"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. "May I ask, sir," said he, at length, "who that is?" "Who that is!" said Tom, surveying him leisurely as he spoke; "why, surely, sir, you must be jesting, or you would not ask such a question; I trust, indeed, every one knows who he is. Eh, Harry," said he, looking at me for a confirmation of what he said, and to which, of course, I assented by a look. "Well, but, my dear Mr. O'Flaherty, you forget how ignorant I am of every thing here--" "Ah, true," said Tom, interrupting; "I forgot you never saw him before." "And who is he, sir?" "Why, that's the Duke of Wellington."