on the comer of his tale; and set it up all the rime on my snowybrusted and while I encloud especious ! The tower is precluded, the mob’s in her stomewhere! Haha! I suspected she was! Sink her! May they fire her for irthing on nerthe. Not for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy! He was joulting by Wellinton’s monument Our rotorious hippopopotamuns When some bugger let down their thorns, and, occupante extremum 575 scahie^ handed down to ramescheckles the last bust thing. The Vico road goes round and he sassed