Well, I hate to look at alarms but |10'must now close as10'| I hear from my seeless socks 'tis time to be up and ambling. This shack's not big enough for me now. I'm going. I know I am. I
could bet I am. Somewhere I must get, far away from Banba shore, wherever I
am. So I think I'll take freeboots' advice. |10Psk!10| I'll borrow a path to lend me wings, quickquack, and from Jehusalem's wall, clickclack, to Cheerup street |10'me courser's clear tillº10'| I'll travel the void world over. It's Winland for moyne, bick buck! Geejakers! I hurt meself nettly that time! Come, my good frogmarchers! Was not my oltu mutther, Sereth Maritza, a Runningwater? And the |10'big bould10'| one that quickened her the seaborne Fingale? Squall aboard for Kew, hop! Farewell awhile to her and thee! The brine's my bride to be. It's |10'now nunc10'| or |10'never nimmer10'||10., siskinder!10| Here goes the enemy! |10'Bennydick |avotes footsa| onimpudent stayers.10'| |10Sorry!10| I bless |10all to the west as alls to the wished with this panromanº apological which10| Whatllwewhistlem sang to the |10kerryboys kerrycoys10|. |10'Break ranks!10'| Fik yew! I'm through. Won. Toe. Adry. You watch my smoke.
After poor Jaun the Boast's last fireless words |10of his soapbox speech10| ending |10in'sheaven in's
heaven,º10| twentyaid add one were pouring to his bysistance but, repulsing all attempts
at first hands on, our greatly misunderstood one we perceived to give himself some sort of a hermetic prod or kick to sit up and take notice which acted like magic while the phalanx of daughters of February Filldyke voiced approval in their customary manner by dropping kneedeep in tears over their |10'concelebrated10'| midnight sunflower and splattering together joyously the pats of their tappyhands as they viewed him, the just one, their darling, away.
Oasis, cedarous esaltarshoming Leafboughnoon!
Oasis Oisis, cupressedus inmountof Sighing!
Oasis, palmest esaltarhoming Gladdays!
Oisis, phantastichal roseway anjerichol!
Oasis, newleavousº spaciosing encampnost!
Oisis, plantainous dewstuckacqmirage playtennis!
Pipetto, Pipetta has misery unnoticed!x|10'|
|10'But the strangest thing happened. Backscuttling for the hopoff,º10'| Jaun just then I saw to collect
from the gentlest |10'weeper weaner10'| among the |10'wailers
weiners10'| (who by this were in half droopleaflong mourning for the passing of the last post) the familiar yellow label into which he let fall a drop, smothered a curse, choked a guffaw, spat expectoration and blew his own trumpet. And next thing was he
gummalicked the stickyback side and stamped the oval badge of belief to his agnellous brow with a genuine dash of irrepressible piety that readily turned his ladylike typmanzelles capsy curvy (the holy scamp!) with a half a glance of Irish frisky from under the shag of his parallel brows. It was then he waved a hand across the sea as notice to quit but in selfrighting the balance of him to
exchange embraces with the pillarbosom of the Dizzier he loved prettier, between estellos and venoussas, bad luck to the lie but, when next to nobody expected, their star and gartergazer toppled a lipple on to the off and, making a brandnew start for himself by blessing hes sthers with the sign of the southern cross, his bungalow
|10'hat borsaline 10'| blew off in a loveblast and Jawjon Redhead, bucketing after, (the headless shall have legs!), kingscouriered round with an easy rush by the bridge beyond Ladycastle (and he narrowly missed
fouling her buttress for her |10in the act but for he acqueducked10|) and then away with him at the double, the hulk of a garron, pelting after the
road on Shanks's mare|10', letº off like a windhoundº
looseº10'| (the bouchal! you'd think it was that moment they gave him the jambos!) with a posse of tossing hankerwaves to his windward like seraph's summonses and a tempest of good things in packetshape teeming from all accounts
into the funnel of his shrimpnet, along the highroad of the nation, Traitors' Trot, following which
he was quickly lost to sight through the statuemen, though without a doubt he was all the more on that account to memory dear, while Sickerson, |10'that auxiliary la garde auxiliaire10'|, |10'he she10'| murmured full of woe: Where maggot Harvey kneeled till bags? Ate Andrew coos hogdam farvel!
Whethen, may the good people now speed you, rural Haun, export stout fellow that you are, ay, and heart in hand of Shamrogueshire! May your bawny hair grow rarer and fairer, our own only whiteheaded boy! Rest your voice! Feed your mind! Mint your peas! Coax your qyous! |10'In
the mansongs of the blest Andº touch the light theorbo.10'| Good by nature and natural by design, had you but been spared to us, Hauneen lad, but sure where's
the use my talking quicker when I know you'll hear me all astray? My long farewell I send to you, fair dream of sport and game and always something new. Gone is Haun! My grief, my ruin! 'Tis well you'll be looked after from last to first as yon beam of light we follow receding on your photophoric pilgrimage to your antipodes in the past, you who so often consigned your distributory
tidings of great joy into our nevertoolatetolove box, dearest Haun of them all, you of the boots, true as a die, stepwalker, pennyatimer, lampaddyfair. Thy now palewaning light lucerne we ne'er may see again. But could it speak how nicely would it splutter to the four cantons praises be to thee! For you had — may I dare to say it? — the nucleus of a glow of zeal of service such as
rarely if ever have I met with in single men. There are |10'a dozen of10'| folks still unclaimed by the death angel in this country of ours today|10', humbleº
indivisibles in |athe thisa| grand continuum,
overlorded by fate and interlarded with accidence,º10'| who|10',
while there are hours and days,10'| will fervently pray to the Spirit above that they may never depart this earth of theirs till |10'on
in10'| his long run|10', |afromº that place where the day
begins,a| onº that day that belongsº to
|ajoyfula| Ireland, after decades of
longsuffering and decennia of briefgloryº, to |atell minda| us of what was when and to matter us of
where the whitheringº of our whysº, Johnny Walker their Jol Janyouare Fibyouare wins true from Sylvester andº (Only only |aWalker Waltzerºa| himself is like Waltzer, they go murmurand)10'| comes marching ahome on the summer crust of the flagway. Life, it is true, will be a blank without you, |10'|~itwas brief without writing, itwill end without message,~|10'| a slip of the time between a date and a ghostmark from the night we are and feel to the yesterselves we dread to remember.
But, boy, you did your strong nine furlong mile in slick and slapstick record time and a farfetched deed it was in troth, champion docile with your high bouncing gait of going, and your feat will be contested for centuries to come. Ay, already the sombrer opacities of the gloom are sphanished! Brave footsore Haun! Hold to! Win out, ye divil ye! The silent cock shall crow at last. The west shall shake the east awake. Walk while ye have the night, for morn, lightbreakfastbringer, morroweth whereon every post shall full fast sleep.