From the great iron kettle a savory incense arose. After some inquiry, the stranger learned that it came from an admixture of high-wines and common molasses, in about the proportion of one gallon of the latter to four of the spirit, which, when once well incorporated by stirring with a wooden ladle, and brought to the boiling point, was to constitute the wedding refreshment, in lieu of the breakfast, supper, or dinner. The number of guests was large and the liquor boiled made, in the aggregate, several gallons. There were present miners of all nationalities nearly, with their wives and sweethearts—all outside the house in which the bride sat, as the building was much too small to accommodate one-tenth part of the concourse assembled. Had this been different, the kettle would have swung from the crane in the wide, open fireplace, after the olden fashion. McKenna and his friends were well received by the people. This was especially the case with the detective, who had dressed himself with more than ordinary care for the occasion, exhibiting, for about the first time since the chicken match, an immaculate linen shirt-front, collar, black necktie and waistcoat, and having entirely eschewed the old leather belt, with its common iron buckle. He was, therefore, in his freshly-trimmed hair and whiskers, a rather gentlemanly appearing young fellow, reputed a fair dancer, and as having an uncommonly fine voice for an Irish love ditty. He was met by several acquaintances, who were at some pains to introduce him to the young ladies and gentlemen. With the former his native modesty was not in the way of his cultivating, to the full extent, their good graces. In fact, some of the men thought he devoted more time than necessary to the handsome women. Be that as it may, despite the rough reputation he had won, he certainly was a prime favorite with the Polish maidens. The Irish girls, also, thought he was about right; one especially—a queenly figure, with dark, waving chestnut curls, and laughing, hazel eyes, whose name, he heard, was Mary, and resided in, or very nigh to, Tamaqua—was the particular object of his regard, and Fergus suggested, more than once, that the western chap had in her met his fate. It is true that McKenna was deeply struck with the lady’s beauty, vivacity and amiability—seen at a distance. He was now intent on business, and believed, after that night, would never see her again. But the wedding. The seething blackstrap was pronounced ready for use, and a lady, a long-handled tin dipper in hand, stood at the kettle dishing out its smoking contents to the company. It rapidly disappeared, and, as it diminished and was imbibed, the fun and hilarity proportionately increased. The fluid was greatly relished by the Poles and their families.