The road was, for miles, crowded with our followers; banners flying and music playing, we presented something of the spectacle of a very ragged army on its march.

At every cross-road a mountain-path reinforcement awaited us, and as we wended along, our numbers were momentarily increasing; here and there along the line, some energetic and not over-sober adherent was regaling his auditory with a speech in laudation of the O'Malleys since the days of Moses, and more than one priest was heard threatening the terrors of his Church in aid of a cause to whose success he was pledged and bound.

I rode beside the count, who, surrounded by a group of choice spirits, recounted the various happy inventions by which he had, on divers occasions, substituted a personal quarrel for a contest.

Boyle also contributed his share of election anecdote, and one incident he related, which, I remember, amused me much at the time.
[Illustration: THE ELECTION.] "Do you remember Billy Calvert, that came down to contest Kilkenny ?" inquired Sir Harry.
"What, ever forget him!" said Considine, "with his well-powdered wig and his hessians.

There never was his equal for lace ruffles and rings." "You never heard, may be, how he lost the election ?" "He resigned, I believe, or something of that sort." "No, no," said another; "he never came forward at all.