love a certain person. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody.
―Well, Joe, says I, your very good health and song. More power, citizen.
―Hurrah, there, says Joe.
―The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen.
And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle.
―We know those canters, says he, preaching and picking your pockets. What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? The bible! Did you read that skit in the United Irishman today about that Zulu chief that’s visiting England?
―What’s that? says Joe.
So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out:
―A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasized the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British Empire, stating that he treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word of God and the secret of England’s