Confused cries rose again, but the other voice gained the mastery.

’So you call that undertaker-looking figure there Mr. Kendal.  Small credit to your taste.  You want to burn him.  What for?’

‘For being a Nabob and a tyrant,’ was the shout.

’Much you know of Nabobs!  No; I’ll tell you what it’s for.  It is because his son got his death fighting for his queen and his country a year ago, and on his death-bed bade him do his best to drive the fever from your doors, and shelter you and save you from the Union in your old age.  Is that a thing to burn him for?’

‘We want no Irish papists here!’ shouted a blackguard voice.

‘Serve him with the same sauce.’

‘I never was a papist,’ was the indignant reply.  ’No more was he; but I’ve said that the place shan’t disgrace itself, and—­’

‘I’m with you,’ shouted another above all the howls of the mob.  ’Gilbert Kendal was as kind-hearted a chap as ever lived, and I’ll see no wrong done to his father.’

Tremendous uproar ensued; then the well-known tones pealed out again, ’I’ve given my word to save his likeness.  Come on, boys.  Hurrah for Kendal!’

The war-cry was echoed by a body of voices, there was a furious melee and a charge towards the Nabob, who rocked and toppled down, while stragglers came pressed backwards on all sides.

‘Here, Hope, take care of them.  Stay with them,’ said Mr. Kendal, putting the whip into the curate’s hand, and striding towards the nucleus of the fray, through the throng who were driven backwards.

‘O’More,’ he called, ‘what’s all this?  Give over!  Are you mad?’ and then catching up, and setting on his legs, a little fallen boy, ’Go home; get out of all this mischief.  What are you doing?  Take home that child,’ to a gaping girl with a baby.  ’O’More, I say, I’ll commit every man of you if you don’t give over.’

He was recognised, and those who had little appetite for the skirmish gave back from him; but the more reckless and daring small fry began shrieking, ‘The Nabob!’ and letting off crackers and squibs, through which he advanced upon the knot of positive combatants, who were exchanging blows over his prostrate image in front of the fire.

One he caught by the collar, in the act of aiming a blow.  The fist was instantly levelled at him, with the cry, ’You rascal! what do you mean by it?’ But the fierce struggle failed to shake off the powerful grasp; and at the command, ‘Don’t be such a fool!’ Ulick burst out, ’Murder! ‘tis himself!’ and in the surprise was dragged some paces before recovering his perceptions.

The cry of police had at the same instant produced a universal scattering, and five policemen, coming on the ground, found scarcely any one to separate or capture.  Mr. Kendal relaxed his hold, saying, ‘You are my prisoner.’

‘I didn’t think you’d been so strong,’ said Ulick, shaking himself, and looking bewildered.  ‘Where’s the effigy?’