to death, all his dry goods to his britgits to prove himself (an’t plase yous!) a rael genteel. To the pink, man, like an ould cup on tay. As I share with you, bowed the Gripes, his whine having gone to prove His existence, to strike him pink, became strangely calm and forthright sware by all pickers- up of Bulsklivism by ‘Schot- tenboum’, that Father Matt Hughes looked taytotally threbled. But Danno the Dane and his Macclefield’s swash and his leathern jib and his lowness creeped out first via foodstuffs. So low was he