A few minutes later, a grey-haired gentleman rose quite near to me and advanced to the front of the platform, where he was joined by a short, deformed man with long hair. I don’t know where he came from. Instantly there was a great silence, and the former bowed to the assembly. “Gentlemen,” said he, “seconded by my friend, Mr. Shackleton,”--Mr. Shackleton--that was the little hunchback--bowed, in his turn, so low that his hump appeared higher than his head. The applause was enthusiastic. Evidently this is an important personage. He is the second hunchback I have seen in the Land League. Mr. Biggar, like Æsop, had only one hump; this man has two, like Punch. The tall speaker is called Mr. Alfred Webb. He continued: “Seconded by my friend Abraham Shackleton, and in the name of the _Protestant Home Rule Association_ I wish to ask your support for our candidate, Sir Thomas Esmonde, Baronet, who already represents the electoral division of South Dublin.” This declaration was received with a tremendous noise. Every one stood up, hats flew into the air, or were waved at the end of enormous blackthorn sticks that are here called shillalahs, mouths opened like ovens, and gave vent to hurrahs that made the hall shake. The voters in the gallery thumped with all their force on the wooden balustrade, making it resound like a drum. My eyes were fixed on a short man, standing in front of me; he shouted and gesticulated so violently that I expected he would be seized with an epileptic fit. After a moment he evidently broke something in his throat, for with a despairing gesture he indicated that his voice would not come again, and, red as a tomato, he sank upon a bench to recover his strength. The same accident probably happened to several others, for comparative silence ensued. Unfortunately, some one took advantage of it to cry: “Boys! Three cheers for the Grand Old Man!” The “Grand Old Man” is Mr. Gladstone. Some years ago they called him “the old scoundrel.” Now he is called the “Grand Old Man” but the usual pronunciation is not sufficiently emphatic. It must be pronounced very slowly: g-r-r-r-r-and, with four or five r’s, ôld with three circumflex accents on the ô, and two on mân. Any other pronunciation lacks respect. The quite novel idea of cheering “the Grand Old Man” made every one recover his strength. One gentleman in the gallery gave the signal by attempting to demolish the balustrade with his shillalah and the nine hurrahs broke out like a peal of thunder. Their enthusiasm was so great that when it ended one voice cried, “Once more,” and they recommenced. But human strength has its limits, and I saw with pleasure that they were nearly exhausted. The second volley of hurrahs is not so hearty as the first. At last their throats could only utter inarticulate sounds; in spite of the efforts betrayed by their distorted features aphony was rapidly approaching.