‘Sworn information, drawn up by that worthy man, Pat McEvoy, the greatest rascal in Europe, and I hope I don’t hurt you by saying it, Mr. Kearney. Sworn information of a burglarious entry, and an aggravated assault on the premises and person of one Peter Gill, another local blessing--bad luck to him. The aforesaid--if I spoke of hi before--Gorman O’Shea, having, _suadente diabolo_, smashed down doors and windows, palisadings and palings, and broke open cabinets, chests, cupboards, and other contrivances. In a word, he went into another man’s house, and when asked what he did there, he threw the proprietor out of the window. There’s the whole of it.’ ‘Where was the house?’ ‘O’Shea’s Barn.’ ‘But surely O’Shea’s Barn, being the residence and property of his aunt, there was no impropriety in his going there?’ ‘The informant states that the place was in the tenancy of this said Gill, one of your own people, Mr. Kearney. I wish you luck of him.’ ‘I disown him, root and branch; he is a disgrace to any side. And where is Miss Betty O’Shea?’ ‘In a convent or a monastery, they say. She has turned abbess or monk; but, upon my conscience, from the little I’ve seen of her, if a strong will and a plucky heart be the qualifications, she might be the Pope!’ ‘And are the young man’s injuries serious? Is he badly hurt? for they would not let me see him at the gaol.’ ‘Serious, I believe they are. He is cut cruelly about the face and head, and his body bruised all over. The finest peasantry have a taste for kicking with strong brogues on them, Mr. Kearney, that cannot be equalled.’ ‘I wish with all my heart they’d kick the English out of Ireland!’ cried Kearney, with a savage energy. ‘’Faith! if they go on governing us in the present fashion, I do not say I’ll make any great objection. Eh, Adams?’ ‘Maybe so!’ was the slow and very guttural reply, as the fat man crossed his hands on his waistcoat. ‘I’m sick of them all, Whigs and Tories,’ said Kearney. Is not every Irish gentleman sick of them, Mr. Kearney? Ain’t you sick of being cheated and cajoled, and ain’t _we_ sick of being cheated and insulted? They seek to conciliate _you_ by outraging _us_. Don’t you think we could settle our own differences better amongst ourselves? It was Philpot Curran said of the fleas in Manchester, that if they’d all pulled together, they’d have pulled him out of bed. Now, Mr. Kearney, what if we all took to “pulling together?”’ ‘We cannot get rid of the notion that we’d be out-jockeyed,’ said Kearney slowly. ‘We _know_,’ cried the other, ‘that we should be out-numbered, and that is worse. Eh, Adams?’ ‘Ay!’ sighed Adams, who did not desire to be appealed to by either side. ‘Now we’re alone here, and no eavesdropper near us, tell me fairly, Kearney, are you better because we are brought down in the world? Are you richer--are you greater--are you happier?’ ‘I believe we are, Mr. Flood, and I’ll tell you why I say so.’