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O, Johnny Lever!
Johnny Lever, O!After which effusion the redoubtable specimen duly ar-
rived on the scene and regaining his seat he sank rather than
sat heavily on the form provided. Skin-the-Goat, assuming
he was he, evidently with an axe to grind, was airing his
grievances in a forcible-feeble philippic anent the natural
resources of Ireland or something of that sort which he de-
scribed in his lengthy dissertation as the richest country bar
none on the face of God’s earth, far and away superior to
England, with coal in large quantities, six million pounds
worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between but-
ter and eggs and all the riches drained out of it by England
levying taxes on the poor people that paid through the nose
always and gobbling up the best meat in the market and a
lot more surplus steam in the same vein. Their conversation
accordingly became general and all agreed that that was a
fact. You could grow any mortal thing in Irish soil, he stat-
ed, and there was that colonel Everard down there in Navan
growing tobacco. Where would you find anywhere the like
of Irish bacon? But a day of reckoning, he stated crescendo
with no uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the
conversation, was in store for mighty England, despite her
power of pelf on account of her crimes. There would be a fall
and the greatest fall in history. The Germans and the Japs
were going to have their little lookin, he affirmed. The Boers
were the beginning of the end. Brummagem England was
toppling already and her downfall would be Ireland, her