The Dutch will have their defiant masquerade no less than their
enemies: the Irish parade St. Michael in derision: their's be it to
show the world an effigy of St. Patrick.
Borne, like St. Michael, on a platform raised above the universal
head, in proud pre-eminence behold the great St. Patrick, and his wife
Sheeley!
St. Patrick is tall and gaunt, from his contest with the serpents of
the emerald isle. He wears a flowing robe, which nevertheless permits
his slender, manly legs to come out and be visible. He boasts a shovel
hat, adorned with a gigantic sprig of shamrock: he sits upon the
chest in which, if historical tradition truly speaks, the great boa
constrictor of Killarney was shut up and sunk into the waters of the
lake. Around his neck is a string of Irish potatoes--in his hand a
shillelah.
Beside him sits his wife Sheeley, rotund and ruddy, with a coronet of
potatoes, a necklace of potatoes, a breastpin of potatoes--and lastly,
an apron full of potatoes. She herself resembled indeed a gigantic
potatoe, and philologians might have conjectured that her very name
was no more than a corruption of the adjective mealy.
Pages:
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571