this is the Willingdone on his natural skunk, 462 blushing like Pat’s pig, begob ! He’s not going to Cork till Cantalamesse or may- hope till Rose Easter or Saint Tibbie’s Day. So may the cturlews crown our nuptias! Till Breath us depart! Wamen. Beware would you stray and split on me!) and going on in his holdfour stomachs (Dare! O dare!), and