By the way, Irish cheering is a thing sui generis. In place of the
deep-throated, reverberating English cheer, it is a long, shrill,
sustained note, usually very high-pitched.

The State entry into Dublin was naturally the first occasion on
which I had ever driven through streets lined with soldiers and
gay with bunting. If I remember right, I accepted most of it as a
tribute to my own small person.

On arriving at the Viceregal Lodge in the Phoenix Park, my brother
and I were much relieved at finding that we were not expected to
live perpetually surrounded by men in full uniform and by ladies
in smart dresses, as we had gathered that we were fated to do
during the morning's ceremonies at Dublin Castle.

The Viceregal Lodge is a large, unpretentious, but most
comfortable house, standing in really beautiful grounds. The 160
acres of its enclosure have been laid out with such skill as to
appear to the eye double or treble the extent they actually are.
The great attraction to my brother and me lay in a tract of some
ten acres of woodland which had been allowed to run entirely wild.
We soon peopled this very satisfactorily with two tribes of Red
Indians, two bands of peculiarly bloodthirsty robbers, a
sufficiency of bears, lions and tigers, and an appalling man-
eating dragon. I fear that in view of the size of the little wood,
these imported inhabitants must have had rather cramped quarters.

The enacting of the role of a Red Indian "brave" was necessarily a
little fatiguing, for according to Fenimore Cooper, our guide in