I effusively thanked this amiable gentleman. The conversation became general, and the guests discussed weapons. Each drew a revolver from his pocket and warmly defended his own theories. They all agreed that Mr. Trench’s revolver was too small. He was sitting about five or six paces from me on the other side of the chimney. “Ah!” said they, “you may be the best shot in the country, but you are wrong to use such a short weapon, it cannot be relied on; you would miss a man at ten paces.” “You say that I could not be sure of my aim!” cried Mr. Trench; “you shall see.” Instantly I heard a frightful noise, in which I distinguished three reports, a sound of broken glass, and then I felt on my back and head a succession of tiny pricks, as though all the archers of Lilliput were shooting at me. Thinking it was a Fenian attack I sprang to the tomahawk, seized the revolver in the other hand, and, entrenched behind my arm-chair, I awaited events. It was only Mr. Trench who had fired at the candle within a foot of my head. The first two bullets had simply broken the sconce, the last had cut the candle in two, and one of the balls had struck a box of steel pens that had been placed on a what-not; the pens had flown into the air, and some had fallen into my collar and had produced the pricking. After warmly congratulating the master of the house, the guests took leave of us, we conducting them to the door. There each one grasped his shillalah with the left hand and his revolver with the right, and we saw them passing all the clumps of trees carefully and at a respectful distance. For ourselves, after watching them for a minute we securely barricaded the door, and I was then shown to a capital room, where I slept in an excellent bed. But what an extraordinary country! CHAPTER V. AN AGENT’S MORNING--HOW A DAIRY IS FOUNDED--MR. O’LEARY’S CASE--MINISTER AND ARCHDEACON--CATHOLIC ORGANISATION IN IRELAND--THE DISTRESS OF THE TAX-PAYERS AT KENMARE--AN INDIGNATION MEETING--THE IRISH CONSTABULARY. _July 8._--When I came down stairs this morning, the sitting-rooms presented a most animated scene. The library floor had disappeared under a litter of papers, and of half-opened deed boxes. Mr. Trench stood before his bureau emptying the pigeon-holes, where all his correspondence had accumulated during his absence. His two secretaries, seated in a corner, classed all the letters, as soon as he had looked through them, making notes, in large registers, of the instructions given them by their chief. Mr. Trench appeared to be discharging the double duties of “agent” and magistrate.