The meeting was in so far a success that it was fully attended. Such a flock of ‘Goats’ had not been seen by them since the memory of man, nor was the unanimity less remarkable than the number; and every paragraph of Mr. McGloin’s speech was hailed with vociferous cheers and applause, the sentiment of the assembly being evidently highly National, and the feeling that the shame which the Lord of Kilgobbin had brought down upon their county was a disgrace that attached personally to each man there present; and that if now their once happy and peaceful district was to be proclaimed under some tyranny of English law, or, worse still, made a mark for the insult and sarcasm of the _Times_ newspaper, they owed the disaster and the shame to no other than Mathew Kearney himself. ‘I will now conclude with a resolution,’ said McGloin, who, having filled the measure of allegation, proceeded to the application. ‘I shall move that it is the sentiment of this meeting that Lord Kilgobbin be called on to disavow, in the newspapers, the whole narrative which has been circulated of the attack on his house; that he declare openly that the supposed incident was a mistake caused by the timorous fears of his household, during his own absence from home: terrors aggravated by the unwarrantable anxiety of an English visitor, whose ignorance of Ireland had worked upon an excited imagination; and that a copy of the resolution be presented to his lordship, either in letter or by a deputation, as the meeting shall decide.’ While the discussion was proceeding as to the mode in which this bold resolution should be most becomingly brought under Lord Kilgobbin’s notice, a messenger on horseback arrived with a letter for McGloin. The bearer was in the Kilgobbin livery, and a massive seal, with the noble lord’s arms, attested the despatch to be from himself. ‘Shall I put the resolution to the vote, or read this letter first, gentlemen?’ said the chairman. ‘Read! read!’ was the cry, and he broke the seal. It ran thus:-- ‘Mr. McGloin,--Will you please to inform the members of the “Goat Club” at Moate that I retire from the presidency, and cease to be a member of that society? I was vain enough to believe at one time that the humanising element of even one gentleman in the vulgar circle of a little obscure town, might have elevated the tone of manners and the spirit of social intercourse. I have lived to discover my great mistake, and that the leadership of a man like yourself is far more likely to suit the instincts and chime in with the sentiments of such a body.--Your obedient and faithful servant, Kilgobbin.’