ing into a line, they advanced headed by their
Generals,--who, turning their steeds into a grass-field, wisely
determined to fight on foot. Behind them came the line of British
foot under the illustrious Jenkins, who marched in advance perfectly
collected, and smoking a Manilla cigar. The cavalry were on the right
and left of the infantry, prepared to act in pontoon, in echelon, or in
ricochet, as occasion might demand. The Prince rode behind, supported by
his Staff, who were almost all of them bishops, archdeacons, or abbes;
and the body of ecclesiastics followed, singing to the sound, or rather
howl, of serpents and trombones, the Latin canticles of the Reverend
Franciscus O'Mahony, lately canonized under the name of Saint Francis of
Cork.

The advanced lines of the two contending armies were now in
presence--the National Guard of Orleans and the Irish Brigade. The white
belts and fat paunches of the Guard presented a terrific appearance; but
it might have been remarked by the close observer, that their faces were
as white as their belts, and the long line of their bayonets might be
seen to quiver. General Odillon Barrot, with a cockade as large as
a pancake, endeavored to make a speech: the words honneur, patrie,
Francais, champ de bataille might be distinguished; but the General was
dreadfully flustered, and was evidently more at home in the Chamber of
Deputies than in the field of war.

The Prince of Ballybunion, for a wonder, did not make a speech. "Boys,"
said he, "we've enough talking at the Corn Exchange; bating's the word
now." The Green-Islanders replied with a tremendous hurroo, which sent
terror into the fat bosoms of the French.

"Gentlemen of the National Guard," said the Prince, taking off his hat
and bowing to Odillon Barrot, "will ye be so igsthramely obleeging as
to fire first." This he said because it had been said at Fontenoy,
but chiefly because his own men were only armed with shillelaghs, and
therefore could not fire.

But this proposal was very unpalatable to the National Guardsmen: for
though they understood the musket-exercise pretty well, firing was the
thing of all others they detested--the noise, and the kick of the gun,
and the smell of the powder being very unpleasant to them. "We won't
fire," said Odillon Barrot, turning round to Colonel Saugrenue and his
regiment of the line--which, it may be remembered, was formed behind the
National Guard.

"Then give them the bayonet," said the