‘There’s a jolly old face that I ought to remember well,’ said Gorman, as he looked up at the portrait of Lord Kilgobbin over the chimney. ‘When I entered the service, and came back here on leave, he gave me the first sword I ever wore, and treated me as kindly as if I was his son.’ The hearty speech elicited no response from the hearers, who only exchanged significant looks with each other, while Miller, apparently less under restraint, broke in with, ‘That stupid adventure the English newspapers called “The gallant resistance of Kilgobbin Castle” has lost that man the esteem of Irishmen.’ A perfect burst of approval followed these words; and while young O’Shea eagerly pressed for an explanation of an incident of which he heard for the first time, they one and all proceeded to give their versions of what had occurred; but with such contradictions, corrections, and emendations that the young man might be pardoned if he comprehended little of the event. ‘They say his son will contest the county with you, Mr. Miller,’ cried one. ‘Let me have no weightier rival, and I ask no more.’ ‘Faix, if he’s going to stand,’ said another, ‘his father might have taken the trouble to ask us for our votes. Would you believe it, sir, it’s going on six months since he put his foot in this room?’ ‘And do the “Goats” stand that?’ asked Miller. ‘I don’t wonder he doesn’t care to come into Moate. There’s not a shop in the town he doesn’t owe money to.’ ‘And we never refused him credit---’ ‘For anything but his principles,’ chimed in an old fellow, whose oratory was heartily relished. ‘He’s going to stand in the National interest,’ said one. ‘That’s the safe ticket when you have no money,’ said another. ‘Gentlemen,’ said Miller, who rose to his legs to give greater importance to his address:--‘If we want to make Ireland a country to live in, the only party to support is the Whig Government! The Nationalist may open the gaols, give license to the press, hunt down the Orangemen, and make the place generally too hot for the English. But are these the things that you and I want or strive for? We want order and quietness in the land, and the best places in it for ourselves to enjoy these blessings. Is Mr. Casey down there satisfied to keep the post-office in Moate when he knows he could be the first secretary in Dublin, at the head office, with two thousand a year? Will my friend Mr. McGloin say that he’d rather pass his life here than be a Commissioner of Customs, and live in Merrion Square? Ain’t we men? Ain’t we fathers and husbands? Have we not sons to advance and daughters to marry in the world, and how much will Nationalism do for these?