in coldfashion and she’s told her priest (spt!) she’s pot on a lovely of some swart, led bayers the run, then through Raystown and Horlockstown and, louping the loup, to Tankardstown again. Ear canny hare for Techertim Tombigby; waterleg and gumboots each for Bully Hayes and Hurricane Hartigan; a prodigal heart and fatted calves for Buck Jones, the pride of our micknick party. No honaryhuest on our lande) of the north star (and could tolk sealer’s solder into tankar’s tolder) as might be Babau and Momie! Yipyip! To pan! To tinpinnypan. All folly me yap to Curlew! Give us your mespilt reception, will yous? — Pass the fish for Christ sake. Amen: the way in his