Tales Told

Tales Told 2nd proofs, May 1929, §1C draft level 6

MS Salisbury House 16-24 Draft details

The Gracehoper was always jigging a jog, hoppy on akkant of his joyicity (he had a partner pair of findlestilts to supplant him), or, if not, he was always making ungraceful overtures to Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla to play pupa-pupa and pulicy-pulicy and langtennas and pushpygyddyum and to commence insects with him, there mouthparts to his orefice and his gambills to there airy processes, even if only in chaste, ameng the everlastings, behold a waspering pot. He would of curse melissciously by his fore feelhers, flexors, contractors, depressors and extensors, lamely, harry me, marry me, bury me, bind me, till she was puce for shame and allso fourmish her in Spinner's housery at the earthsbest schoppinhour so summery as his cottage, which was cald fourmillierly Tingsomingenting, groped up. Or, if he was not done doing that, improbably he was always striking up funny funereels with Besterfarther Zeuts, the Aged One, with all his wigeared corollas, albedinous
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and oldbuoyant, inscythe his elytrical wormcasket, and Dehlia and Peonia, his druping nymphs, bewheedling him, compound eyes on hornitosehead, and Auld Letty Plussiboots to scratch his cacumen and cackle his tramsitus|6, diva deborahº6| (seven bolls of soap, a lick of lime, two spurts of fussfor, threefurts of sulph, a shake o' shooker, doze grains of migniss and a mesfull of madcap pitchies: the whool of the whaal in the wheel of the whorl of the Boubou from Bourneum has thus come to |6taon!) taon!),º6| and with tambarins and cantoridettes soturning around his eggshill rockcoach their dance McCaper in retrophœbia, beck from bulk, like fantastic disossed and jenny aprils, the ra, the ra, the ra, the ra, langsome heels and langsome toesies, attended to by a mutter and |6duffer doffer duffmatt6| baxingmotch and a myrmidins of pszozlers pszinging Satyr's Caudledayed Nice and Humbly, Dumbly Sod We Awhile but Ho, Time Timeagen, Wake! For if sciencium (what's what) can mute uns nought, 'a thought, abought the Great Sommboddy within the Omniboss perhops an artsaccord (hoot's hoot) might sing ums tumtim abutt the Little Newbuddies that ring his panch. A high old tide for the barheated publics and the whole |6day's day as6| gratiis! Fudder and lighting for ally looty, any filly in a fog, for O'Cronione lags acrumbling in |6the his6| sands but his sunsunsuns still tumble on. Erething above ground, as his Book of Breathings bid him, so as everwhy, sham or shunner, to kick time.

|66| Grouscious me and scarab my sahul! What a bagateller it is! Pou! Ptah! What a |6Zeit zeit6| for the goths! vented the Ondt, who, not being a sommerfool, was thothfolly making chilly spaces at hisphex affront of the icinglass of his windhame, which was cold antitopically Nixnixundnix. We shall
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not come to that lopp's party, he decided possibly, for he is not on our social list. Nor to Ba's berial nether |6this oldeborre's yaar,º6| ablong as there's a khul on a khat. Nefersenless, when he had safely looked up his ovipository, he prayed: May he me no voida water! Seekit Hatup! May no he me tile pig shed on! Suckit Hotup! As broad as Beppy's realm shall flourish my reign shall flourish! As high as
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Heppy's hevn shall flurrish my haine shall hurrish! Shall grow, shall flourish! Shall hurrish! Hummum.

The Ondt was a weltall fellow, raumybult and abelboobied, bynear saw altitudinous wee a schelling in kopfers. He was sair sair sullemn and chairmanlooking when he was not making spaces in his psyche, but (laus!) when he wore making spaces on his ikey he ware mouche mothst secred and muravyingly wisechairmanlooking. Now whim the sillybilly of a Gracehoper had jingled through a jungle of love and debts and jangled through a jumble of life in doubts afterworse, wetting with the zanzaries, drikking with nautonects, bilking with durrydunglecks and horing after ladybirdies (ichnehmon diagelegenaitoikon), he fell joust as sieck as a sexton and |6tanto tantoo6| pooveroo as a churchprince, and wheer the midges to wend hemsylph or vosch |6to sirch6| for grub for his corapusse or to find a hospes, alick, he wist gnit! Bruko dry! Fuko spint! Sultamont osa bare! And volomundo osi videvide! Nichtsnichtsundnichts! Not one pickopeck of muscowmoney to bag a tittlebits of beebread! Iomiol! Iomiol! Crick's corbicule, which a plight! O moy Bog, he contrited, I am heartily hungry!

He had eaten all the whilepaper, swallowed the lustres, devoured forty flights of styearcases, chewed up all the mensas and seccles, ronged the records, made mundballs of the ephemerids and voracioused most glutinously with the very timeplace in the ternitary — not too dusty a cicada of neuteriment for a little chip so mity. But when Chrysalmas was on the bare branches off he went from Tingsomingenting. He took a round stroll and he took a stroll round and he took a round strollagain till the grillies in his head and the leivnits in his hair made him thought he had the Tossmania. |6Had he twicylched the sees of the deed and |atritraversed trestraverseda| their |areverlosthings revermera|? Was he come to hevre with his engiles or gone to hull with the poop?6| The June snows was flocking in thuckflues on the hegelstomes, millipeeds of it and myriopoods, and a lugly tournedos, the Boraborayellers, blohablasting tegolhuts up to tetties and ruching sleets off the coppeehouses with an irritant,
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penetrant, siphonopterous spuk. Grausssssss! Opr! Grausssssss! Opr!

The Gracehoper, who, though blind as batflea, yet knew his good smetterling of entymology, promptly tossed himself in the vico, phthin and phthir, on top of his buzzer and the next time he
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makes the aquinatance of the Ondt after this they have met theirselves it shall be motylucky if he will beheld |6not6| a world of differents. Behailed |6His Gross6| the Ondt, prostrandvorous upon his dhrone, in his Papylonian babooshkees, with unshrinkables farfalling from his unthinkables, swarming of himself in his sunnyroom, sated before his comfortumble phullupsuppy of a plate o' monkynous and a confucion of minthe (for he was a conformed aceticist and aristotaller) as appi as a oneysucker or a baskerboy on the Libido with Floh biting his big thigh and Luse lugging his luff leg and Bienie bussing him under his bonnet and Vespatilla blowing cosy fond tutties up the large of his smalls. Emmet and demmet and be jiltses crazed and be jadeses whipt! schneezed the Gracehoper, aguepe with ptchjelasys and at his wittol's |6end indts6|, What have eyeforsight!

|66| The Ondt, that true and perfect host, was making the greatest spass a body could with his queens laceswinging, for he was spizzing all over him like thingsumanything in formicolation, boundlessly blissfilled in an allallahbath of houris. He was ameising himself hugely at crabround and marypose, chasing Floh out of charity and tickling Luse, I hope too, and tackling Bienie, faith as well, and jucking Vespatilla |6jukely6| by the chimiche. Never did Dorsan from |6Dunshangan Dunshanagan6| dance it with more devilry! The veripatetic imago of the impossible Gracehoper on his odderkop in the myre, sans mantis ne shoos, featherweighed animule, actually and presumptuably sinctifying chronic's despair, was sufficiently and probably coocoo much for his chorous
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of gravitates. A darkener of the threshold? The thing pleased him andt, andt, andt

He larved and he larved ann he merd such a nauses
The Gracehoper feared he would mixplace his fauces.
I forgive you, dear Ondt, said the Gracehoper, weeping,
For their sakes of the sakes you are safe in whose keeping.
Teach Floh and Luse polkas, show Bienie where's sweet
And be sure Vespatilla fines fat ones to heat.
As I once played the piper I must now pay the count
So saida to Moyhammlet and marhaba to your Mount!
Let who likes lump above so what flies be a full 'un;
I could not feel moregruggy if this was prompollen.
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I pick up your reproof, the horsegift of a friend,
For the prize of your save is the price of my spend.
Can castwhores pulladeftkiss if oldpollocks forsake 'em
Or Culex feel etchy if Pulex don't wake him?
A locus to loue, a term it t'embarrass,
These twain are the twins that tick Homo Vulgaris.
|6Haf Hasº6| Aquileone nort winged to go syf
Since the Gwyfyn we were in his farrest drewbryf
And that Accident Man not beseeked where his story ends
Since longsephyring sighs sought heartseast for their orience?
We are Wastenot with Want, precondamned, two and true,
Till Nolans go volants and Bruneyes come blue.
In my risible universe where could you find
Such prodigious advancement with so much behind?
Your feats are enormous, your volumes immense
(May the Graces I hoped for sing Your Ondtship song sense!),
Your genus is worldwide, your spaces sublime!
But, Holy Saltmartin, why can't you beat time?

In the name of the former and of the latter and of their holocaust. Allmen.