The furniture of both guardrooms was scanty, that in the men’s room consisting of a few forms and a guard-bed of wood, raised a couple of feet from the ground; while the officer’s furniture was more luxurious, he having an old leather-covered couch, with four or five chairs to match, and a large table. There was, however, abundance of fuel; and candles of the mutton-fat order were liberally supplied at the rate of one to each room. Both apartments were large and lofty, the ceiling of the officer’s being vaulted; and its walls, in my time, were covered with drawings in pencil and coloured chalks, more or less well done; and many very amusing, being caricatures of well-known staff and other officers, or sketches of various funny incidents which had taken place at guard-mountings and field-days, in which the figure of old Toby White, the well-known town major, was always prominent, as well as an adjutant of one of the regiments, famed for the peculiar peak which adorned his shako, and his feats of horsemanship, which seemed meant to illustrate the many ways one could fall off a horse without getting hurt. Over the vast mantel-piece were drawings of the breastplates of every regiment that had mounted the guard, all artistically and faithfully done. Like the gorgets, these breastplates have ceased for many years to be part of the uniform of the British infantry; but for the benefit of those who don’t remember them, I may say that they served to clasp across the breast the broad white sword-belt worn in full uniform in the days of coatees and epaulets, and were very handsome, having, besides, the number of the regiment, the regimental badge, and the various battles authorised to be borne on the regimental colour, emblazoned on them. Amongst the other drawings on the walls was, directly opposite the door leading from the stairs into the guardroom, the figure of a young lady clad in the full-dress uniform of a regiment dating many years anterior to the time of which I speak. She was represented as standing at the salute, with a drawn sword extended in her right hand, and the left at the shako peak shading the eyes. There was a legend—whence derived or how handed down, I am unable to say—that the young lady in the obsolete uniform was the wife of an officer of the guard who one night, many years ago, had become intoxicated on duty; and that she saved his commission by dressing herself in his uniform and turning out the guard to the field-officer when going his nightly rounds. This legend was, I have no doubt, as true as very many which are now implicitly believed; but be that as it may, it was an article of faith amongst the subalterns of the Dublin garrison, who always regarded the fair young figure in the quaint uniform with a certain amount of respect.