“Why,” asked a new comer; “what’s wrong wid him?”

“He’s not at himself,” replied the other, “ever since he had the faver; that, they say, an’ the death of a very purty girl he was goin’ to be married to, has put him beside himself, the Lord save us!”

“Come on now,” shouted Tom, in his terrible voice; “here’s the greatest of all before us still.  Who wants meal now?  Come on, I say—­ha, ha, ha!  Is there any of you hungry?  Is there any of you goin’ to die for want of food?  Now’s your time—­ho, ho!  Now, Peggy, now.  Amn’t I doin’ it?  Ay, am I, an’ it’s all for your sake, Peggy dear, for, I swore by the broken heart you died of—­ay, an’ didn’t I tell you that last night on your grave where I slep’.  No, he wouldn’t—­he wouldn’t—­but now—­now—­he’ll see the differ—­ay, an’ feel it too.  Come on,” he shouted, “who-ever’s hungry, folly me! ha, ha, ha!”

This idiotic, but ferocious laugh, echoing such a dreadful purpose, was appalling; but the people who knew what he had suffered, only felt it as a more forcible incentive to outrage.  Darby’s residence was now quite at hand, and in a few minutes it was surrounded by such a multitude, both of men and women, as no other occasion could ever bring together.  The people were, in fact, almost lost in their own garments; some were without coats or waistcoats to protect them from the elements, having been forced, poor wretches, to part with them for food; others had nightcaps or handkerchiefs upon their heads instead of hats; a certain proof that they were only in a state of convalescence from fever—­the women stood with dishevelled hair—­some of them half naked, and others leading their children about, or bearing them in their arms; altogether they presented such an appearance as was enough to wring the benevolent heart with compassion and. sorrow for their sufferings.

On arriving at Darby’s house, they found it closed, but not deserted.  At first, Tom Dalton knocked, and desired the door to be opened, but the women who were present, whether with shame or with honor to the sex, we are at a loss to say, felt so eager on the occasion, probably for the purpose of avenging Peggy Murtagh, that they lost not a moment in shivering in the windows, and attacking the house with stones and missiles of every description.  In a few minutes the movement became so general and simultaneous that the premises were a perfect wreck, and nothing was to be seen but meal and flour, and food of every description, either borne off by the hungry crowd, or scattered most wickedly and wantonly through the streets, while, in the very midst of the tumult, Tom Dalton was seen dragging poor Darby out by the throat, and over to the centre of the street.