On we went, a strange and motley mass, the only grave faces being a few of those who sat in gilded coaches, with embroidered hammercloths, while every half-naked figure that flitted past had a countenance of reckless jollity and fun. But the same discrepancy that pervaded the people and the procession was visible even in their dwellings, and the meanest hovels stood side by side with the public and private edifices of elegance and beauty.
“This, certainly,” thought I, “is a strange land.” A reflection I had reason to recur to more than once in my after experience of Ireland.
CHAPTER V. THE REVIEW IN THE PHOENIX
Winding along the quays, we crossed an old and dilapidated bridge; and after traversing some narrow and ruinous-looking streets, we entered the Park, and at length reached the Fifteen Acres.
The carriages were drawn up in a line; his Grace's led horses were ordered up, and staff-officers galloped right and left to announce the orders for the troops to stand to arms.
As the Duke descended from his carriage he caught my eye, and turning suddenly towards the Duchess, said, “Let me present Mr. Hinton to your Grace.”
While I was making my bows and acknowledgments, his Grace put his hand upon my arm.
“You know Lady Killimore, Hinton? Never mind, it's of no consequence. You see her carriage yonder—they have made some blunder in the road, and the dragoons, it seems, wont let them pass. Just canter down and rescue them.”
“Do, pray, Mr. Hinton,” added the Duchess. “Poor Lady Killimore is so very nervous she'll be terrified to death if they make any fuss. Her carriage can come up quite close; there is plenty of room.”