As they entered the town, something strange seemed to be going on; the place was evidently in commotion. A great thrill seemed to run through the population, who were gathered at the doors and windows--such of them as did not throng the streets; and as the hoofs of the horses struck upon the beaten way, a drum suddenly was heard thundering indignantly through the narrow streets. The crowd rushed toward it--hurried, muttering, armed with nondescript weapons, as though the Indians were come down from the mountain fastnesses once more; and then, as the cortege from Apple Orchard passed beyond the old fort, the meaning of all the commotion was visible. Marching slowly along in confused masses, a large portion of the Irish population came toward the fort, and from their appearance, these men seemed ripe for commotion. They were armed with clubs, heavy canes, bludgeons, and old rusty swords; and these weapons were flourished in the air in a way which seemed to indicate the desire to inflict death and destruction on some hostile party which did not appear. But the most singular portion of the pageant was undoubtedly the personage borne aloft by the shouting crowd. This was the Dutch St. Michael himself--portly, redfaced, with a necklace of sour krout, clad, as had been said by Mr. Jinks, in six pairs of pantaloons, and resembling a hogshead. St. Michael was borne aloft on a species of platform, supported on the shoulders of a dozen men; and when the saint raised the huge beer glass from his knee, and buried his white beard in it, the swaying crowd set up a shout which shook the houses. This was the Irish defiance of the Dutch: the Emerald Isle against the Low Countries--St. Patrick against St. Michael. The figure of St. Michael was paraded in defiance of the Dutch--the thundering drum and echoing shouts were all so many ironical and triumphant defiances. The shouting crowd came on, tramping heavily, brandishing their clubs, and eager for the fray. Miss Lavinia becomes terrified; the ladies of the party, by an unanimous vote, decide that they will draw up to one side by Mr. Rushton's office, and permit the crowd to pass. Mr. Rushton desires to advance upon the peacebreakers, and engage in single combat with St. Michael and all his supporters. The Squire dissuades him--and growling contemptuously, the lawyer does not further oppose the desire of the ladies. Then from Mr. Rushton's office comes hastily our friend Mr. Roundjacket--smiling, flourishing his ruler, and pointing, with well-bred amusement, to the crowd. The crowd look sidewise at Mr. Roundjacket, who returns them amiable smiles, and brandishes his ruler in pleasant recognition of Hibernian friends and clients in the assemblage. Roundjacket thinks the ladies need not be alarmed. Still, as there will probably be a fight soon, they had better get out and come in.