Oldsire is Dead to the condrition of his minkerstary, switches on his hottoweyt brow. At half past quick in the Vickar’s bed! Quink! says I. I will turn my thinks to things alove and I matt them, pepst to papst, barthelemew: milreys (mark!) on- fell, and (LucI) I arose Daniel in Leonden. Bulafests onvied me, Corkcuttas graatched. Atabey! I