most liberally and strenuously
already. The dense crowd soon surrounded the hustings in front of the
court-house, and the throes and heavings of this living mass resembled a
turbulent sea lashed by a tempest:--but what sea is more unruly than an
excited crowd?--what tempest fiercer than the breath of political
excitement?

Conspicuous amongst those on the hustings were both the candidates, and
their aiders and abettors on either side--O'Grady and Furlong, Dick
Dawson and Tom Durfy for work, and Growling to laugh at them all. Edward
O'Connor was addressing the populace in a spirit-stirring appeal to
their pride and affections, stimulating them to support their tried and
trusty friend, and not yield the honour of their county either to fears
or favours of a stranger, nor copy the bad example which some (who ought
to blush) had set them, of betraying old friends and abandoning old
principles. Edward's address was cheered by those who heard it:--but
being heard is not essential to the applause attendant on political
addresses, for those who do not hear cheer quite as much as those who
do. The old adage hath it, "Show me your company, and I'll tell you who
you are;"--and in the spirit of the adage one might say, "Let me see the
speech-maker, an' I'll tell you what he says." So when Edward O'Connor
spoke, the boys welcomed him with a shout of "Ned of the Hill for
ever!"--and knowing to what tune his mouth would be opened, they cheered
accordingly when he concluded. O'Grady, on evincing a desire to address
them, was not so successful;--the moment he showed himself, taunts were
flung at him: but spite of this, attempting to frown down their
dissatisfaction, he began to speak; but he had not uttered six words
when his voice was drowned in the discordant yells of a trumpet. It is
scarcely necessary to tell the reader that the performer was the
identical trumpeter of the preceding day, whom O'Grady had kicked so
unmercifully, who, in indignation at his wrongs, had gone over to the
enemy; and having, after a night's hard work, disengaged the cork which
Andy had crammed into his trumpet, appeared in the crowd ready to do
battle in the popular cause.--"Wait," he cried, "till that savage of a
baste of a Squire dares for to go for to spake!--won't I smother him!"
Then he would put his instrument of vengeance to his lips, and produce a
yell that made his auditors put their hands to their ears. Thus armed,
he waited near the platform for