int of discussion is----"

"Supper, ready to come up, sir," said a servant, opening the door.

"Then, that's the best thing we could discuss, boys," said Murphy to
his friends--"so up with the supper, Dan. Up with the supper! Up with
the Egans! Down with the Scatterbrains--hurrah!--we'll beat them
gaily."

"Hollow!" said Durfy.

"Not hollow," said Dick; "we'll have a tussle for it."

"So much the better," cried Murphy; "I would not give a fig for an easy
victory--there's no fun in it. Give me the election that is like a
race--now one ahead, and then the other; the closeness calling out all
the energies of both parties--developing their tact and invention, and,
at last, the return secured by a large majority."

"But think of the glory of a large one," said Dick.

"Ay," added Durfy, "beside crushing the hope of a petition on the part
of your enemy to pull down the majority."

"But think of Murphy's enjoyment," said the doctor, "in defending the
seat, to say nothing of the bill of costs."

"You have me there, doctor," said Murphy; "a fair hit, I grant you; but
see, the supper is on the table. To it, my lads; to it! and then a
jolly glass to drink success to our friend Egan."

And glass after glass they did drink in all sorts and shapes of
well-wishing toasts; in short, to have seen the deep interest those men
took in the success of their friend, might have gladdened the heart of
a philanthropist; though there is no knowing what Father Mathew, had he
flourished in those times, might have said to their overflowing
benevolence.

CHAPTER XVIII

The morning of nomination which dawned on Neck-or-Nothing Hall saw a
motley group of O'Grady's retainers assembling in the stable-yard, and
the out-offices rang to laugh and joke over a rude but plentiful
breakfast--tea and coffee, there, had no place--but meat, potatoes,
milk, beer, and whisky were at the option of the body-guard, which was
selected for the honour of escorting the wild chief and his friend,
the candidate, into the town. Of this party was the yeomanry-band of
which Tom Durfy spoke, though, to say the truth, considering Tom's
apprehensions on the subject, it was of slender force. One trumpet, one
clarionet, a fife, a big drum, and a pair of cymbals, with a "_real_
nigger" to play them, were all they could muster.

After clearing off everything in the shape of breakfast, the
"musicianers" amused the retainers, from time to time, with a tune
on the