Dublin Castle

Castle of Dublin. - Ancient History. - The Worst Castle in Christendom. - Upper and Lower Castle Yards. - Curious Trial by Combat. - Higher Functions of the Upper Castle Yard. - State Apartments. - Amusing History of the Old Days in the Castle. - St. Patrick’s Hall. - Trooping of the Colours on St. Patrick’s Day - The Banquet and Ball - Curious Dancing.- Levees and Drawing-Rooms. – Melrose by Candle-light. - The Kissing Viceroys. - Story of Lord Anglesey. - The Superiority over St. James’s in the Matter of the Masculine Element. - The Incoming of the Viceroys. - State Visits to the Theatre. - Bazaars, Concerts. - Story of Bluefacing.

“The seat of this city is of all sides pleasant, comfortable, and wholesome; if you would breathe hills, they are not far off, if champaign ground, it lieth of all parts; if you be delighted with fresh water, the famous river called the Liffey runneth fast by; if you will take a view of the sea, it is at band.” - Stanihurst** ***(Old Chronicler). *

Mr. Froude, whose testimony as regards Ireland is not certainly biased by warmth of friendship, has declared that “it is an enchanted country”; and if we go back to its earlier days, we would be inclined to say that he is right, for here did dwell giants and fairies, King Arthur’s Knights and fair *demoiselles *like “La belle Isolde,” with whose story we are now familiar through the music of the great Wagner.

According to Stanihurst, Isolde lived at Izod’s Tower, which was situated at Dame’s Gate, close to the river side. This fact points to some sort of city being in existence at the time Tristran was sent to fetch his uncle’s bride. This question of the actual date when Dublin could be called a city is hard to decide, so many conflicting testimonies exist. Antiquarians tell us that Ptolemy speaks of Eblana as a magnificent city. This statement would seem to be a polite exaggeration on the part of the Greek geographer, for the prefix *Dun *to the word “Eblana ” in the Celtic tongue means *fort, *not “city”; but it may be that Pt& Ptolemy was not aware of this.

From the time Ptolemy mentions Eblana, we hear no more of Dublin Until it turns up as Dru-choll-coil, which is a pretty name signifying “the brow of a hazel -wood,” the wood at that time surrounding the town, which was nothing more than a straggling village.

At a later period it figures as Bally-ath-cleath, pronounced, we are told by experts, “Blacleea.” This, translated into English, means “a town on the ford of the hurdles.” The ford was across the River Liffey, and the bridge, or passage, was roughly made of hurdles laid upon the marshy portion of the rude harbour: hence the name Leam Cleam, from “leam,” *harbour, *“cleath,” hurdle.

On the northern bank of the river the old town was built on the site of Cork Hill, Christchurch Place, Fishamble Street, etc. Here, after St. Patrick visited the island, rose St. Patrick’s Cathedral; and St. Mary’s Abbey dates from the same period.

It was during the occupation of the country by the Danes that ‘Dublinn,” or the Dark Pool, as it was called by the stranders, was made the capital of the country. Up to this date Tara in Meath took precedence, being the chief town. This, however, did not suit the invaders, who wished to have a stronghold near to the sea. These Otmen, or Northmen. made Dublinn into a fortified town.

The rest of the story is well known: how the Danes were beaten at the Battle of Clontarf, but their power not subdued – they remained in a quarter of the city, where traces of their occupation are still evident; how they sowed dissensions and caused many troubles; how romance came into the story, as it often does in the history of countries.

Dermot McMorrogh, King of Leinster, had appropriated the wife of the Prince of Breffua. Breffua’s cause was championed by O’Connor, King of Ireland, who advanced upon the monarch Of Leinster (probably his. virtuous championship had for its real object the annexation of the province).

McMorrogh, who was wonderfully astute, fled to England, and laid his allegiance at the feet of Henry II., who snapped it up greedily, and despatched forthwith the great Stranguleusis, or Stringuil, commonly called Strongbow, Lord of Chepstow, to subdue O’Connor, which he very effectually did; and likewise Asculf McToreal, the former and rightful King of Ireland, who, hearing that a row was going on, thought it a good time to strike in.

Asculf sailed up the Liffey with a fleet of 60 Norwegian ships, curious conical-shaped things, which were “andled,” says Cambriensis, “by a Norwegian of gigantic stature, commonly called John the Mad, from his furious manner of fighting.” But not even Mad John could make head against the Anglo-Normans, and was Asculf beheaded and Mad John slain in battle. Strongbow then married the beautiful Eva, daughter to the traitor McMorrogh. The wedded pair abode in Ireland, and Stringuil is buried in Christ Church Cathedral.

It was during the ‘government of FitzHenry, who succeeded Strongbow, that the Norman invaders set to building a fortress round which they could gather their trusty followers. They had need of some such defence against the native Irish, who driven from their homes, had taken refuge in the woods and mountains, whence they could make predatory onslaughts upon their conquerors, and take reprisal for their wrongs.

One sanguinary reprisal took place one Easter Monday, when 500 of the citizens of Bristol, to whom King Henry had *presented *the City of Dublin, crossed over in boats to view their new acquisition, and have a couple of days’ pleasuring. They were enjoying themselves mightily, when, on a sudden, descended the wild hordes from the mountains, and of the Bristol holiday-makers none returned to tell the tale.

This misadventure quickened FitzHenry’s resolve to erect a strong fortress against sudden attacks, and in 1205 he commenced building the ancient Castle of Dublin, which, when finished, made a stout defence against the attacks of the turbulent natives.

Its position was one of great security. Standing half-way up the hill now called Cork Hill (then outside the town), it commanded the city, and was well fortified in case of sudden attack. It was entered on the north side by crossing a drawbridge between two round towers, the westward of which was taken down in 1766.

A portcullis armed with iron was erected between these two towers, and served as a second defence in case the drawbridge should be captured by the enemy. A high curtain or wall extended from the westward tower, called Cork Tower, to the Birmingham Tower, afterwards used as a prison.

From the Birmingham Tower another high curtain or wall continued to the Wardrobe Tower, and thence to Stove House Tower, near Dames’ Gate; and from there it was carried on to the eastern gateway tower at the entrance of the Castle, this being furthermore surrounded by a deep moat.

The fortress is said to have been built in the short space of fifteen years, which may in some way account for its going to ruin with sudden rapidity, for in Queen Elizabeth’s reign we find that a royal mandate was issued that the Castle of Dublin should be repaired and enlarged so as to make a fitting residence for the newly appointed Governor of Ireland.

It cannot be said that her Majesty’s wishes were carried out in a satisfactory manner, for in i688 Lord Arran complains that it was the “worst castle in the worst situation in Christendom.”

(The occasion which called for this remark from Lord Arran was a fierce fire which broke out in the Castle in April, 1688. It burned the bed on which Lord Arran was lying; fortunately he had time to escape. It was only by destroying the gallery which communicated with the powder magazine that a frightful explosion was prevented. “What damage your Grace and I have suffered by this accident,” writes Lord Arran to his father the Duke of Ormonde, Viceroy of Ireland, “I cannot yet learn; but I find the King has lost nothing except six barrels of powder and the worst castle in the worst situation in Christendom.”

It is strange that later on, when the King had agreed to build a new castle, it was this same Lord Arran who prevented the undertaking, declaring that if the walls were lowered to the height of 30 feet it might be made a wholesome residence.)

Dublin Castle has been little altered since this verdict was passed upon it. No one can say it is either picturesque or possessed of architectural merit.

Its aspect is gloomy, with the oppressive “silence of age,” which nevertheless lends it dignity; and like to some shrivelled and antiquated courtesan, it has secrets untold locked away* *in its silent keeping.

All its strong defences have long since disappeared, and we now enter through a large gateway surmounted by statues of Fortitude and Justice. For uniformity’s sake there is another gateway leading nowhere; and between the two stands the Bedford Tower, which was erected during the viceroyalty of the Duke of that name.

Some traces of the old Norman fortress remain in the arrangement of the *courts, *or *yards, *as they are called. The object of the two yards, upper and lower, was no doubt for greater security, as in troublous times the Governor, or Viceroy, could retreat within the Citadel, and stand a siege if necessary.

The Castle, however, has never been precisely an object of attack, although in times of rebellion it has been threatened, and even in later days (when the Duke of Abercorn was Lord Lieutenant) put in defence order - a regiment of Lancers picketing in the Courtyard, and cannon pointing ominously on the gates.

The Lower Castle Yard is much more picturesquely situated than is the Upper. It lies on the slope of the hill; and the Round Tower and Castle Chapel are of architectural merit.

Birmingham Tower - now the Record Tower - is *not *the original one where Hugh O’Donnell, the Irish chieftain, was confined, but that which was rebuilt. A portion of the old wall still remains, as is pointed out by an inscription upon a tablet: “This Tower was built 1411, *i.e. *in the 13 year of the K. Henry IV., and rebuilt A.D. 1775 by his Excellency Simon Earl Harcourt, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.”

Birmingham Tower has for many years been the repository of the ancient records of Irish history. Piles of old papers have lain hidden there for centuries. These are being gradually brought to light, and the revelations made in consequence incline one to believe that Lord Castlereagh had some justification for his well-known saying that “every man has his price.”

The Ordnance Office and the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police are situated in the Lower Castle Yard, as likewise the Castle Chapel, this last being for its size a most finished piece of Gothic work. A curious set of heads, cut in Tullamore marble, adorn the exterior; they include all the sovereigns of England.

The first stone of the Castle Chapel was laid in i807 by the Duke of Bedford, and it was opened for service in 1815. Here come on Sundays the Viceroy and his Court, together with the rank and fashion of Dublin, who for the time desert the more time-honoured cathedrals. Fashionable marriages are generally celebrated at the Castle Chapel.

A curious trial by combat took place in the Lower Castle Yard in 1583. Connor MacCormack O’Connor accused Teig MacGilpatrick O’Connor before the Lords Justices and Council of killing his men, who were under protection. Teig retorted with a counter-accusation of treason, and asserted his plea by right of single combat – weapons, sword and target.

The two chiefs were stripped to the waist, and fought in presence of a crowded audience. Teig, the accused, won the victory.

With the Upper Castle Yard all the higher functions of the viceregal office are connected. Here the Viceroy, during the six weeks of the season, resides with his personal staff, private secretary, comptroller, chaplain. gentlemen-at-large, and aides-de-camp in waiting. For these, residences are provided in the Quadrangle, where the houses, being irregularly built, impart an unfinished, not to say untidy, air to the square.

The State apartments are very handsome the staircase and corridors singularly well suited to viceregal entertainment, and on a night when a drawing-room or ball takes place present a really striking appearance. Before St. Patrick’s Hall was built, balls were given in the Beefeaters’ Hall, where that graphic writer Mrs. Delany tells us that the ladies who desired to dance were ranged in rows or tiers which reached to the ceiling. This was called being in paradise.

Sir Bernard Burke, who lived all his life under the shadow of Dublin Castle, has left a very amusing record of the forms in use at the mimic Court in the days of the first Georges, when the strictest etiquette was enforced.

Solicitors’ wives and physicians’ ladies ‘were not then considered of social rank such as would allow them to be presented to the King’s representative; even those who claimed for themselves high position had their pretensions carefully overhauled, and only a certain number were allowed to enter the circle called the Cross Benches. (The dais at the extreme end of Patrick’s Hall, where the viceroy and Vice-Queen have their thrones (in actuality large armchairs), now takes the place of the Cross Benches. Peeresses and baronets ladies have *the right *to sit here; and there are others who are on the fringe, so to speak, of high life who are allowed a seat at the extreme end. The dais, however, is not much in favour with the younger portion of society, who find the aristocratic precincts rather inimical to a pleasant night’s dancing) *Peeresses *sat in dignified seclusion on the red benches, and no lady was allowed to dance before the Vice-King and his consort unless her station permitted her to enter the sacred enclosure of cross or red benches.

A ball at the Castle was then, as it is now, the acme of a young *debutante’s *desire; and according to the accounts of contemporary writers, these festivities were conducted upon an unusual scale of magnificence: “Between each dance the company retired to the long gallery. Here they might stop at counters or shops, elegantly formed, where was *cold eating *and all sorts of wines and sweetmeats, the whole most beautifully disposed by transparent paintings, through which a shade was cast like moonlight. Flutes and other instruments were playing all the while, but, like the candles, unseen. Fountains of lavender-water diffused a grateful odour through this fairy scene, which certainly surpassed everything of the kind in Spenser”

An amusing history could be written of the doings in Dublin Castle, especially in the last century, when there was less outward decorum than prevails in our time. From the old memoirs we learn that the Vice-Kings were oftentimes jovial, and permitted somewhat of a saturnalia to prevail - as when the game of Cutchacutchoo was introduced, and was in high favour at the Castle.

“Two recesses were fitted up at the end of the grand saloons, and here behind a curtain the ladies prepared their toilet for the sport. In a moment the floor was crowded with ‘belles,’ ‘dowagers,’ and ‘beaux,’ hopping about in the sitting attitude required by the game. Great was the laughter when a gentle dame of high degree was capsized by the heavier assault of a stouter rival. Presently, as the fun waxed more furious, dresses were torn, hair disordered, paint on the fair faces began to rub off; and the whole became a romp.”’

But there were other and more dignified amusements - as when the King’s birthday was celebrated, when great solemnities took place. There was a court in the morning, a ball at night, and Sheridan or some other celebrity would write an ode which Mr. Dubourg set to music, to be sung. and fiddled by choir and orchestra. Mrs.. Delany describes a scene at one of these festivals, which, it must be owned, does not give a pleasant idea of the civilization of the guests. The company burst into the supper-room, squalling, shrieking, making all sorts of noises. Ladies were stripped of their lappets. hustled, squeezed in the scuffle; and poor Lady Santry was more dead than alive.”

But, after all, we read of some such scuffles at the Drawing-rooms of our own day.

Patrick’s Hall, where all entertainments are now given, was not finished until 1778, during the viceroyalty of the Earl of Buckinghamshire. The ceiling, which is very fine, was painted by Vincent Valdre, who was invited to Dublin by the Viceroy. It is divided into compartments, two of which represent periods of Irish history, *vis. *St. Patrick converting the Druids, Henry II. meeting the Irish chiefs, while the third depicts George II. supported by Liberty and Justice.

Of late St. Patrick’s Hall is especially connected with the ancient Order of Knights of St. Patrick, for here since 1868 the installation of a new knight takes place. The last installation in the Cathedral was in 1868, when the Prince of Wales was installed Knight of St Patrick; and the other day in St. Patrick’s Hall we assisted at the installation of the Duke of York.

It would be difficult to say which was the more interesting ceremonial; perhaps the dim religious air of the grand old Cathedral lent more dignity to the entrance of the Knight. There is always a flutter amongst the ladies when the Grand Master pronounces the words, “Bring in the Knight.”

St. Patrick’s Hall, however, is more particularly associated with the festival of Ireland’s patron saint, which falls on March 17. Iconoclast though he may be, the Lord-Lieutenant from time immemorial has been obliged to “drown the shamrock” in honour of St. Patrick; not that he need of necessity over-indulge, but he has to wear the national emblem and make merry, and the people are to be merry with him

it is to be carnival for one day.

Trooping the colours and mounting the guard furnish the share the populace have in this festival; it is an old-established custom in which the “unsoaped” take part. From an early hour the Castle Yard is filled by an eager, excited mob, for whose delectation certain military exercises are gone through to the sound of martial music. Then the Viceroy, with his Vice-Queen and a brilliant staff, appears on the balcony. Some of the ladies wear green frocks, or perhaps green hats, which now are the fashion; the Viceroy sports an exceedingly unbecoming green tie; and every one is decorated with a large bunch of the national emblem.

This excites yells of delight, to which the occupants of the balcony respond by bows and smiles. Then the national air is played, the cavalry charges, the horses curvet and caracole, there is a fearful din of brass instruments, an occasional conflict between the police and the mob, a rush and a scuffle, and all is over.

Of late years the pageant has lost much of the original flavour, the Irish mob being by no means so enthusiastic over the national festival as they were in Lord Carlisle’s time, when that genial£ nobleman would throw sixpences from the balcony, which were fought for by the denizens of the back lanes - a spectacle which afforded his Excellency infinite amusement.

Far greater fun reigns at night, when a banquet is given at the Castle, and later in the evening the time-honoured “St. Patrick’s Ball” This, as before said, is given in the hall of that name, which hardly holds the crowd of dancers. Trains are dispensed with; but feathers and veils are worn. As the season closes with this entertainment, a sort of general licence prevails, and the Chamberlain, that awful personage who holds in his hand the sesame to Castle festivities, relaxes for this night only his usually stern morality, and allows some pretty *debutante *who has not been presented to taste the joys of a private presentation which admits her to the halls of delight. Fast and furious grows the fun, and so too the flirtations, many a halting lover being helped over the bridge which separates flirtation from matrimony by the kindly influence of the patron saint, aided by the Viceroy’s champagne.

To the public the great event of the evening is the country dance, led by his Excellency, and numbering a couple of hundred dancers. This is really a most imposing sight.

Later on, after the country dance over the ropes are lowered; the waltzers fly round, jostle and cannon one another in giddy confusion. The floor after one of these rushes presents a curious spectacle, so strewn is it with trophies of the fray. Then come the tumbles, generally caused by some awkward youngster fresh from college, who has not learned the art of steering his partner. His awkwardness shows likewise in not getting up quickly.

In some cases this causes unpleasant consequences. On one occasion, when a scene of this kind occurred, a Crimean general, somewhat stricken in years, why had the indiscretion to join in the mazy whirl, was tripped up by one of these awkward .youngsters; he managed to save his partner, but it was found impossible to raise him from the ground, every effort causing him agony. A stretcher had to be brought, when it was found that the gallant general who had escaped the Russian guns had broken his leg on the polished floor of St. Patrick’s Hall.

All other festivals, however, pale before the grand yearly function of the Levees and Drawing-rooms which take place in the winter season. Then Dublin awakes from its usual quiet, almost somnolent condition. Hotels are crowded, houses are taken, the shop windows make a goodly display of finery, and Mrs. Sims, who is the “Worth” of Dublin, has so much on her hands that even her patience is sometimes sorely tried.

On the “Levey” day a stream of vehicles make their way up Cork Hill ; they are of all sorts and conditions, from the handsome brougham which conveys the Lord Chancellor in his wig and gown, to the jarvey upon which lounge a couple of officers in resplendent uniform - or possibly. they are deputy-lieutenants, whose gold epaulets and swords present a deceptive but martial appearance.

This cannot be said of the ordinary Court dress worn at the Viceroy’s Levees and Drawing-rooms, which is singularly unbecoming, its mean and flunkey-like air being added to by the fact that it is not always the property of the wearer.

The motley throng in the side-walks indulge their pungent wit, not unmixed with sarcasm, at the expense of each individual as he goes by; but, on the whole, the comments of the crowd, though pointed with personal allusions, are taken in good part.

The Levee, as having to do with the inferior male, is but a poor affair as compared with the Drawing-room, when the Castle is a scene of wonderful animation. The windows blaze with light, scarlet cloth covers the staircase and corridors, which are filled with lovely *debutantes *and handsome matrons.

There is the frou-frou of silken dresses, and the chatter of many voices; there is the crowding into the ante-chamber, the passing into the pen, the letting down of trains, the final presentation,-all very much on the pattern of the superior Court at St. James.

It cannot be denied that, so far as the fair sex are in question, they order matters better in Dublin than in London. “The conditions upon which Melrose is to be seen alight are familiar to all; and if moonlight is such a necessary adjunct to proper effect, so the natural and appropriate condition fitted to the display of women’s charms should be the flare of wax-lights, which softens all acerbities and heightens every natural advantage.”

A Dublin Drawing-room is a veritable bouquet of beauty gathered from many gardens. Young belles come hither fresh from the provinces, before the bloom has been brushed from off their cheeks by the sleeves of a hundred waltzers.

Here we may see,” says a recent writer, “Mrs. Murphy, of ‘Kestle Murphy,’ from the south-west, a gross and earthly creature, possessed by seven demons of vulgarity; and yet, after her walks something - so-extra refined - that it would seem incomprehensible how there should be any relationship between them. In another direction, coming, say, from the north, we have a perfect bit of Dresden china or Sevres, a *petite mignonne *or fairy in floating chiffons and laces, a rival to the Dublin belle *en titre, *who is cast in another mould, and is somewhat coarse and loud.

It is the enviable privilege of the Viceroy in office to exact tribute from every one of these fair creatures when they come before him for the first time. Only imagine a procession of lips going on through the night! It seems too much for one mortal. Yet, stay, there is the dark side. If there is unrestricted right over these blooming pastures, so are there stony, arid patches which must be accepted on like conditions.

Glorvina’s mamma has to be taken as an alternative, and nothing but a stern sense of duty could carry any man through kissing Glorvina’s mamma. Some one has said wittily that the Vice-King’s osculatory bill is, as it were, discounted after the fashion of ordinary usurious dealings - one-third old wine, one-third in paintings, and one-third in bright gold and silver.”

During Lord Anglesey’s viceroyalty an amusing incident occurred which afforded the gossips of Dublin much food for talk. At the first Drawing-room given by his Excellency the very young and pretty daughter of a well-known solicitor residing in Mountjoy Square was presented, and duly received the viceregal kiss.

It must here be explained that there is in the presence chamber, in front of the throne, a space reserved where high personages and personal friends of the Viceroy are allowed to remain after they have been presented.

The privilege of admittance to the Pen (for by this bucolic title is the enclosure designated) is eagerly sought for. Here those who have passed through the ordeal of presentation may at their ease criticise the dresses and laugh at the awkwardness of their intimate friends as they trip over their trains.

The heroine of our little tale should have followed her chaperone into this Garden of the Hesperides; but, being a *débutante, *she was unaware of the rules, and made her way to the Drawing-room, at the door of which she was stopped by the aide-de-camp in waiting, who informed her she should join her party in the Pen. To do this she had to again pass through the presence chamber. She tried to do so unobtrusively; but the Viceroy’s keen eye detected the attempt. He was not minded to forego his privileges, and, regardless of the proper dignity of her Majesty’s representative, he caught the delinquent as she was stealing past, and imprinted “a brace of kisses upon her velvet cheek.”

Another contrast to the London Drawing-room is the large percentage of males present. Uniforms abound; there is a camp within an hour’s drive, there are barracks in a dozen quarters of the city-so we can be glutted with every variety of shape and colour, cavalry, foot, and military train, and what *must *surely be the uniform of that exceptional corps the chevaux marins, for there are mysterious garments, too, not known even to Nathan - uniforms of a local pattern - officers associated with the administration of counties, who are splendid as French senators. These entities - gorgeous in green and gold, and general braiding, far more sumptuous than riflemen - are police. Then we have our household uniform, Windsorial in a degree, and the flashing aides-de-camp resplendent in bullion.

Prudent mammas look distrustfully on the attentions of these glorious creatures, “eddicongs” being proverbially of the class of “detrimentals.” Their attentions, nevertheless, are well received by the object of them, who is always ready to throw over a “warm” country gentleman for one of these danglers. Then comes the getting away, generally a scene of great confusion - chaperones trying to gather their fair charges, who, to the last, cling to the gold-laced sleeve of some military admirer.

At last, however, the cloak-room is reached; but even then the harassed matron’s cares are not over. There is the long wait for the carriages, which allows of *tete-a-tetes *in corners where Captain Murphy can still improve the occasion. The corridor has been the scene of many proposals, likewise of some droll incidents.

A story was long current which dates back to the time when a peculiar vehicle called an “inside car was in much requisition with those who did not possess carriages. On one occasion the policeman on duty to call the carriages kept on shouting Mrs. A, B, or C’s “inside is coming up ” - an announcement received with shouts of laughter not pleasant in the ears of the subjects of the merriment.

Much of the success of the Castle season depends upon the popularity of the Viceroy-whether he is generous or stingy, free and frank of manner. The most magnificent of modern Viceroys was the Duke of Abercorn, whose banquets to a hundred guests given once a week during the season, set off by sumptuous plate, excellent fare, and attended by all the rank, beauty, and talent of the land, were worthy of’ the Tuileries in the days of the Empire.

Another passport to popular favour is to be handsome and a good horseman. Stock of both these qualities are taken on the Viceroy’s entry, when he rides at the head of “the procession,” his wife and family (should he be provided with such) following in an open carriage. The new-comers are regarded with intense curiosity by the multitude who line the streets.

They are criticised in the freest manner. Mike, did ye see her now? Ah! a poor buttermilk sort of cratur, I wouldn’t give the lash of me whip for”; ” He isn’t much of a man, afther all!” - this as though distinguished personal appearance followed of necessity upon the high character of the office.

In the early part of this century it was the custom to draw up a regiment round King William’s statue, and when the Viceroy was sworn in at the Castle to discharge three volleys. This method of honouring ascendency produced oftentimes the strangest results in a street blocked with cars, carriages, and riders - the horses setting off at full gallop, the air filled with sounds of smashing panels, the cries of alarmed females.

The populace invariably call the Viceroy the Lord-Leffnent while his wife, with an odd inconsistency, is styled the Lady-Liftinant, the accent being placed on wholly different syllables. Beauty of person and great dignity amounting to reserve commands much respect, familiarity being a fatal fault in a ruler of Ireland. A curious exemplification of this well-known fact was given during the viceroyalty of Lord Spencer, who was much more approachable than his predecessor the Duke of Abercorn. “Shure, he’s mighty pleasant,” said an Irish country gentleman; “but give me *Abercarne. *He trated us like the dirt of his shoe.”

The bygone fashion of a State visit to the theatre, which was in use in the days when Garrick and Peg Woffington were the stars of Smock Alley Theatre, is still kept up when a piece is “commanded,” and the Court goes in state. “This little show is highly popular.. A retinue of some seven or eight carriages starts from the Castle, each proceeding according to the rank of the parties; and a file of cavalry with jingling accoutrements forms an escort to the colonnade of the theatre. The house is crowded to the roof; two State boxes are thrown into one, and set off with mirrors, chandeliers, and draperies; the manager, in a Court suit, and holding a pair of wax candles, leads the way; and at the head of a glittering staff the Viceroy, blazing in gold, garter, etc., enters. Every one stands up; while the familiar greeting of ‘God Save the Queen’ is played, the audience, being generally good-humoured. Occasionally ‘the gods’ give vent to some piquant and not always amiable observations.”

The Viceroy and his Queen are likewise much in demand at flower shows, bazaars, and concerts, where the stewards generally present a miserable state of agitation awaiting their Excellencies’ arrival. They precede the viceregal procession with a long line of wands, which are ill-managed and dangerous to the visitors, from nervousness.

The Viceroy is placed on an elevated throne, seated in a gilt chair, so that every one may have the best view; while the staff, in the regulation uniform - coats with gilt buttons and blue satin facings, with white waistcoats - are grouped round in graceful order. These enjoy a sort of inferior worship, and exhibit a condescending graciousness to friends and familiars.” To be seen with the blue silk facings glinting over a lady’s shoulder is distinction indeed!

In connection with the Bluefacings, a story was told to the winter not long since, which, as it is perfectly harmless, may be considered as not a privileged communication. A* *kindly Vice-Queen, so goes the tale, saw the number of partnerless girls who were wistfully looking on at their more fortunate companions gyrating over the best dancing-floor in the United Kingdom.

Being moved to pity, the Vice-Queen beckoned to one of the suite, and bade him provide these damsels without loss of time with waltzers. It was not altogether an easy task, as the men of war who congregate at viceregal functions follow the fashion of the superior city, and only the “boys” dance.

Bluefacing, however, did his best; and by dint of repeating her Ladyship’s command and other devices, he roused some unwilling warriors to do their duty, for which it is to be hoped the maidens were properly grateful.

The mother of one girl, having with maternal pride seen her daughter fitted to a high-stepping dragoon, approached Bluefacing, and, having thanked him for his kind attention, proceeded to inform him that she came from a northern county, and that it was her particular desire that her daughter should be “introjuiced” to and dance with Lord , who was likewise from the north.

Hypocritical Bluefacing said, “Certainly”; but with, I am afraid, no intention of fulfilling his promise. The maternal eye was on him, however; and after a decent interval the matron approached him with, “Had he arranged the introjucing?” ” Madam, it is impossible; his Lordship is engaged for the next four dances”; and then, alarmed at the flash of the matron’s eye, he glided away, but not so far as to prevent the following conversation reaching his ear.

“Who is that blue-faced fellow,” asked another matron with a Minerva headdress, “that you seem so thick with?” “Not one of me knows,” returned matron number one; “but he is one of them Castle brutes.” “And this is gratitude,” thought Blue-facing as he walked sadly away.

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