supply their own; so these sable gentry may be frequently seen progressing to church with a small stool under their arms:  and in one instance, rather than be disappointed, or obliged to stand,—­a solemn-looking specimen of the species actually provided himself with a strong brick-bat, and having carefully covered it with his many and bright-coloured bandana, preserved his gravity, and, still more strange, his balance, with an irresistible degree of mirth-creating composure.

Their laziness and unequivocal antipathy to work is as true as proverbial.  We know an instance of it in which the master ordered his sable “help” to carry a small box from the steam pier to the Astor-House Hotel, where his newly-married wife, an English lady, was waiting for it; judge of her surprise to see the dark gentleman arrive followed by an Irish lad bearing the freight intended for himself.

“Dar,” said the domineering conductor; “dar, dat will do; put da box down dar.  Now, Missis, look here, jist give dat chap a shillin.”

“A shilling!  What for?”

“Cos he bring up dar plunder from de bay.”

“Why didn’t you bring it yourself?”

“Look here.  Somehow I rader guess I should ha let dar box fall and smashiated de contents, so I jist give dat white trash de job jest to let de poor crittur arn a shillin.”

Remonstrance was vain, so the money was paid; the lady declaring, for the future, should he think proper to employ a deputy, it must be at his own expense.  The above term “white trash” is the one commonly employed to express their supreme contempt for the “low Irish wulgar set.”

Their dissensions among themselves are irresistibly comic.  Threatening each other in the most outrageous manner; pouring out invectives, anathemas, and denunciations of the most deadly nature; but nine times in ten letting the strife end without a blow; affording in their quarrels an apt illustration of

  “A tale full of sound and fury,
  Told by an idiot, signifying nothing.”

Suppose an affront, fancied or real, put by one on another, the common commencement of ireful expostulations generally runs as follows:—­

“Look here! you d—­m black nigger; what you do dat for, Sar?”

“Hoo you call black, Sar?  D—­m, as white as you, Sar; any day, Sar.  You nigger, Sar!”

“Look here agin; don’t you call me a nigger, Sar.  Now, don’t you do it.”

“Why not?”

“Neber mind; I’ve told you on it, so don’t you go to do it no more, you mighty low black, cos if you do put my dander up, and make me wrasey, I rader guess I’ll smash in your nigger’s head, like a bust-up egg-shell.  Ise a ring-tailed roarer, I tell you!”

“Reckon I’m a Pottomus.  Don’t you go to put my steam up; d—­d if don’t bust and scald you out.  I’m nothing but a snorter—­a pretty considerable tarnation long team, and a couple of horses to spare; so jest be quiet, I tell you, or I’ll use you up uncommon sharp.”