Saint Patrick by Heman White Chaplin

Saint Patrick's Day has come and is now fast waning. The sun has sunk behind the chimney-stack of the New Albion dance-hall; the street lamps are lighted and are faintly contending against the dull glow of the late afternoon.

There is a lull between day and evening. All day there has been a stir in the city. There has been a procession in green sashes, with harps on the banners, -- a long procession, in barouches, on horseback, and afoot. There have been impassioned addresses before the Hibernian Society and the Saint Peter's Young Men's Irish Catholic Benevolent Association. There has been more or less celebration in Ship Street.