As Mr. Heffernan took the head of the table, not a sign of his former chagrin remained to be seen. An air of easy conviviality had entirely replaced his previous look of irritation, and in his laughing eye and mellow voice there seemed the clearest evidence of a mind perfectly at ease, and a spirit well disposed to enjoy the pleasures of the board. Of his guests, Godfrey was a leading member of the Irish bar, a man of good private fortune and a large practice, who, out of whim rather than from any great principle, had placed himself in contiuual opposition to the Government, and felt grievously injured and affronted when the minister, affecting to overlook his enmity, offered him a silk gown. Hume was a Commissioner of Customs, and had been so for some thirty years; his only ambition in life being to retire on his full salary, having previously filled his department with his sons and grandsons. The gentle remonstrances of the Secretary against his plan had made him one of the disaffected, but without courage to avow or influence to direct his animosity. Of Mr. O'Reilly the reader needs no further mention. Such was the party who now sat at a table most luxuriously supplied; for although Heffeman was very far from a frequent inviter, yet his dinners were admirably arranged, and the excellence of his wine was actually a mystery among the _bons vivants_ of the capital. The conversation turned of course upon the great event of the day; but so artfully was the subject managed by Heffeman that the discussion took rather the shape of criticism on the several speakers, and their styles of delivery, than on the matter of the meeting itself. “How eager the Castle folks will be to know all about it!” said Godfrey. “Cooke is, I hear, in a sad taking to learn the meaning of the gathering.” “I fancy, sir,” said St. George, “they are more indifferent than you suppose. A meeting held by individuals of a certain rank and property, and convened with a certain degree of ostentation, can scarcely ever be formidable to a government.” “You forget the Volunteers,” said Heffernan. “No, I remember their assembling well enough, and a very absurd business they made of it. The Bishop of Downe was the only man of nerve amongst them; and as for Lord Charlemont, the thought of an attainder was never out of his head till the whole association was disbanded.” “They were very formidable, indeed,” said Heffernan, gravely. “I can assure you that the Government were far more afraid of their defenders than of the French.” “A government that is ungrateful enough to neglect its supporters,” chimed in Hume, “men that have spent their best years in _its_ service, can scarcely esteem itself very secure. In the department I belong to myself, for instance--” “Yours is a very gross case,” interrupted Heffernan, who from old experience knew what was coming, and wished to arrest it. “Thirty-four years, come November next, have I toiled as a commissioner.”