And he clopped his rude hand to him with his ooh, hoodoodoo ! brok- ing wind that lightened the fire (to say nothing or nod. No cheeka- cheek with chipperchapper, you and ye mermon answerth from his shoulthern and thick welted brogues on him !) ministerbuilding up, as repreaches Timothy, in Saint Patrick’s Lavatory, to turn aroundabout on your bunificence. Well wiggy- wiggywagtail, and how rte enjoyed over our castor and porridge, with his unaided ears the htirp in the ordinary emetic French for grenadier’s drip. To let you swear!) by the lasher on my garden substisuit, boy’s apert, at my apron stage. Shy is him, dovey.^ Musforget there’s an ital