"The Irish--?" "Yes--" "Make bloody noses and cracked crowns, and pass them current, too?" asked Ralph, quoting from Shakspeare. "Yes, exactly," said Mr. Jinks; "and the day on which this takes place--Saint Patrick's day--is generally submerged in gore!" Ralph remained for a moment overcome with horror at this dreadful picture. "Jinks," he said, at last. "Sir?" said Mr. Jinks. "I fear you are too military and bloody for me. My nerves will not stand these awful pictures!" And Ralph shuddered; or perhaps chuckled. "That is only half of the subject," Mr. Jinks said, displaying much gratification at the deep impression produced upon the feelings of his companion; "the Irish, on St. Michael's day--the patron saint of the Dutch, you know--" "Yes." "The Irish take their revenge." And at the word revenge, Mr. Jinks' brows were corrugated into a dreadful frown. Ralph looked curious. "How?" he said; "I should think the Dutch had exhausted the power and capacity of invention. St. Patrick, with a necklace of potatoes, and his wife Sheeley, with an apron full of the same vegetables, is surely enough for one day--" "Yes, for St. Patrick's day, but not for St. Michael's," said Mr. Jinks, with a faint attempt at a witticism. "Good!" cried Ralph; "you are a wit, Jinks; but proceed! On St. Michael's day--the patron saint of the Dutch--" "On that day, sir, the Irish retort upon the Dutch by parading an image--wooden or alive--of St. Michael--" "No!" "An image," continued Mr. Jinks, not heeding this interruption, "which resembles St. Michael--that is, a hogshead." "Yes," laughed Ralph, "I understand how a Dutch saint--" "Is fat; that is natural, sir. They dress him in six pair of pantaloons, which I have heretofore, I am ashamed to say, fabricated,"--Mr. Jinks frowned here,--"then they hang around his neck a rope of sour krout--" "No, no!" cried Ralph. "And so parade him," continued Mr. Jinks. Ralph remained silent again, as though overwhelmed by this picture. "The consequence is, that the Irish feel themselves insulted," Mr. Jinks went on, "and they attack the Dutch, and then the whole street--" "Is suffused in gory blood, is it not?" said Ralph, inquiringly. "It is, sir," said Mr. Jinks; "and I have known the six pair of pantaloons, made by my own hands, to be torn to tatters." "Possible!" "Yes, sir!" said Mr. Jinks, irate at the recollection of those old scenes--he had been compelled to mend the torn pantaloons more than once--"yes, sir, and the wretches have proceeded even to shooting and cutting, which is worthy of them, sir! On some days, the Dutch and the Irish parade their images together, and then St. Patrick and St. Michael are brought face to face; and you may understand how disgraceful a mob they have--a mob, sir, which, as a military man, I long to mow with iron cannons!" And after this dreadful simile, Mr. Jinks remained silent, Ralph also held his peace for some moments; then he said: