by a viceroy and unobserved. By the provost’s wall came jauntily Blazes Boylan, stepping in tanned shoes and socks with skyblue clocks to the refrain of My girl’s a Yorkshire girl.
Blazes Boylan presented to the leaders’ skyblue frontlets and high action a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at a rakish angle and a suit of indigo serge.
His hands in his jacket pockets forgot to salute but he offered to the three ladies the bold admiration of his eyes and the red flower between his lips.
As they drove along Nassau street His Excellency drew the attention of his bowing consort to the programme of music which was being discoursed in College park.
Unseen brazen highland laddies blared and drumthumped after the cortège :
But though she’s a factory lass And wears no fancy clothes. Baraabum. Yet I’ve a sort of a Yorkshire relish for My little Yorkshire rose Baraabum.
Thither of the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M. C. Green, H. Thrift, T. M. Patey, C. Scaife, J. B. Jeffs, G. N. Morphy, F. Stevenson, C. Adderly, and W. C. Huggard started in pursuit. Striding past Finn’s hotel, Cashel Boyle O’Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell stared through a fierce eyeglass across the carriages at the head of Mr M. E. Solomons in the window of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. Deep in Leinster