"Mary's own child standin' up there tall and straight to get us
freedom and comfort," crooned an old white-haired woman.

"And broken heads," said another old woman.

"And lyin' in the county-jail himself, mebbe, this night," said a
third.

"The Lord be with him," cried a fourth.

"Amen to that," and they reverently crossed themselves.

Again O'Connell raised his hand, this time to command silence.

All the murmurs died away.

O'Connell began--his rich, melodious voice ringing far beyond the
farthest limits of the crowd--the music of his Irish brogue making
cadences of entreaty and again lashing the people into fury at the
memory of Ireland's wrongs.

"Irish men and women, we are met here to-day in the sight of God and
in defiance of the English government," (groans and hisses), "to
clasp hands, to unite our thoughts and to nerve our bodies to the
supreme effort of bringing hope to despair, freedom to slavery,
prosperity to the land and happiness to our homes." (Loud applause.)
"Too long have our forefathers lived under the yoke of the
oppressor. Too long have our old been buried in paupers' graves
afther lives of misery no other counthry in the wurrld can equal.
Why should it be the lot of our people--men and women born to a