"The land question should be settled. No, it is not satisfactory. People have to wait seven years for a settlement, and meanwhile they could be kicked out of their holdings at one day's notice. The people who bought under Ashbourne's Act are happy, prosperous, and contented. The people who are beside them are the contrary. Home Rulers, bosh! Farmers know as much about Home Rule as a pig knows about the Sabbath Day. The land, the land, the land! Let the Tories take this up and dish the Liberals. Easiest thing alive. How? Compulsory sale, compulsory purchase. Leave nothing to either party. Then you'll hear no more of Home Rule. Let the Unionists hold their ground a bit, till it dies out, or until the rival factious destroy each other. Loyalty? Why those Nationalist members have themselves told you over and over again that they are rebels. Don't you believe them? Some few may be inspired with the idea that the thing is impracticable, but they will all preach separation when the right time comes. 'Pay no taxes to England,' they'll cry. The people can follow that. Tell them that any course of action means non-payment of anything, and they're on it like a shot. Why, the Paying of Tribute to England is already discussed in every whiskey shop in Galway, and every man is prepared to line the ditches with guns and pikes rather than pay one copper. When you can't give Strachan the farm for which he paid last February, when you can't keep a small farmer who won't pay rent from occupying his farm and getting his crops as usual, for he _will_ do so, how are you going to raise the famous Tribute Money?" Near the Town Hall was a great crowd of people listening to a couple of minstrels who chanted alternate lines of a modernised version of the _Shan van vocht_. "Let me make the songs of a people, and I care not who makes its laws." Mr. Gladstone is appreciated now. The heart of the Connaughtman throbs responsive to his pet appellation. This is part of the song-- Oi'm goin' across the say, says the Grand Old Man, Oi'll be back some other day, says the Grand Old Man; When Oireland gets fair play We'll make Balfour rue the day,-- Remimber what I say, says the Grand Old Man. Whin will ye come back? says the Grand Old Man, Whin will ye come back? says the Grand Old Man, Whin Balfour gets the sack Wid Salisbury on his back, Or unto hell does pack, says the Grand Old Man. Will ye deny the Lague? says the Grand Old Man, No, we'll continue to the Lague, says the Grand Old Man. John Dillon says at every station, 'Twill be his conversation Till Oireland is a nation, says the Grand Old Man.