorway, or leaned,
with their backs against the wall, in the sun.
Then there was an invitation "to have a drink."
When good liquor is given away, many a soldier
will not refuse to share it. We know that
"when the brains are out" men will talk idly
and at random, partly in complaisance to their
entertainer, and led by him. They may hear
songs without understanding their import, and
join in a chorus, too, if the air be popular or
cheerful. They may be hurried into "kissing
a book" without well knowing what they are
about, and then they are sworn Fenians! Several
were thus seduced, and, of course, betrayed,
when they refused to proceed further. To
protect the soldiers against these emissaries, the
canteens were for a while closed against
civilians. But the number of soldiers misled was
greatly exaggerated. It was an important
object with the Fenian leaders to impress the
lower classes with a belief that many of the
troops were with them. Several soldiers were
tried by court-martial, and as the advocates for
the prisoners availed themselves of every
technical point of law, the trials were exceedingly
protracted. The proceedings were fully
reported in the public journals, and created an
impression, as they appeared day after day, for
weeks, that a considerable portion of some  regiments
was disaffected. A more erroneous
inference was seldom drawn. The very men who
had been induced to drink by foreign agents
would have blown out the brains of a comrade
who dared to act the traitor when the real trial
came.

There was a moment when the camp might
possibly have been, not taken, but burned, if
the insurgents had possessed but pluck and
daring. They had been prepared to attempt an
attack upon the camp, too. Prior to the rising,
a little pamphlet, containing what were called
"the prophecies of Saint Columbkille,"was
most extensively circulated. In this ridiculous
but mischievous publication it was foretold
that "the Curragh camp should be burned in
the spring of 1867."  Now the huts are of
wood, dry and inflammable, and if, when a wind
prevailed, one or two had been set on fire, the
entire range might have been consumed. Our
defenders, about the middle of March, were
reduced for three or four days to less than three
hundred men of all arms. A thousand really
determined men might have gained some prestige
for the conspiracy had they even made the
attempt and failed. "Five hundred resolute
Fenians," said I, to a sergeant of artillery,
"who would not quail if half their number fell,
might do us a great mischief." "True, sir,"
said he; "but this sort of cattle do not like the
open." In a few words he described the Fenian
tactics. After the affair at Tallaght, the
insurgents carefully avoided showing themselves
on open ground near a military force. Twice,
indeed, we had an alarm, utterly groundless
in each case, but they proved how vigilant
and ready were our men. While we were thus
few in numbers, the whole extent of the camp
was brilliantly lit up every night. One broad
band of light, two miles in length, shone out of
the darkness on the hill against the winter's
night. But no enemy ever came, and soon we
prepared to welcome home those who had gone
from us for a time, and to commence with the
budding spring our duties and our pleasures
once again.

SOCIAL SIFTINGS.

IT is curious to watch the winnowing and
siftings continually going on in society—to see
how some men rise to the top; perhaps only
like prismatic bubbles, with a prosperity
as brilliant and as evanescent; while others
sink down among the dregs, where their
feet stick fast and never move again: how
certain members of the same family carry
all before them, while others drop out of
the line before half the running is made—yet
both apparently started fair together, evenly
handicapped and of equal training.
Everywhere we see these strange siftings and vicissitudes
—the "struggle for existence" going on
through the whole of life, social as well as
physical, and, in spite of venerable advice to the
contrary, the race being for the most part to
the swift and the battle to the strong. Sir
Bernard Burke's admirable book on the Vicissitudes
of Families is the completest as well as
the most interesting exponent of such changes
existing; and although reviewers have already
made large draughts from its contents, enough
remains behind for many a half-mournful citation.
Romance and truth were never so thoroughly
blended. As a record of exceptional family
histories, these volumes by Ulster King of Arms
challenge, for the amusement they contain, the
subtlest invention; for they trace down to its
final resting-place in the mire of the valley, many
a lofty family tree which once stood on the very
crest of the hill. Who, at one time, could equal
the Plantagenets? But among the latest descendants
of that house were a cobbler and a sexton.
A butcher and a toll-gatherer were among the
lineal descendants of a king's son (Edmund of
Woodstock, Earl of Kent, sixth son of Edward
the First), and as such entitled to quarter the
royal arms and to call cousin with the Queen;
while the direct descendants of Oliver Cromwell,
one of the greatest Englishmen that ever
lived, matched these royal dregs in poverty and
obscure condition. Thomas, the great-grandson
of Oliver, was a grocer on Snow-hill; and his
son, Oliver, was an attorney in London. In
the female line, one was married to a shoe-