vexed and pitying friends—his opponents felt for him, and were silent.
But now, at the turn formed by the market-place square, were seen preparations for the great man's address to the people, who had come, in many cases, for many miles; and whom friends and opponents were alike anxious to hear, and prepared to admire. The crowd below remained quiet and calm, as if suddenly transfixed to stone, and every outstretched head seemed to double its powers of hearing, when, stepping upon a temporary platform, the dignity of conscious power covering the defects of an awkward gait and a physical imperfection, the great man commenced, under the most favourable circumstances, the speech so ardently desired. The day was beautiful, the air balmy, the people predisposed to admire, and every topic on which the orator touched found its echo in the hearts of the great body of his hearers, for he talked of the majesty of the people, the true and only source of power—the freedom of Britons—the triumphs of their perseverance—and the necessity of exhibiting it on the present occasion. "Their young candidate," he said, "had every recommendation; he had imbibed pure freedom with his mother’s
