“It won’t be my fault,” said Parrah More, “if my son Ned has no objection.”

“He object!” replied Father Philemy, “if’ I take it in hands, let me see who’ll dare to object; doesn’t the Scripture say it? and sure we can’t go against the Scripture.”

“By the by,” said Captain Wilson, who was a dry humorist, “I am happy to be able to infer from what you say, Father Philemy, that you are not, as the clergymen of your church are supposed to be, inimical to the Bible.”

“Me an enemy to the Bible! no such thing, sir; but, Captain, begging your pardon we will have nothing more about the bible; you see we are met here, as friends and good fellows, to enjoy ourselves after the severity of our spiritual duties, and we must relax a little; we can’t always carry long faces like Methodist parsons—­come, Pairah More, let the Bible take a nap, and give us a song.”

His Reverence was now seconded in his motion by the most of all present, and Parrah More accordingly gave them a song.  After a few songs more, the conversation went on as before.

“Now, Parrah More,” said Phaddhy, “you must try my wine; I hope it’s as good as what you gave his Reverence yesterday.”  The words, however, had scarcely passed his lips, when Father Philemy burst out into a fit of laughter, clapping and rubbing his hands in a manner the most irresistible.  “Oh, Phaddhy, Phaddhy!” shouted his Reverence, laughing heartily, “I done you for once—­I done you, my man, cute as you thought yourself:  why, you nager you, did you think to put us off with punch, and you have a stocking of hard guineas hid in a hole in the wall?”

“What does yer Rev’rence mane,” said Phaddhy; “for myself can make no understanding out of it, at all at all?”

To this his Reverence only replied by another laugh.

“I gave his Reverence no wine,” said Parrah More, in reply to Phaddhy’s question.

“What!” said Phaddhy, “none yesterday, at the station held with you?”

“Not a bit of me ever thought of it.”

“Nor no mutton?”

“Why, then, devil a morsel of mutton, Phaddhy; but we had a rib of beef.”

Phaddhy now looked over to his Reverence rather sheepishly, with the smile of a man on his face who felt himself foiled.  “Well, yer Reverence has done me, sure enough,” he replied, rubbing his head—­“I give it up to you, Father Philemy; but any how, I’m glad I got it, and you’re all welcome from the core of my heart.  I’m only sorry I haven’t as much more now to thrate you all like gintlemen; but there’s some yet, and as much punch as will make all our heads come round.”