At

anthems and voluntaries, as each Sunday came round. These visits, again, led him to venture often from curiosity into the dismal dens which surround the Cathedral - Close of St. Patrick's ; and he prosecuted his system of street-searching until, later on, I think, he knew well-nigh every street and alley in Dublin. From knowing the choristers, he got access to some of the sextons of St. Patrick's; and it was not long before a party, of which he was one of the most enthusiastic members, was formed with the object of exploring that Cathedral's loftiest and most secret recesses. that time the old building was in a state of dangerous decay, and presented a very singular appearance. The nave was roofed with timber, and hideous rafters crossed it from wall to wall; and the inner wood-work was inhabited by pigeons, which fluttered about the Cathedral in tranquil domesticity. The organ divided the nave from the choir and the transepts; and the north transept was separated from the main building, and constituted a distinct church, with an entrance from the Close. The life inside the venerable pile on high-days and holy-days Armstrong has himself truthfully depicted in his poem of Old St. Patrick's Cathe dral. The structure was, as I have said, in decay throughout all its parts; but preeminently in its tower, belfry, and spire. The boys found their way

1 See "Poetical Works" (New Edition), p. 415.-ED.

to the highest "friars'-walks"; and then ascended to the belfry. From this they climbed upwards in the interior of the tower, their party diminishing as they ascended; and at last the remnant perceived that in order to mount to the summit it would be necessary to clamber outside, stretching from one small spirelight to another. Armstrong, and one other, dared and accomplished this; and the recollection of the feat often, he used to say, mingled itself with his nightmares long subsequently. Little marvel! For when, years afterwards, from the street below he pointed out to his friends the spirelights, and the narrow ledge on which he had stood, high up in the black tower looming against the sky, their blood ran cold at the thought of it. Not very long after this exploration, a poor boy, searching for pigeons' nests, having climbed out from the "friars'walks" of the old Church along one of the rafters of the nave, fell headlong through the air, and was dashed to atoms on the flags below; and as Armstrong stood on the spot where the shattered body had lain, and pictured the circumstances in his ever-vivid imagination, he felt a thrill of gratitude to the Powers that had preserved him in a more hazardous adventure, and reproached himself bitterly for his rashness.

About this time he began to display a very fervent love of theatricals, and, having fitted up a spare room at home as a little theatre, and provided

himself with some rude properties, used to invent, superintend, and take the leading parts in, petty impromptu plays and harlequinade, evening after evening, till the fancy exhausted itself.

The summer of 1851 was with him a period of new and rich experiences; for, after having spent some time in the Isle of Man, he was brought to London, to see the Great Exhibition and all the wonders of the metropolis which could afford delight to childish eyes. And I think he saw more of the stupendous city than comes under the notice of many children of his years. A kind-hearted old French refugee, living in the house of his uncle, used to lead him out daily for long walks through the interminable labyrinths of streets, and enjoyed a special pleasure in pointing out to him their curiosities and marvels. And all that he then beheld -the river with its throngs of ships, the bridges, the Thames Tunnel, the Polytechnic with its divingbell, the Crystal Aisles with their inexhaustible treasures, the picture-galleries, the statues, the palaces, the Tower, St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey- resolved themselves into the semblance of a fairy vision, transforming in his memory from time to time like the shapes and colours in a kaleidoscope; and he babbled of London for years after as of the enchanted city of an Arabian Nights' tale. Another ramble among the beautiful scenes of the Isle of Man in 1853, including a memorable visit to Peel

4

Castle, further stimulated and enriched his imagination, and tended to make still more dear to him the romances and tales which he had already begun to read with avidity. A little portfolio of pencilsketches which he brought back with him from this visit is now lying beside my hand.

Within half-an-hour's walk of his home in the county of Dublin were some extensive cavalrybarracks, and hither it was his habit to steal away whenever opportunity permitted, and spend hours in watching the drill and the occupations of the soldiers. The music of a military band, heard ever so far away, immediately roused him in pursuit; and he somewhat plumed himself on being able to detect the neighbourhood from which such distant sounds travelled, and on being able to come up with the troop, wherever it might be, marching to review or funeral. From the old celebrations of the Battle of Waterloo in the Phoenix Park he had seldom been absent since he had become an articulate being; and now, as he grew older, and freer to govern his own movements, almost every field-day saw him marching after the soldiers to the Fifteen Acres, three or four miles from home. Often, holding his little companion by the hand, he would find himself in the front of the flashing squadron or battery, as it advanced in headlong career, and with difficulty would escape from horses and wheels, dragging his mate with him across the field, with a

rare enjoyment of the danger incurred and of the dexterity of the escape. Observing the drill and the evolutions, he quickly picked up words of command and various movements, and he soon became the adored generalissimo of a well-trained army consisting of one tender volunteer. Nor was there any lack of goodnature and jovial welcome in the barrack-yards among the soldiers into whose midst he penetrated; and a kind word of interest or bit of information from a burly sergeant or stalwart bombardier was looked upon as an honour not lightly to be esteemed. He was predisposed to look with loving eyes upon the profession of the soldier by tales often told at the homehearth of soldier-kinsmen living or long dead; and for several years he rejoiced in the belief that his also was to be a soldier's life, nor during that period did the wish seem to meet with direct disfavour in parental eyes. And yet, it must be said, that when this taste and set purpose were at their highest, he would turn from parades, field-days, Waterloo celebrations, without regret, whenever the alternative was offered him of a day upon the slopes of the Wicklow Hills.

About this time he suffered what appeared to him as severe a humiliation as could have befallen him; for, having on a certain occasion, rightfully and manfully, resisted an interference with his liberty by an aggressive and brutal constable,