“Mr. Trench,” said he, “every one present renders justice to the feeling which prompted the step that you have just taken. We all thank you for it. You have described the situation very well. We are ruled by an assembly, the members of which are chosen by those who are masters of Ireland, but who are not elected by us. This assembly settles our taxes as it likes; appoints the agents charged with the collection of these taxes, and because the agent that it sent to us without consulting us on the subject, but armed with all its authority, is a thief, we are now told that our receipts are of no value; that the unfortunate inhabitants of this poverty-stricken barony will be forced to pay a second time. It is a disgraceful thing! We Irish are accustomed to submit to many shameful things, but I declare I never heard anything quoted that is more shameful than this!” But here he was forced to pause. Whilst he was speaking one could hear the exclamations of the audience gradually increasing. At his last words the noise suddenly became indescribable. The Fenian near me could not control himself. He roared. The little tailor was so excited that he gesticulated like a madman. At the back of the hall the farmers tapped with their shillalahs on the floor, from which issued clouds of dust. The priest had only to raise his hand in the air; all stopped as by enchantment. He resumed, with the same calm manner:-- “Well, Mr. Trench, to-morrow the grand jury, of which you are a member, is to assemble. You propose to act as our interpreter to your colleagues. For the second time we thank you for this proposition, and we know that you will carry out your promise to us. Tell the grand jury----” “Wait!” said Mr. Trench. “I will write down your resolutions.” “Certainly! Tell the grand jury that the inhabitants of this barony protest with all their power against the odious injustice, which they think of imposing upon us, and which, by every legal means----” “Not at all! I protest! I object to the word legal being used! I demand that we should put, by every means!”---- It was the little tailor shouting at the top of his voice. And then as every one looked at him, he proudly drew himself up and majestically applied a great pinch of snuff to his nose. His interruption made a great sensation. The shillalahs recommenced to move at the back of the hall. The Fenian at my side uttered from the depths of his chest, a hurrah, which made me jump into the air; his eyes started from his head. Evidently, at this moment, he would give his chance of Paradise to be able to shoot an English policeman; the citizens who surrounded the tailor seemed slightly embarrassed; they evidently considered that things were going too far. Only the Archdeacon retained his imperturbable air. “Let us see, Mr. X----, you apparently advise us to take guns and blunderbusses and to attack the police?” said he.