My uncle and I exchanged looks. "Now, Misther Frenche, do think of it, will you? I am not very discrate in telling you all this, but really I am so worried, that I am half-dead with anxiety and vexation; more especially as I have this blessed day got another hint."
"No! have you though?" said my uncle, unable to contain himself.
"Indeed and I have, and rather a strongish one, you will allow, Misther Frenche, after what passed before—there, I got that billy this very blessed morning handed to me with my shaving water, by an ould villain that I hired to wait on me, and feed the pigs for an hour every marning; and who swore might the fiend fly away wid him, if he knowed from Adam how it comed beneath the jug—there"——
The billy ran as follows:—
"12 o'clock at night—no moon!
"TREACLE—You small lousy spalpeen—the man himself, ould Lathom Frenche, and his nevey, young Brail, and that blessed ould woman, Misthress Julia, are all, every mother's son of them, at this present spaking in Kilkenny. So turn out, you ould tief o' the world, and make room for the rale Ballywindles (you pitiful, mouldy imitation), Orangemen although they be, for they never lived out of Ould Ireland, when they could live in it. And show me one of the name who ever grudged the poor a bit and a sup—so out wid you, Treacle, or you shall swing as high as hangman" (Haman, I presumed) "before the mont be done; like one of your own dirty farthing candles, which a rushlight overshines like the blessed sun a pace of stinking fish.
"Your servant till death—that is, till your death, if you don't behave yourself like a jontleman, and do the bidding of
"CAPTAIN ROCK.
"To the nasty little grocer, Treacle,
(who has no right) at Ballywindle."
"Really," said my uncle, laughing, "this is very honest of you, Treacle, but I have no intention of buying back the old place. So, good-by—go home, and be a little kinder to your poor neighbours, and no fear of you—good-by."