Page 469

TOC

Page 468 Page 470

ho. And whinn muinnuit flittsbit twinn her ttittshe cries
tallmidy! Daughters of the heavens, be lucks in turnabouts
to the wandering sons of red loam! The earth's atrot! The
sun's a scream! The air's a jig. The water's great! Seven oldy
oldy hills and the one blue beamer. I'm going. I know I am.
I could bet I am. Somewhere I must get far away from Banba-
shore, wherever I am. No saddle, no staffet, but spur on the
moment! So I think I'll take freeboots' advise. Psk! I'll borrow
a path to lend me wings, quickquack, and from Jehusalem's
wall, clickclack, me courser's clear,to Cheerup street I'll travel
the void world over. It's Winland for moyne, bickbuck! Jee-
jakers! I hurt meself nettly that time! Come, my good frog-
marchers! We felt the fall but we'll front the defile. Was not my
olty mutther, Sereth Maritza, a Runningwater? And the bould
one that quickened her the seaborne Fingale? I feel like that
hill of a whaler went yulding round Groenmund's Circus with
his tree full of seaweeds and Dinky Doll asleep in her shell.
Hazelridge has seen me. Jerne valing is. Squall aboard for Kew,
hop! Farewell awhile to her and thee! The brine's my bride to
be. Lead on, Macadam, and danked be he who first sights Halt
Linduff! Solo, solone, solong! Lood Erynnana, ware thee wail!
With me singame soarem o'erem! Here's me take off.  Now's
nunc or nimmer, siskinder! Here goes the enemy! Bennydick
hotfoots onimpudent stayers! Sorry! I bless alls to the whished
with this panromain apological which Watllwewhistlem sang to
the kerrycoys. Break ranks! After wage-of-battle bother I am
thinking most. Fik yew! I'm through. Won. Toe. Adry. You
watch my smoke.
    After poor Jaun the Boast's last fireless words of postludium 
of his soapbox speech ending in'sheaven, twentyaid add one with
a flirt of wings were pouring to his bysistance (could they snip
that curl of curls to lay with their gloves and keep the kids
bright!) prepared to cheer him should he leap or to curse him
should he fall, but, with their biga triga rheda rodeo, the cherubs
in the charabang, set down here and sedan chair, don't you
wish you'd a yoke or a bit in your mouth, repulsing all attempts