The little tailor longed to speak, for he rubbed his beard in a feverish way; but suddenly a voice was heard in the crowd—
“Suppose we nominate the French gentleman over there as president.”
Naturally, I made a forcible gesture of dissent. The hall echoed with a peal of laughter. The nervous tension relaxed a little. Mr. Trench seized upon the opportunity.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “it appears to me that we could not do better than invite the Venerable Archdeacon Father O’S—— to be kind enough to preside over us.”
Applause broke out from all sides. The arrangement had been so well provided for, that the Archdeacon was already seated near the presidential chair. He thanked the assembly in two words, seated himself comfortably, and leant back folding his two hands in the air, and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.
“Well, Mr. Trench,” said he, “we are listening to you!”
How well Mr. Trench knew with whom he had to deal! With the first words he managed to win the sympathy of his audience.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “you know that the grand jury is a body selected, not elected.”
“Hear, hear!” cried the little tailor, gesticulating like a devil in holy water. “It is not elected; it is another of those tyrannical institutions which crush poor Ireland.” (Prolonged murmurs.)
“I agree with you, that it is a great misfortune. I believe that it would be better, in every respect, if the representative of the barony could be chosen by you. But since that is impossible, I cannot do better than come and consult you, in order to learn your opinion of the serious business that now preoccupies us all, whilst promising to act according to your instructions.”