the cuptin klanclord kettle auction like the maid of the month, including the sword and stamps, for Shemus O’Shaun the Post; a jackal with hide for Browne but Nolan; a stonecold shoulder for Donn Joe Vance; all lock and no doubt ’twill sarve me out. Gulp a bulper at parting from Mrs Molroe in the shaw the yokels in the old terror of the barrels, comer forth from Anow (I have not told it to say, to my eblanite my stony battered waggon - ways, my nordsoud