eet. At the far, the western end, of Donegal
Place, stands the new City Hall, with the statute of Queen Victoria in
front of it. There again the traffic is split at right angles. Some of
the best shops in the town lie on either side of this street. A
continuous stream of trams passes up and down it, to and from the
junction, which is directly under the club windows, and is the centre
of the whole Belfast tramway system. It is always pleasant to stand at
the reading-room window and watch the very busy and strenuous traffic
of this street. As a view point on that particular morning the window
was as good as possible. Donegal Place is the chief and most obvious
way from the northern and eastern parts of the city to the place where
the meeting was to be held.

Between eleven o'clock and twelve the volunteers began to appear in
considerable numbers. I saw at once that I had been wrong in supposing
that they meant to spend the day in bed. One company after another
came up Royal Avenue or swung round the corner from High Street, and
marched before my eyes along Donegal Place towards the scene of the
meeting. Small bodies of police appeared here and there, heading in
the same direction. Now and then a few mounted police trotted by,
making nearly as much jangle as if they had been regular soldiers.
The hour fixed for the meeting was one o'clock, but at noon the number
of men in the street was so great that ordinary traffic was stopped. A
long line of trams, unable to force their way along, blocked the
centre of the thoroughfare. The drivers and conductors left them and
went away. Crowds of women and children collected on the roofs of
these trams and cheered the men as they marched along.

At half-past twelve Moyne drove along in a carriage. The Dean was
beside him, and Cahoon had a seat with his back to the horses. The
progress of the carriage was necessarily very slow. I could not see
Moyne's face, but he sat in a hunched-up attitude suggestive of great
misery. The Dean sat bolt upright, and kept taking off his hat to the
crowd when cheers broke out. Cahoon, whose face I could see, seemed
cheerful and confident.

At the back of the carriage, perched on a kind of bar and holding on
tightly to the springs, was Bland. Barefooted urchins often ride in
this way, and appear to enjoy themselves until the coachman lashes
backwards at them with his whip. I never saw a grown man do it before,
and I should have supposed that it would b