d Mr Quelch, with a somewhat
doubtful expression in his countenance.

"Certainly!" exclaimed my new uncle, "with the greatest pleasure in the
world. Now listen, friends and gentlemen all. This is to give notice
to all present that the bearer--Jonas Quelch--has come across the
Channel to the west side of ould Ireland, on a fool's errand. There are
many more like him, may be, but he must understand that he will have to
go back the way he came, or else consent to be deported forthwith to the
coast of Africa, to live henceforth among the black sons of the soil,
for whom alone he is a fit associate."

The astonishment of Mr Quelch on hearing this knew no bounds. Scarcely
recovered from the effects of his ample potations, the little sense he
possessed entirely forsook him. He began to storm and swear, and
declared that he had been vilely tricked. Loud peak of laughter from
the guests present were the only answer he received.

"Come, come, Mr Quelch!" exclaimed Peter Crean, touching him on the
shoulder. "You have your choice, my boy, but, by my faith, if you go on
abusing Irish gentlemen in this fashion, you will be sent off sooner
than a Kilkenny cow can leap over the moon to the country where the
niggers come from, and it will be no easy matter for you to find your
way back again, I'm after thinking." This answer only increased the
anger of the unhappy bailiff. The consequence was that he found himself
seized by several of the men around, and amid the varied cries of the
guests quickly hurried out of the hall. Derisive shouts of laughter
followed the unhappy man as he was carried away. Most of the guests
had, in their time, taken part in a similar drama to that which was
about to be enacted, and knew full well how the man was to be treated.
The carouse continued till it was time to clear the room for the ball.
Several of the guests had to be borne off, and their heads bathed in
cold water to make them fit companions for the ladies in the dance.
Meantime, Jonas Quelch was carried back to the room he had left, where
Crean plied him with a further supply of whisky under the excuse of
keeping up his spirits.

"Faith, my friend, we bear you no ill-will," observed the steward, "but
you should have known that in this part of ould Ireland it's against the
law to execute writs. Such a thing never has been done, and it would be
contrary to our consciences ever to allow it to be done, and, therefore,
though it's your ma