When I returned to the coffee-room of my hotel, I found it crowded to excess; every little table, originally destined for the accommodation of one, having at least two, and sometimes three occupants.

In my hurried glance round the room, to decide where I should place myself, I was considerably struck with the appearance of a stout elderly gentleman, with red whiskers, and a high, bald forehead; he had, although the day was an oppressively hot one, three waistcoats on, and by the brown York tan of his long topped boots, evinced a very considerable contempt either for weather or fashion; in the quick glance of his sharp grey eye, I read that he listened half doubtingly to the narrative of his companion, whose back was turned towards me, but who appeared, from the occasional words which reached me, to be giving a rather marvellous and melodramatic version of the expected pleasures of the capital.

There was something in the tone of the speaker's voice that I thought I recognised; I accordingly drew near, and what was my surprise to discover my friend Tom O'Flaherty.
After our first salutation was over, Tom presented me to his friend, Mr.
Burke, of somewhere, who, he continued to inform me, in a stage whisper, was a "regular dust," and never in Dublin in his life before.
"And so, you say, sir, that his majesty cannot enter without the permission of the lord mayor ?" "And the aldermen, too," replied Tom.

"It is an old feudal ceremony; when his majesty comes up to the gate, he demands admission, and the lord mayor refuses, because he would be thus surrendering his great prerogative of head of the city; then the aldermen get about him, and cajole him, and by degrees he's won over by the promise of being knighted, and the king gains the day, and enters." "Upon my conscience, a mighty ridiculous ceremony it is, after all," said Mr.Burke, "and very like a bargain for sheep in Ballinasloe fair, when the buyer and seller appear to be going to fight, till a mutual friend settles the bargain between them." At this moment, Mr.Burke suddenly sprung from his chair, which was nearest the window, to look out; I accordingly followed his example, and beheld a rather ludicrous procession, if such it could be called, consisting of so few persons.

The principal individual in the group was a florid, fat, happy-looking gentleman of about fifty, with a profusion of nearly white whiskers, which met at his chin, mounted upon a sleek charger, whose half-ambling, half-prancing pace, had evidently been acquired by long habit of going in procession; this august figure was habited in a scarlet coat and cocked hat, having aiguillettes, and all the other appanage of a general officer; he also wore tight buckskin breeches, and high jack-boots, like those of the Blues and Horse Guards; as he looked from side to side, with a self-satisfied contented air, he appeared quite insensible of the cortege which followed and preceded him; the latter, consisting of some score of half-ragged boys, yelling and shouting with all their might, and the former, being a kind of instalment in hand of the Dublin Militia Band, and who, in numbers and equipment, closely resembled the "army which accompanies the first appearance of Bombastes." The only difference, that these I speak of did not play "the Rogue's March," which might have perhaps appeared personal.
As this goodly procession advanced, Mr.Burke's eyes became riveted upon it; it was the first wonder he had yet beheld, and he devoured it.