A LORD MAYOR IN THE DOCK.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XX, Issue 1427, 8 February 1888, Page 6

A LORD MAYOR IN THE DOCK.

It is only in Ireland, the land of bewildering paradox (says a Home paper), you could witness such a scene. A great crowd was before the Mansion House and thronging Dawson street, cheering with all its might every now and then. One side of the street was lined with carriages, in which were gentlemen wearing scarlet robes trimmed with fur. The Lord Mayor was getting into bis state coach, a gorgeous vehicle, blazing with heraldy, precedes him, through the windows of which the sword and mace protrude. The High Sheriff and the ex-High Sheriff, in their robes, are waiting in an open carriage a little further on. A splendid person in military uniform with a cocked hat, the City Marshal, rides up and down, clanking his sword and jingling his spurs, arranging the

procession. All this ia the Lord Mayor and Corporation of the ancient City of Dublin about to proceed through the city in state. They are going to the Police Court, where tbe Lord Mayor is to be prosecuted under the Coercion Act for printing reports of the suppressed branches of tho National League in his newspaper, the Nation. Presently there is a mighty cheer, and the procession starts. If you did not know what it was about you would think it was a fete. It only wantß garlands strewing the ways. Through avenues of cheering people, through forests of waving bats, past quays, from the windows of the houses of either side handkerchiefs flutter wildly. Those well-built quays, with the hazy river in the well-built sunlight, beautiful but dilapidated, are now a striking sipht with their double selvage of animated people. You are reminded of the quays of Paris, which under happier circumstances they might belike. Policemen keep the route clear. They draw themselves up and salute respectfully the culprit on his way to the dock ; for after all he is the chief magistrate of the city, the highest civic dignity of the land, and there before him go the High Sheriffg and the mace and sword, symbols of authority — empty and mocking, but still symbols, and therefore compelling respect from symbolrevering men. The crowd thickens as the Police Court is neared. Women crowd around the carriages and grasp tbe Lord Mayor's hand and kiss the fur ou his robe. * Ah, thin, bad luck to the Government!' shouts one old man. ' Three cheers for the Mitchelstown blackthorns !' cries a lusty youth, and an ear-piercing response is given him. From the window of the Four Courts a group of handkerchiefs — this is a signal of friendship from the castle of the enemy. In a moment we are in the yard of the Police Court. Even here the hand of the people has reached; somebody has stuck upon the outer wall the cartoon of United Ireland representing Mr Balfour extinguishing the liberty of the Press. The occupants of the carriages dismount. Preceded by the aldermen, councillors, and by the sword and mace-bearer, attended by his chaplain aud secretary, and ushered by his liveried train of servants, the Right Hon. T. D. Sullivan, M.P., Lord Mayor of Dublin, in his white hair and stately robes aud chain, looking like a Venetian Doge, enters the Court as a culprit in his turn, where the Magistrate has just disposed of his usual list of thieves, and drabs, and drunkards, for whom a police-van is waiting in the yard below.