Layton did not reply, but stood watching with deep interest the scene of silent, rapt attention in the crowded room, from which now not the slightest sound proceeded. Drawn by an attraction he could not explain, he slowly mounted the steps and gained a place near the door, but from which he was unable to catch sight of the lecturer. He was speaking; but, partly from the distance, and in part from the low tones of his voice, Layton could not hear his words. Eager to learn by what sort of appeal an audience like this could be addressed,--curious to mark the tone by which success was achieved,--he pushed vigorously onward till he reached one of the columns that supported the roof of the hall, and which, acting as a conductor, conveyed every syllable to his ears. The lecturer's voice, artificially raised to reach the limits of the room, was yet full, strong, and sonorous, and it was managed with all the skill of a practised speaker. He had opened his address by mentioning the circumstances which had then brought him before them. He explained that but from an adverse incident--a passing indisposition--they were on that night to have heard one of those accomplished speakers who had won fame and honor in the old country. There was a reserve and delicacy in the mention of the circumstances by which he became the substitute for this person that struck Layton forcibly; he was neither prepared for the sentiment nor the style of the orator; but, besides, there was in the utterance of certain words, and in an occasional cadence, something that made his heart beat quicker, and sent a strange thrill through him. The explanation over, there was a pause,--a pause of silence so perfect that as the speaker laid down the glass of water he had been drinking, the sound was heard throughout the room. He now began, his voice low, his words measured, his manner subdued. Layton could not follow him throughout, but only catch enough to perceive that he was giving a short sketch of the relative conditions of England and Ireland antecedent to the Union. He pictured the one, great, rich, powerful, and intolerant, with all the conscious pride of its own strength, and the immeasurable contempt for whatever differed from it; the other, bold, daring, and defiant, not at all aware of its inability to cope with its more powerful neighbor in mere force, but reposing an unbounded trust in its superior quickness, its readiness of resource, its fertility of invention. He dwelt considerably on those Celtic traits by which he claimed for Irishmen a superiority in all those casualties of life which demand promptitude and ready-wittedness.