me those few sentences.  Now, my lord, I have observed I did not belong to the Fenian confederacy in March of this present year.  I did not belong to the Fenian confederacy anterior to the period that Corydon and Devany allege that they saw me act as centre and secretary to Fenian meetings; that, anterior to that period, I never took act or part in the Fenian conspiracy up to the period of my leaving America.  Does it do me any good to make these statements?  I ask favours, as Halpin said, from no man.  I ask nothing but justice—­stern justice—­even-handed justice.  If I am guilty—­if I have striven to overthrow the government of this country, if I have striven to revolutionize this country, I consider myself enough of a soldier to bare my breast to the consequences, no matter whether that consequence may reach me on the battle-field or in the cells of Pentonville.  I am not afraid of punishment.  I have moral courage to bear all that can be heaped upon me in Pentonville, Portland, or Kilmainham, designated by one of us as the modern Bastile.  I cannot be worse treated, no matter where you send me to.  There never was a more infernal dungeon on God’s earth than Kilmainham.  It is not much to the point, my lord.  I will not say another word about it.  I believe I saw in some of the weekly papers that it would be well to appoint a commission to inquire—­

    The LORD CHIEF BARON—­I cannot allow you to proceed with that
    subject.

COSTELLO—­I will not say another word.  I will conclude now.  There is much I could say, yet a man in my position cannot help speaking.  There are a thousand and one points affecting me here, affecting my character as a man, affecting my life and well-being, and he would be a hard-hearted man who could blame me for speaking in strong terms.  I feel that I have within me the seeds of a disease that will soon put me into an early grave, and I have within my breast the seeds of a disease which will never allow me to see the expiration of my imprisonment.  It is, my lord, a disease, and I hope you will allow me to speak on this subject, which has resulted from the treatment I have been subjected to.  I will pass over it as rapidly as I can, because it is a nasty subject—­Kilmainham.  But the treatment that I have received at Kilmainham—­I will not particularize any man, or the conduct of any man—­has been most severe, most harsh, not fit for a beast, much less a human being.  I was brought to Kilmainham, so far as I know, without any warrant from the Lord Lieutenant.  I was brought on a charge the most visionary and airy.  No man knew what I was.  No one could tell me or specify to me the charge on which I was detained.  I asked the magistrates at Dungarvan to advise me of these charges.  They would not tell me.  At last I drove them into such a corner as I might call it, that one of them rose up and said, with much force, “You are a Fenian.”  Now, my lords, that is a very accommodating word.  If a man only breaks