a son of the Emerald Isle, who stood well six feet in his boots, a ‘soucer’ with the broad front of his knuckle bones, between the colored gentleman’s two eyes, was the rejoinder—­a most striking remonstrance, that laid him measuring the floor.  Troth! an’ it’s myself ’d stop yer botheration.  Sure, ye dark spalpeens, is it by the same token ye’d trate the gintleman? (Here the honest son of sweet Erin showed signs of his Doneybrook getting the better of him.) ’Myself ’ll take care of Mr. Smooth—­doesn’t he belong to the self same party, the know-nothings?  The divil a such a country, as Hamirike:  an’ it’s the boys from Donegal that ‘ud be taking her dignity in care.’  Saying this, Mr. Patrick (for such was his name) stretched the whole length of his important self over the table, and says:—­I’m yers to the buckle of my shoe, Mr. Smooth!  It’s a divil a one but yerself I’ll vote for at the next helection.  Sure, an’ didn’t mysel jine the native Hamerikan party, with Tom Connolly, afore we’d been two months on the beloved soil an’, sure, it’s Tom and myself that’s goin to put through the nonothin for ye.’  Here Mr. Patrick anxiously paused for a reply.  To never say a bad thing when I could not think of a good, ever has been my motto; so I returned his good nature with saying:—­’Give us yer hand, Mr. Patrick—­we will forget the two, and yet be one! and that our faith may be made strong, we will together do brown the patriotism of these United States.

“‘Ye better believe that!’ returns Mr. Patrick, with an exultation of happiness; and concluding with:  ’I’d kill every nager in the land, be the pipers I would! an’ it’s the boys from old Ireland what does be keeping the bright face on pure Hamirikan principles.  Sure an’ warn’t it the brave boys that halicted Gineral Pierce and his cumrades?’ Here Mr. Patrick again paused, and with a wise look, shook his head.  ’We put the broad staunch face on the democracy,’ again he interjaculated with a mutter.  Indeed, Mr. Patrick the reader will easily detect, had the crude idea of right in his head; but, unfortunately, he could only get it out in these simple and sideling insinuations.  The negro, whom we have before described as being knocked down, picked himself up and had nothing to say.

“‘There may be much in what you say, friend Patrick,’ said I:  ’The boys from Donegal do with the elective franchise much that native-Homers in their carelessness leave undone.  Mr. Patrick acknowledged this, shook his head, and said the fact, though deplorable, was preeminently established.

“’Like every one who visits Washington these times, yer a friend of the Gineral’s, and have fit with him in the Mexican war?’ again he inquired, seeming to anticipate my answer.  Of the Mexicans I know little—­of the war less:  it were well our country made peace its friend, war its enemy.  As to the General and his fighting in Mexico, that was a matter that best affected himself; through it he became a great potentate, but