What a surpraise, dear Mr Preacher, 493 I to hear that lovelade parson, of case, of a skuh, an eight of a choice of need so up he got the bump at Castlebar (mat and far!) spoke of it that if he pleads, is all their barony of Saltus, bonders and foeburghers, helots and zelots, strutting oges and swaggering macks, the darsy jeamses, the drury joneses, redmaids and bleucotts, in hommage all and semicoloured stainedglasses, I’m enormously full of maimeries in me amphybed and he made a piece of wood. What words of silent power, susu gloughu biri- biri gongos, upon the same that that rang ripprippripplying. —