Page 427

TOC

Page 426 Page 428

slackfoot, linkman laizurely, lampman loungey, and by Killesther's
lapes and falls, with corks,staves and treeleaves and more bub-
bles to his keelrow a fairish and easy way enough as the town cow
cries behind the times in the direction of Mac Auliffe's, the crucet-
house, Open the Door Softly, down in the valley before he was
really uprighted ere in a dip of the downs (uila!) he spoorlessly
disappaled and vanesshed, like a popo down a papa, from circular
circulatio. Ah, mean!
    Gaogaogaone! Tapaa! 
    And the stellas were shinings. And the earthnight strewed 
aromatose. His pibrook creppt mong the donkness. A reek was
waft on the luftstream. He was ours, all fragrance. And we were
his for a lifetime. O dulcid dreamings languidous! Taboccoo!
    It was sharming! But sharmeng! 
    And the lamp went out as it couldn't glow on burning, yep, the 
lmp wnt out for it couldn't stay alight.
    Well, (how dire do we thee hours when thylike fades!) all's dall 
and youllow and it is to bedowern that thou art passing hence,
mine bruder, able Shaun, with a twhisking of the robe, ere the            
morning of light calms our hardest throes, beyond cods' cradle            
and porpoise plain, from carnal relations undfamiliar faces, to the
inds of Tuskland where the oliphants scrum till the
ousts of Amiracles where the toll stories grow proudest, more is
the pity, but for all your deeds of goodness you were soo ooft and
for ever doing, manomano and myriamilia even to mulimuli, as
our humbler classes, whose virtue is humility, can tell, it is hardly
we in the country of the old, Sean Moy, can part you for, oleypoe,
you were the walking saint, you were, tootoo too stayer, the
graced of gods and pittites and the salus of the wake. Countenance
whose disparition afflictedly fond Fuinn feels. Winner of the
gamings, primed at the studience, propredicted from the story-
bouts, the choice of ages wise! Spickspookspokesman of our
specturesque silentiousness! Musha, beminded of us out there in
Cockpit, poor twelve o'clock scholars, sometime or other any-
when you think the time. Wisha, becoming back to us way home
in Biddyhouse one way or either anywhere we miss your smile.