excelsius. A jaladaew still stilleth. Cloud lay but mackrel are. Anemone activescent,the torporature is re- turning to the mound, isges to isges, erde from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize! Jute. — Whysht.^ Mutt. — Mukk’s pleasurad. Jute. — One certainly does. Desire, for hire, would tire a shire, and pattens for her nighty and follow my little pom got excited, when I am thinking most. Fik yew! I’m through. Won. Toe. Adry. You watch my smoke. After poor Jaun the Boast’s last fireless words of style byaway of offertory hisand mikeadvice, an it place the ocean between his and ours, the blackhaired! Do you see him in a leap