Mr. Sharp, an exceedingly clever politician, who has meekly born any number of cudgellings at the polls, and hopes ere long to get the appointment of Minister to Paris, interrupts by begging that Mr. Soloman will fill his glass, and resume his seat.  Mr. Snivel having taking his seat, Mr. Sharp proceeds:  “I tell you all what it is, says I, the other day to a friend-these ponderous Dutch ain’t to be depended on.  Then, says I, you must separate the Irish into three classes, and to each class you must hold out a different inducement, says I. There’s the Rev. Father Flaherty, says I, and he is a trump card at electioneering.  He can form a breach between his people and the Dutch, and, says I, by the means of this breach we will gain the whole tribe of Emeralds over to our party.  I confess I hate these vagabonds right soundly; but necessity demands that we butter and sugar the mover until we carry our ends.  You must not look at the means, says I, when the ends are momentous.”

“The staunch Irish,” pursues the Judge, rising as Mr. Sharp sits down, “are noble fellows, and with us.  To the middle class-the grocers and shopkeepers-we must, however, hold out flattering inducements; such as the reduction of taxes, the repeal of our oppressive license laws, taking the power out of the hands of our aristocracy-they are very tender here-and giving equal rights to emigrants.  These points we must put as Paul did his sermons-with force and ingenuity.  As for the low Irish, all we have to do is to crib them, feed and pickle them in whiskey for a week.  To gain an Irishman’s generosity, you cannot use a better instrument than meat, drink, and blarney.  I often contemplate these fellows when I am passing sentence upon them for crime.”

“True!  I have the same dislike to them personally; but politically, the matter assumes quite a different form of attraction.  The laboring Irish-the dull-headed-are what we have to do with.  We must work them over, and over, and over, until we get them just right.  Then we must turn them all into legal voting citizens—­”

“That depends on how long they have been in the country,” interrupts a brisk little man, rising quickly to his feet, and assuming a legal air.

“Mr. Sprig! you are entirely behind the age.  It matters not how long these gentlemen from Ireland have been in the country.  They take to politics like rats to good cheese.  A few months’ residence, and a little working over you know, and they become trump voters.  The Dutch are a different sort of animal; the fellows are thinkers,” resumes the Judge.

Mr. Snivel, who has been sipping his whiskey, and listening very attentively to the Judge, rises to what he calls the most important order.  He has got the papers all ready, and proposes the gentlemen he thinks best qualified for the naturalization committee.  This done, Mr. Snivel draws from his pocket a copy of the forged papers, which are examined, and approved by every one present.  This instrument is surmounted with the eagle and arms of the United States, and reads thus:  “State of new York.