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:
"But your revenge; how is that connected, my dear fellow, with the contentions of Dutch and Irish?"
Mr. Jinks frowned.
"Thus, sir," he said; "I will explain." "Do; I understand you to say that these customs of the two parties were the materials upon which your genius would work. How can you—"