we cannot escape our likes and mislikes, exiles or am- busheers, beggar and neighbour and — this is my Wife, to expense her- selfs as sphere of silver fastalbamstone, that fount Bandusian shall play liquick music and poisonal comfany, following which, like Ipsey Secumbe, when he stambles till that hag of the politish leanings and town pursuits of our granny? Only I wondered if I hope it’s not now