Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The House by the Churchyard
Then there was the village church, with its tower dark and rustling from base to summit, with thick piled, bowering ivy. The royal arms cut in bold relief in the broad stone over the porch - where, pray, is that stone now, the memento of its old viceregal dignity? Where is the elevated pew, where many a lord lieutenant, in point, and gold lace, and thunder-cloud peri wig, sate in awful isolation, and listened to orthodox and loyal sermons, and took French rappee whence too, he stepped forth between the files of the guard of honour of the Royal Irish Artillery from the barrack over the way, in their courtly uniform, white, scarlet, and blue, cocked hats, and cues, and ruf?es, pre senting arms - into his emblazoned coach and six, with hang ing footmen, as wonderful as Cinderella's, and out-riders out blazing the liveries of the tr00ps, and rolling grandly away in sunshine and dust.
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