the corpses of the two most powerful men of their age.

Is it to be supposed that Ireland was doing nothing during this bustling
period of English faction? Quite the contrary. It was in a flame, yet
the subject was as insignificant as the indignation was profuse. One
Jones, the court architect, was charged by the opposition with
irregularities in his conduct, and was defended by the ministry. On the
first division ministers had a majority, but it was almost a defeat, the
majority amounting to but three. All Ireland resounded with acclamation.
The "national cause" was to live, only with the expulsion of Jones from
his office; and to perish irrecoverably, if he should draw another
quarter's salary. His protectors were anathematised, his assailants were
the models of patriotism. The populace made "bonfires of reproach"
before the primate's house, a tolerably significant sign of what might
happen to himself; and stopped the coaches in the streets, demanding of
their passengers a pledge "whether they were for Ireland, or England."
Even the hackney coachmen exhibited their patriotic self-denial by the
heroism of refusing to carry any fare to the Castle, the residence of
the viceroy. The passion became even more powerful than duelling. A Dr.
Andrews, of the Castle party, challenging Lambert, a member, at the door
of the Commons, on some election squabble, Lambert said, "I shall go
_first_ into the house, and vote against that rascal Neville Jones."
Andrews repeating the insult, and, as it seems, not allowing time for
this patriotic vote, Lambert went in and complained; in consequence of
which Andrews was ordered into custody; Carter, the Master of the
Rolls,--for even the lawyers had caught fire on the
occasion,--exclaiming of Andrews, "What! would that man force himself
into a seat here, and for what? only to prostitute his vote to a man,
the sworn enemy of his country," (Lord George Sackville, then Secretary
for Ireland.) The Speaker, too, was equally hostile. The government were
finally defeated by 124 to 116. Never was ridiculous triumph more
ridiculously triumphant. The strangers in the gallery huzzaed, the mob
in the streets huzzaed. When Lord Kildare returned to his house (he had
been the leader of the debate,) there was a procession of some hours.
All the world was rejoicing, Neville Jones was prostrated, Ireland had
cast aside her sackcloth, and was thenceforth to be rich, loyal, and
happy. The triumph lasted during th