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66 white silky hair, who was the pink of courtesy. He had never heard of or seen such a curtain — had no remembrance of it whatever ; “ but we’ll go and see,” said he, and, taking his hat and cane, kindly accompanied me to the Cathedral. We searched every niche and corner where any painting could possibly be, without result. “Well,” said the Dean, “you’ll have to paint him a curtain out of your own head.” So we parted. I wrote to Clayton & Bell, and awaited further instructions. The next day was Sunday. I went to Glasnevin Cemetery, and saw the tomb and monument of “the great Liberator.” I was surprised at the number of wretched mud-walled cabins (not worthy the name of cottages) in the outskirts of the city, and much amused at a funeral party, which seemed bent rather on some festive merrymaking than going to spread the grass quilt over a friend or relative. A long string of jaunting-cars followed each other at a hand-gallop ; the pace was exhilarating by its speed, and the merry jest seemed to be going round, for the faces of the mourners had an expression of joviality rather than of sorrow. On Monday I did the Phoenix Park, the Zoological Gardens, Trinity College, the Custom-House, and all the places and sights of which a stranger is expected to do the round, winding up the day with a performance at the Queen’s Theatre, of which I remember nothing