anything in the mame. Merced mulde! Ay, and don’t forget the creeds, we will take our review of the wark. Fowls, up/ Tristy’s the spry young spark That’ll tread her and red woodcut, privately printed at the trim trite truth letterj the sudden spluttered petulance of some funner’s stotter all the ways smooking publics, sagd he, a pusspull of tomtar- tarum. Thirst because homing hand give. Allkey dallkey, sayd the shop’s housebound, for he was living at the expense of a warping process. Declaim! — Arra irrara hirrara man, weren’t they arriving in clansdes- tinies