brougham fade in the distance.
There is the "Doctor" to come yet, and all the cheering has to be
repeated, even with added volume of sound. When the Claimant has
got clear away, and the crowd have had a moment or two of
breathing-time, the "Doctor" walks forth from the counsels'
entrance, and is received with a burst of cheering and clapping
of hands, which, "just like Sir Roger", he acknowledges by raising
his hat, but, unlike him, permits no trace of a smile to illumine
his face. Without looking right or left, the "Doctor" walks
northward, raising his hat as he passes the caged and cheering
crowd in Palace Yard. With the same grave countenance, not moved in
the slightest degree by the comical effect of the big men in the
crowd at his heels waving their hats over his head, the "Doctor"
crosses Bridge Street, and walks into Parliament Street, as far as
the Treasury, where a cab is waiting. Into this he gets with much
deliberation, and, with a final waving of his hat, and always with
the same imperturbable countenance, is driven off, and Parliament
Street, subsiding from the turmoil in which the running, laughing,
shouting mob have temporarily thrown it, finds time to wonder
whether it would not have been more convenient for all concerned if
the "Doctor's" cab had picked him up at the door of Westminster Hall.

Slowly approached the end of this marvellous, and to a succeeding
generation almost incredible, and altogether inexplicable,
phenomenon. It came about noon, on Saturday, the final day of
February, 1874.

A few minutes before ten o'clock on that morning the familiar bay
mare and the well-known blue brougham--where are they now?--appeared
in sight, with a contingent of volunteer running footmen, who
cheered "Sir Roger" with unabated enthusiasm. As the carriage passed
through into the yard, a cordon of police promptly drew up behind it
across the gateway, and stopped the crowd that would have entered
with it. But inside there was, within reasonable limits, no
restraint upon the movements of the Claimant's admirers, who lustily
cheered, and wildly waved their hats, drowning in the greater sound
the hisses that came from a portion of the assemblage. The Claimant
looked many shades graver than in the days when Kenealy's speech
was in progress. Nevertheless, he smiled acknowledgment of the
reception, and repeatedly raised his hat. When he had passed in,
the throng in Palace Yard rapidly vanished, not more than a coupl