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I wish ye much success as ye climb th' lather iv fame. Th' invintor is thin dhrawn ar-roun' th' sthreets iv Paris in a chariot pulled be eight white horses amid cries iv 'Veev Higgins, 'Abase Castile, et cethra, fr'm th' populace. An' manny a heart beats proud in Goshen that night. That's th' way ye think iv it, but it happens diff'rent, Hinnissy.
Sampson, love an old friend of your mother's." "And th' Author an' Invintor of th' great Chronothairmal Therey o' Midicine, th' Unity Perriodicity an' Remittency of all disease," put in the visitor, with such prodigious swiftness of elocution that the words went tumbling over one another like railway carriages out on pleasure, and the sentence was a pile of loud, indistinct syllables.
My father took his pipe out of his mouth and looked inquisitively at Billy. "M' head's spinnin' 'round like a peerie!" he exclaimed. "Whin did ye ate aanything?" asked the sweep. "Yestherday." "Aye, well, it's th' mate ye haaven't in yer bowels that's makin' ye feel quare." "What's th' matther wi th' invintor?" Anna asked. Billy had removed his pipe and was staring vacantly into space.
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