Messrs. Burke and Hare, Parnell and Informer Carey, Tim Healy and
Breeches O'Brien, Mr. Gladstone and Palmer the poisoner, with other
benefactors and philanthropists, were at a discount. The outsiders
were waiting to see Mr. Balfour, but they were disappointed. Lord
Iveagh's carriage suddenly appeared in Poolbeg Street at the
pressmen's entrance, and the hero slipped into the hall almost
unobserved. Inside, the enthusiasm was tremendous. The building is
planned like the Birmingham Town Hall, and the leading features of the
auditorium are similar. The orchestra was crowded to the ceiling, the
great gallery was closely packed, the windows were occupied, and every
inch of floor was covered. A band played "God Save the Queen," "Rule
Britannia," and the "Boyne Water." The word "Union," followed by the
names of Balfour, Abercorn, Iveagh, Hartington, Chamberlain, and
Goschen, was conspicuous on the side galleries, and over Mr. Balfour's
head was a great banner bearing the rose, thistle, and shamrock, with
the Union Jack and the English crown over all. Boldly-printed mottoes
in scarlet and white, such as "Quis Separabit?" "Union is strength,"
"We Won't submit to Home Rule," and "God Bless Balfour," abounded, and
in the galleries and on the floor men waved the British flag. The
people listened to the band, or amused themselves with patriotic songs
and Kentish fire, till Mr. Balfour arrived, when their cheering, loud
and long, was taken up outside, and reverberated through the city.

The preliminaries being over, the principal speaker rose amid
redoubled applause, which gradually subsided to the silence of intense
expectation. Mr. Balfour's first words fell like drops of water in a
thirsty land, and never had a speaker a more eager, attentive,
respectful audience. Now and then stentorian shouts of assent
encouraged him, but the listeners were mostly too much in earnest for
noise. It was plain that they meant business, and that the
demonstration was no mere empty tomfoolery. Parnellites were there--a
drop in the ocean--but their small efforts at interruption were
smilingly received. True, there was once a shout of "Throw him out,"
but a trumpet-like voice screamed "Give him a wash, 'tis what he
mostly needs, the crathur," upon which a roar of laughter proclaimed
that the offender was forgiven. The outsiders continued their singing
and cheering, and when Mr. Balfour concluded sent up a shout the like
of which Dublin has seldom he