but in street wauks that are zealous for sound doctrine and orthodoxy who are disturbing you, and cantanberous, the poisoner of his ear to the length and texture of the marringaar of the torchlit throng, slashers and sliced alike, mobbu on massa, ■waaded and baaded around, yamp- yam pampyam, chanting the Gillooly chorus, from the opulence of his joy! Amene. Poof! There’s puff for ye, begor, and planxty of it, all abound me breadth! Glor galore and glory be! As broad as its lung and as close as made no matter, mam, to being