merits, for it is hung around with the lords-
lieutenant of nearly two hundred years back—
the Buckinghams, Westmorelands, Dorsets,
Townshends, and nearly every noble family in
England. The series has been carefully and
almost religiously kept up; and people fond of
prophecy discovered an omen in the fact, that
after Lord Carlisle's picture there would be
room for no more. But both prophecy and
judgment failed together— another lord-
lieutenant came, and another more observing eye
found room for a new picture.

A study of these portraits is full of profit,
and in these faces we might almost read the
story of the government of the country. For
here are clever, and weak, and cunning faces;
open, jovial, and unsuspicious countenances;
the reckless Townshend, the free debauched
Rutland, the diplomatic Clarendon, the good-
natured Eglinton, and the genial Carlisle.

Next we troop into ST. PATRICK'S HALL—
the grand ball-room— with the painted ceiling
and the galleries, where the musicians play, and
the mirrors and the scarlet tiers of seats. Here,
too, is a dais, and another throne. And down
this room, when the drawing-room is done, and
the thousand or so of ladies, gentle and simple,
have passed by, there is " THE PROCESSION,"
and vice King and vice Queen march solemnly
and stately down to the drumming and trumpeting
of music in the gallery. By one o'clock
all have departed; and in the next morning's
papers we have the " correct list " in due order
of precedence, and, more pleasant reading still, a
minute account of the jewels, dresses, laces,
lappets, " bouillons," " buffons," and the rest.

Almost next day set in the dinners and balls.
Country paterfamilias with his wife and daughters
—a staunch supporter of government— is bidden.
The late Lord Carlisle dispensed an almost
sumptuous hospitality. Those weekly
"banquets" as they were called, where a hundred
guests were entertained in the large St. Patrick's
Hall as elegantly and as perfectly as if it were
a dinner ot twelve, will not be soon forgotten.
This amiable nobleman delighted in naving
"his friends about him." He loved everything
that the Irish would call " sport," and was
never wanting where "sport" called for him.
It was worth seeing this Viceroy at the curious
ceremony on St. Patrick's-day, when the guards
were relieved at the Castle, and the bands
played Irish airs, and the Viceroy appeared on
his balcony literally loaded with shamrocks. A
mass of the great unwashed below, crowded
densely, listening to their national airs; and when
some stirring jig struck up, the charm became
irresistible, a number of rings were instinctively
formed, and then was Pat and Andy " footing
it," regardless of all proprieties. Police roabed
up to avert the profanation; but the good-
natured Viceroy was seen protesting as furiously
from his balcony, and the odd morning
entertainment proceeded. As the fun waxed furious
the contagion spread, more circles broke out,
and presently the great yard was a mass of
human beings dancing like dervishes.

Of this St. Patrick's night was always, too, a
special feature— a great ball in court dresses.
The routine was alwaxs strictly the same. It
was a sight to see. As the clock struck ten, the
two lines of dancers formed, the court suits and
swords making it look like a ball of the last
century, and then at the signal the music in the
gallery struck up " ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE
MORNING!" and a fierce country dance set in.
The king's heart was in that measure, and it was
delightful to see with what unwearied vigour he
pursued the fatiguing course, " turning " every
one conscientiously until he reached the end.
A "Castle ball" is always "voted" capital,
and indeed about one floats a memory of a
floor vast and smooth as ice, good dancing,
brilliant lights, and the charming music of a
Vienna valse. But there are other delights
of which this festive hall is the scene.
Periodically a knight of St. Patrick is made, and
the result is a " show " of no mean brilliancy
—collars, mantles, heralds gorgeous in the
knave of diamonds tabard, with that best and
most efficient of all heralds, " Ulster "—
better known to us as Sir Bernard —uniforms
again, chancellors and prelates of the order,
flitting to and fro, and crossing each other
like the strands of a parti-coloured cord. This,
too, is succeeded by the " banquet," than which,
in Ireland as in England, nothing can so worthily
"crown the work." Here, too, when the late
earl was "king," were pleasant concerts, choruses
of pretty ladies, and solos, for our late sovereign
was an amateur, and loved a charming and
brilliant voice just as much as he admired a
charming and pretty face. Nothing was more
delicate than the half-gallant, half-fatherly
encouragement he had for all the belles
of his court, and they were many; so, too,
with the interest and pride he felt in their
success, and their marriages were nearly always
celebrated with a handsome present, and
honoured with his own presence. But among
other shows and festivities, bound up in a manner
with " Castle life," is one which has a special
charm. Long before the feeble halting society
called the " London Royal Academy of Music"
had come into wheezy life, there existed in
Dublin, fully a hundred and twenty years ago,
a society of the same class— the Irish Academy
of Music, which has always a kind of fashionable
patronage. Roman visitors will recollect the
charming " Societa Filarmonica" and their
delightful concerts, the feature of which was the
rows of the fairest Roman ladiesof the first quality
and beauty, a princess or two even, sitting charmingly
dressed, and giving an opera of
Donizetti's. These refined and tuneful "ladies"
will not soon be forgotten. It was truly an
amateur performance, and was as pretty to look
at as to listen to. Now in the Irish capital—
and this may be quoted as an instance of kindred
in Celtic nations— precisely the same thing may
be seen, and at two concerts of this Irish
Academy are there tiers and rows of rank and beauty
—ladies who have been dancing the night before
at Lady Mary Kilshandra's, in Merrion-square