“There's Tom Connolly,” shouted a loud voice, “three cheers for the Volunteers—three cheers for Castletown.”
“Thank you, boys, thank you,” said a rich mellow voice, as in their enthusiasm the mob pressed around the carriage of the popular member, and even shook hands with the footmen behind the carriage.
“Here's Luttrel, here's Luttrel,” cried out several together, and in a moment the excitement, which before was all of joy, assumed a character of deepest execration.
Aware of the popular feeling towards him, this gentleman's carriage was guarded by two troopers of the horse police—nor was the precaution needless, for no sooner was he recognised, than a general rush was made by the mob, and for a moment or two the carriage was separated from the rest of the line.
“Groan him, boys, groan him, but don't touch the traitor,” shouted a savage-looking fellow, who stood a head and shoulders above the crowd.
“Couldn't you afford to buy new liveries with the eighty thousand pounds the Government gave you,” yelled another, and the sally was responded to with a burst of savage laughter.
“Throw us out a penny,” called a third, “it will treat all your friends in Ireland—let him go, boys, let him go on, he's only stopping the way of his betters.”
“Here's the man that knows how to spend his money—three cheers for the Englishman from Stephen's-green—three cheers for Sir Marmaduke Travers,” and the cheers burst forth with an enthusiasm that showed, how much more a character for benevolence and personal kindness conciliated mob estimation, than all the attributes of political partizanship.
“Bring us a lamp here, bring us a lamp,” cried a miserable object in tattered rags, “take down a lamp, boys, till we have a look at the two beauties,” and strange as the suggestion may seem, it was hailed with a cry of triumphal delight, and in another moment a street lamp was taken from its place and handed over the heads of the mob, to the very window of Sir Marmaduke's carriage; while the old Baronet, kindly humouring the eccentricity of the people, lowered the glass to permit them to see in. A respectful silence extended over that crowd, motley and miserable as it was, and they stood in mute admiration, not venturing upon a word nor a remark, until as it were overcome by a spontaneous feeling of enthusiasm they broke forth into one loud cheer that echoed from the College to the very gates of the Castle; and with blessings deep and fervent, as they would have bestowed for some real favour, the carriage was allowed to proceed on its way once more.
“Here's Morris, here's the Colonel,” was now the cry, and a burst of as merry laughter as ever issued from happy hearts, welcomed the new arrival; “make him get out, boys, make him get out, and show us his legs, that's the fellow ran away in Flanders,” and before the mirth had subsided, the unhappy Colonel had passed on.