“Oh, Patrick, dear, and did you hear
    The news that’s going round? 
  The shamrock is by law forbid. 
    To grow on Irish ground. 
  No more St. Patrick’s day we’ll keep—­
    His colour can’t be seen,
  For there’s a bloody law again
    The Wearing of the Green.”

But hark!  There is a noise at the jury-room door!  It opens—­the jury enter the box.  A murmur, swelling to almost a roar, from the crowded audience, is instantly followed by a deathlike stillness.  The judges are called; but by this time it is noticed that the foreman has not the “issue-paper” ready to hand down; and a buzz goes round—­“a question; a question!” It is even so.  The foreman asks:—­

   Whether, if they believed the speech of Mr. Martin to be in itself
   seditious, should they come to the conclusion that the assemblage was
   seditious?

Mr. Justice Fitzgerald answers in the negative, and a thrill goes through the audience.  Nor is this all.  One of the jurors declares there is no chance whatever of their agreeing to a verdict!  Almost a cheer breaks out.  The judge, however, declares they must retire again; which the jury do, very reluctantly and doggedly; in a word, very unlike men likely to “persuade one another.”

When the judges again leave the bench for their chamber, the crowd in court give way outright to joy.  Every face is bright; every heart is light; jokes go round, and there is great “chaff” of the crown officials, and of the “polis,” who, poor fellows, to tell the truth, seem to be as glad as the gladdest in the throng.  Five o’clock arrives—­half-past five—­the jury must suavely be out soon now.  At a quarter to six they come; and for an instant the joke is hushed, and cheeks suddenly grow pale with fear lest by any chance it might be evil news.  But the faces of the jurymen tell plainly “no verdict.”  The judges again are seated.  The usual questions in such cases:  the usual answers.  “No hope whatever of an agreement.”  Then after a reference to the Solicitor-General, who, in sepulchral tone, “supposes” there is “nothing for it” but to discharge the jury, his lordship declares the jury discharged.

Like a volley there burst a wild cheer, a shout, that shook the building!  Again and again it was renewed; and, being caught up by the crowd outside, sent the tidings of victory with electrical rapidity through the city.  Then there was a rush at Mr. Martin and Mr. Sullivan.  The former especially was clasped, embraced, and borne about by the surging throng, wild with joy.  It was with considerable difficulty any of the traversers could get away, so demonstrative was the multitude in the streets.  Throughout the city the event was hailed with rejoicing, and the names of the jurymen, “good and bad” were vowed to perpetual benediction.  For once, at least, justice had triumphed; or rather, injustice had been baulked.  For once, at least, the people had won the day; and the British Government had received a signal overthrow in its endeavour to proscribe—­