Can it be that so diversified outrages were planned & partly carried out against |1a so1| staunch
|1a1| covenanter if it is true that |1any of1| those recorded ever took place for many are recorded by some who handle the truth so carelessly
that we ought to feel rather sorry for them over it? The city of refuge, whither he had fled to forget in expiating manslaughter, the land in which by the commandment with promise his days apostolic were to be longº murmured, would rise against him |1with all which in them
were1|, do him hurt, poor jink, ghostly upon bodily, as were he made a curse for them, the corruptible lay quick, |1the all1| saints of incorruption of
an holy nation, the common or garden castaway in resurrection of damnation so they might convince him of their proper sins. Businessbred to a stiff upper lip he took nothing but good fighting chances. Yet he or his was or were subjected to |1the1| terror. One tall man
carr humping a suspicious parcel when returning late to the old spot had a barking revolver put to his face by an unknown assailant (masked) against whom he had been jealous. More than that when the waylayer (not a Lucalizodite) mentioning that he had a loaded pistol which left
only two alternatives as either he would surely shoot him or, failing
of that, bash in his face beyond all recognition, pointedly asked him how he came by the fender he was answered by the aggravated assaulted that that was for him to find out. But how transparently untrue! Six feet one is not tall. Was it supposedly to explode or to force an entrance that the man in a |1butcher blue butcherblue1| blouse with from a men's wear store, with a bottle of single stout in his possession, seized by the town guard in H.C.E.'s very gateway, was in the gateway? How true on first time of hearing his statement that he had had a lot too much to drink and was falling |1up1| against the gate yet how lamely proceeds his then explanation that he was merely trying to open the bottle of stout by hammering it against the gate for the boots in the place, Maurice Behan, who hastily threw on a pair of pants and came down in his socks without coat or collar, attracted by the noise of gunplay, said he was in bed when he was wakened up out of the land of byelo by hearing hammering emanating from the gate. This battering all over the door & sideposts, he
always said, was not in the very remotest like a bottle of stout which would not rouse him out of sleep but far more like the overture to the last day, if anything.
Notice a fellow who calls on his skirt. Note his slick hair so elegant, tableau vivant. He vows her to be his own honeylamb, swears they will be pals, by Sam, and share good times way down down west in a happy lovenest when May moon shines but that guy is not so dippy
between you and I (not on your life! not in these trousers! not by a large jugful!) for somewhere on the sly this guy in has his girl number two and he would like to canoodle her too some part of the time for he is
downright fond of his own number one but he is fair mashed on his peachy number two so that if he could only canoodle the two all three would be genuinely happy, the two numbers, that is, with their mutual chappy (for he is simply shamming dippy) if they were afloat in a dreamboat, his tippy canoe, his tippy upanddowndippy tiptoptippy canoodle canyou. With this
our friends the fender and the bottle at the gate seem on an identical basis, bearing several of the earmarks of a plot for there is in fact no use putting a tooth on a thing of that sort and the amount of that sort of thing which was going on was simply stupendous.
Whether or not, next morning the postman handed in a letter superscribed to Humpty, pot and gallows King. The coffin Nelson & Caracciolo, at first sight |1naturally1| mistaken for a fender, had been removed from hardware premises, a noted house of the middle east which, as an ordinary everyday transaction, |1supplies continues to supply1| funeral requisites of every description. In the parallel case |1continuing, Long1| Laddy Cummings, the conscientious guard and a scripture reader to boot, swore before the proper functionary that the butcher in the blouse, after delivering some carcasses, went & kicked at the door and, when challenged about it on his |1solemn1| oath by the imputed, said simply: I am on my oath. I You did, as I s tressed before. You are deeply mistaken, sir, let me then tell you, denied McPartland (the meatman's |1family1| name).