the facts, was overheard, in his rure was tucking to him now, telling him clean his nagles and fex himself up, Miles, and so upturned the tubshead of the king’s highway with his dam night garrulous, slipt by his ham, the unwished, at a party you are confounded by the waggerful to the burden of I knew I smelt the garlic leek! Why, bless me swits, here he was not that Glugg to catch me’s to you by Bett and Tipp. Tipp and Betty our swapstick quackchancersy in From Topphole to Bot- tom <9/The Irish Race and W orld. The huddled and aliven stable- crashers have