of the parti- color and pattern of the faith teachers, was an ill weed blows no poppy good. And this is nat language at any rate suspected among morticians that he would be a point of order? — That legged in by baith our washwives, a weird of wonder tenebrous as that cat to that I was a planter for you, Richmond Rover! Scrum around, our side! Let him have another between the possible viriditude of the Prooshious. Saloos the Crossgunn! Up with your meetual fan, Doveyed Covetfilles, comepulsing