The Alder had in her hold four hundred casks of musket flints, a quantity of bar lead, iron, and drygoods, the entire cargo and vessels being valued at twenty-four thousand dollars.

The archbishop was derided in ballads as an alphabetarian, who had burnt books which he could not read.

An Irish creature, Erbert Ellison was the name, ran the place for the trustees, he said, but if you might believe all the stories you heard he ran a hantle more silver into his own pouch than he ran into theirs.

You thinkin' he's some kinda religious nutzo?