He was a kind husband and father, and reared his family well and religiously; attending himself regularly to his devotions. He was also a hospitable, off-handed fellow, that would not higgle for a trifle, either in buying or selling; was equally ready to take or “stand a treat” at fairs and markets where his business frequently brought him, and was in consequence a general favourite with high and low. In short, every one said he was in the way of making a larger fortune than had been made in his business for many a year in the city; and every one said he deserved it, as he was an honest, a hard-working, and a worthy man. There were apparently but two drawbacks on his character, namely, a violent temper, which at times hurried him on with irresistible impetuosity, particularly when under the influence of liquor, and a habit of jeering and jibing in season and out of season. These defects, however, as they never led to anything serious, were rather pitied than censured, as being the only blemishes on an otherwise excellent disposition. Hughes was standing one day at his stall, tapping his highly polished boots with his whip, and feeling his well-filled pocket, as he was preparing to set out on a journey for the purchase of cattle. He was in high spirits, and was liberally scattering about his jibing witticisms among his admiring brethren, when a travelling basket-maker entered the shambles. Instantly Hughes directed the current of his jeering towards the humble newcomer. “You look as if a good beef steak would lie in your way this morning, friend.” “Be goxty ye might sing that, sir, if ye had an air to it.” “Well, it’s lucky there’s so many about you, any how, as, to tell you the thruth, I don’t much like your looks, and wouldn’t thrust yon with your own brogues to the brogue-maker’s.” “Faix, may be you’d be right too, sir,” rejoined the stranger slowly, as he surveyed, with an eager and a half bewildered gaze, the jiber’s face, like one striving to recall portions of a half-forgotten dream, “though it isn’t every one that’s to be taken by his looks.” “I wish, any way, I had as good a house as you’d rob. But how come you to be trading in twigs? You mistook your thrade surely; it’s in hemp you ought to be dealing.” “Faix, if every man got his due,” said the basket-maker in a decided tone, “more nor me would be dailin’ in himp. But ye needn’t be so hard intirely on us, _Mr M’Cann_.” On hearing this name, which had not met his ears for many a year, the victualler gave a convulsive start as if he had received a shot, while a fierce blaze deepened the hue of his cheek, flitted across his brow, and the next moment subsided into monumental paleness. He recovered himself, however, immediately; and, remarking laughingly how curiously people were often mistaken for others, took an opportunity of following the basket-maker, who had advanced into the shambles, and invited him to breakfast the next morning.