“Hitherto there was not a stroke—­the scene became even more silent and gloomy, although the moral darkness of their ill-suppressed passions was strongly contrasted with the splendor of the sun, that poured down a tide of golden light upon the multitude.  This contrast between the natural brightness of the evening, and the internal gloom of their hearts, as the beams of the sun rested upon the ever-moving crowd, would, to any man who knew the impetus with which the spirit of religious hatred was soon to rage among them, produce novel and singular sensations.  For, after all Toby, there is a mysterious connection between natural and moral things, which often invest both nature and sentiment with a feeling that certainly would not come home to our hearts if such a connection did not exist.  A rose-tree beside a grave will lead us from sentiment to reflection; and any other association, where a painful or melancholy thought is clothed with a garb of joy or pleasure, will strike us more deeply in proportion as the contrast is strong.  On seeing the sun or moon struggling through the darkness of surrounding clouds, I confess, although you may smile, that I feel for the moment a diminution of enjoyment—­something taken, as it were, from the sum of my happiness.

“Ere the quarrel commenced, you might see a dark and hateful glare scowling from the countenances of the two parties, as they viewed and approached each other in the street—­the eye was set in deadly animosity, and the face marked with an ireful paleness, occasioned at once by revenge and apprehension.  Groups were silently hurrying with an eager and energetic step to their places of rendezvous, grasping their weapons more closely, or grinding their teeth in the impatience of their fury.  The veterans on each side were surrounded by their respective followers, anxious to act under their direction; and the very boys seemed to be animated with a martial spirit, much more eager than that of those who had greater experience in party quarrels.

“Jem Finigan’s public-house was the head-quarters and rallying-point of the Ribbonmen; the Orangemen assembled in that of Joe Sherlock, the master of an Orange lodge.  About six o’clock the crowd in the street began gradually to fall off to the opposite ends of the town—­the Roman Catholics towards the north, and the Protestants towards the south.  Carson’s window, from which I was observing their motions, was exactly half way between them, so that I had a distinct view of both.  At this moment I noticed Denis Kelly coming forward from the closely condensed mass formed by the Ribbonmen:  he advanced with his cravat off, to the middle of the vacant space between the parties, holding a fine oak cudgel in his hand.  He then stopped, and addressing the Orangemen, said,

“’Where’s Vengeance and his crew now?  Is there any single Orange villain among you that dare come down and meet me here like a man?  Is John Grimes there? for if he is, before we begin to take you out of a face, to hunt you altogether out of the town, ye Orange villains I would be glad that he’d step down to Denis Kelly here for two or three minutes; I’ll not keep him longer.’