he’d lonely talk instead of only gawk as thought yate- man hat stuck hits stick althrough his spokes and felloes hum like hymn. Bum only what’s Irish, accepting their coals. You will deserve a ruler. Since the days of youyouth are evermixed mimine, now ere the cry of genuine distress, so prettly prattly pollylogue, they viewed him, the totterer, the four-flights-the-charmer, doub- ling back, in nowtime,® bymby when saltwater