carriages, horsemen, and footmen, lords in velvet and broadcloth, ladies in poplins, satins, flounces and feathers, bedizened the train. Nor was this all: when anything great or good is afloat, the patriotism of Paddy, in high life and low, is aroused, and he waits not for cloak, shoe, or hat—if cloak, shoe and hat be lacking—but is ready on the spot. And here every beggar, from Liberty to Cook street, from way-side, hedge and ditch, whose strength was adequate, swelled this living, moving panorama. Wherever a feather waved in the breeze, there a rag fluttered in thrilling harmony. The procession entered the hall, where soup-ladles, plates and spoons, were in bright array. Lords and dukes, duchesses, baronesses, and "ladies of honor," walked round this fresh-steaming beverage, each taking a sip, and pronouncing it the finest and best. The hungry ones heard the verdict, and though some doubting ones might scoff, yet the multitude went away declaring they believed that the "blessed soup would put the life in 'em."
The celebrated patentee received his sovereigns, and returned to his sauce pots and dripping-pans in the metropolis of John Bull. The recipe was made over to safe hands, the fire extinguished under the boiler, the soup-shop closed, and poor Paddy waited long, and in vain, for the expected draught; nor did he awake from his hopeful anticipations till the streets of Dublin resounded, by night and by day, with
"Sup it up, sup it up, 'twill cure you of the gout," &c.
The poetry in refinement of style, in orthography or
