“Yes,” said Mr. Jinks, “of potatoes; and you may imagine what a sight it is—­the saint dressed up in that way.”

“Really! it must be side-splitting.”

“It is productive of much gory sport,” said Mr. Jinks.

“Ah!” said Ralph, “I should think so.  Gory is the very word.”

“Besides this they have another figure—­”

“The Dutch have?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“It is a woman, sir—­”

“No—­no,” said Ralph.

“It is, sir,” replied Mr. Jinks, with resolute adherence to his original declaration,—­“it is Saint Patrick’s wife, Sheeley—­”

“Oh, no!” cried Ralph.

“Yes; and she is supplied with a huge apron full of—­what do you think?”

“Indulgences?” said Ralph.

“No, sir!”

“What then?”

“Potatoes again.”

“Potatoes!  Sheeley with her apron full of—­”

“Excellent Irish potatoes.”

“Would anybody have imagined such a desecration!”

“They do it, sir; and having thus laughed at the Irish, the Dutch go parading through the streets; and in consequence—­”

“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—­”