And he got them out as quick as he could， Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the middle of them letting on to be all at sea up with them on the bloody jaunting car.
Off with you， says Martin to the jarvey.
The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and， rising in the golden poop， the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set， the spinnaker to larboard. A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and， clinging to the sides of the noble bark， they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. Even so did they come and set them， those willing nymphs， the undying sisters. And they laughed， sporting in a circle of their foam： and the bark clave the waves.
But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door， puffing and blowing with the dropsy and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him， bell， book and candle in Irish， spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.
-- Let me alone， says he.
And begob he got as far as the door and they holding him and he bawls out of him：
-- Three cheers for Israel！
Arrah， sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself. Jesus， there's always some bloody clown or other kicking up a bloody murder about bloody nothing. Gob， it'd turn the porter sour in your guts， so it would.
And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew， jew， jew and a slut shouts out of her：
-- 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'Il 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 Nagyaságos uram Lipóti Virag， late of Messrs Alexander Thom's， printers to His Majesty， on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Százharminczbrojúgulyás-Dugulás (Meadow of Murmuring Waters). The ceremony which went off with great éclat 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 Rakoczy'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， Sugar-loaf， 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 Pigeon-house. Visszontlátlására， kedvés baráton！ Visszontlátásra！ 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.
-- Where is he till I murder him？
And Ned and J. G. paralysed with the laughing.
-- Bloody wars， says I， I'll be in for the last gospel.
But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him.
-- Hold one citizen， says Joe. Stop. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. Gob， he near sent it into the county Longford. The bloody nag took fright and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old tinbox clattering along the street.
