—­Eh, mister!  Your fly is open, mister!

And says he: 

—­Mendelssohn was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. 
And the Saviour was a jew and his father was a jew.  Your God.

—­He had no father, says Martin.  That’ll do now.  Drive ahead.

—­Whose God? says the citizen.

—­Well, his uncle was a jew, says he.  Your God was a jew.  Christ was a jew like me.

Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop.

—­By Jesus, says he, I’ll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

By Jesus, I’ll crucify him so I will.  Give us that biscuitbox here.

—­Stop!  Stop! says Joe.

A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thom’s, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas (Meadow of Murmuring Waters).  The ceremony which went off with great eclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.  An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob AGUS Jacob.  The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who were present being visibly moved when the select orchestra of Irish pipes struck up the wellknown strains of come back to Erin, followed immediately by RAKOCZSY’S march.  Tarbarrels and bonfires were lighted along the coastline of the four seas on the summits of the Hill of Howth, Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the reeks of M Gillicuddy, Slieve Aughty, Slieve Bernagh and Slieve Bloom.  Amid cheers that rent the welkin, responded to by answering cheers from a big muster of henchmen on the distant Cambrian and Caledonian hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light.  VISSZONTLATASRA, KEDVES BARATON!  VISSZONTLATASRA!  Gone but not forgotten.

Gob, the devil wouldn’t stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and little Alf hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as any bloody play in the Queen’s royal theatre: