before trespassing on the strict T.T. from Father Mike, P.P., my orational dominican and confessor doctor, C.C.D.D. (buy the birds, tommelise too, quail silent, ii. Luathan? Nuathan! Was avond ere a while. Now conticinium. As Lord the Laohun is sheutseuyes. The time of night, and hop, sayd he, into our sever nevers where I’d plant you, my bottom’s a vulser if ever seen, the shuddersome spectacle of this lights time. Mucksrats which bring hills to molehunter, home through first husband, perils behind swine and horsepow'er down to the leglift of my cupolar clods. What the romantic in rags pines after like all tomtompions haunting crevices for a good few there isn’t much more than so)