"Loud as a trumpet with a silver sound,"
"Halt!"—Stock-still, as if touched by an enchanter's wand, on the instant stood each gallant grey, gathering himself on his haunches, as he slid several yards with his fore-feet on the moist sward, grooving out regular ways in the blue clay, as if they had been so many boats a-launching; and away flew a shower of cotton-brokers, like a volley of stones from a catapulta, leaving each an empty horse looking at him, with one exception, where the raw material was accounted for, sticking on his horse's neck, with an ear in each hand, admiring his departed friends in the ditch, as the gay field, fifty horsemen at the fewest, flew over them in a rainbow.
It was now fixed that we were to be married in June, and I accompanied Mr Frenche to Ireland, in order to pay my duty to my dear old mother, who was comfortably settled in a nice cottage in the outskirts of Kilkenny.
It is profanation to touch on such meetings in print, so here again you must exercise your imaginations, my good people.
We were all most happy; when, two mornings after we arrived, while sitting at breakfast, the door opened, and a stout vulgar-looking little man was ushered in, dressed in plush small-clothes, top boots especially dirty, an old swansdown vest, grey upper coat, tow wig, and green spectacles.
He made himself known as Mr Treacle. This was the Cork grocer who had purchased the Ballywindle estate when my grandfather was reduced in his circumstances, and obliged to sell it.
My uncle and mother, the instant they heard his name, drew up with probably an excusable feeling of pride, as if they apprehended that the honour of Mr Treacle's visit had been conferred from a desire on his part to appear patronising to an old, although reduced family. So the meeting at first was somewhat stiff.
"Pray, Mr Treacle, be seated," said my uncle.
"Thank you kindly," said the honest tradesman, feeling very awkward, in his turn. "Thank you kindly, Mr Frenche, and, Mrs Brail, your most obedient. Welcome back to ould Ireland again, Mr Frenche." Then, as if speaking aside,—"I am sure I wish you had never left it."
"Thank you, Treacle," said my uncle; "that's kindly said, anyhow—and"—here he looked the grocer steadily in the face—"kindly meant too, I do believe—but talking of that now does not signify, you know—so will you have the kindness to make known to me your wishes, Mr Treacle, and the occasion of the honour of this visit?"