enthusiastic, and ardent in temperament--devotedly attached to their
country--hearty haters of England, and proportionally attached to
all that was French. These sentiments, coupled with a certain ease of
manner, and a faculty of adaptation, so peculiarly Irish, made them
general favourites in society; and long before the Irish question had
found any favour with the public, its national supporters had won over
the hearts and good wishes of all Paris to the cause.

Well pleased, then, as I was with my handsome uniform of green and gold,
my small chapeau, with its plume of cock's feathers, and the embroidered
shamrock on my collar, I was not a little struck by the excitement my
first appearance in the street created. Accustomed to see a hundred
strange military costumes--the greater number, I own, more singular than
tasteful--the Parisians, I concluded, would scarcely notice mine in the
crowd. Not so, however; the print-shops had already given the impulse to
the admiration, and the 'Irish Volunteer of the Guard' was to be seen in
every window, in all the 'glory of his bravery.' The heroic character of
the expedition, too, was typified by a great variety of scenes, in which
the artist's imagination had all the credit. In one picture the _jeune
Irlandais_ was planting a national flag of very capacious dimensions on
the summit of his native mountains; here he was storming _Le Chateau de
Dublin_, a most formidable fortress, perched on a rock above the sea;
here he was crowning the heights of _La Citadelle de Cork_, a very
Gibraltar in strength; or he was haranguing the native chieftains,
a highly picturesque group--a cross between a knight crusader and a
South-sea islander.

My appearance, therefore, in the streets was the signal for general
notice and admiration, and more than one compliment was uttered,
purposely loud enough to reach me, on the elegance and style of my
equipment. In the pleasant flurry of spirits excited by this flattery,
I arrived at the general's quarters in the Rue Chantereine. It was
considerably before the time of his usual receptions, but the glitter
of my epaulettes, and the air of assurance I had assumed, so far imposed
upon the old servant who acted as valet, that he at once introduced
me into a small saloon, and after a brief pause presented me to the
general, who was reclining on a sofa at his breakfast. Although far
advanced in years, and evidently broken by bad health, General Kilmaine
still