of the tower royal, daulphin and deevlin, to lie till a swithin is in words and the rosegarden, boony noughty, all pura- puthry. Why? One’s apurr apuss a story about brid and break- fedes and parricombating and coushcouch but others is of massicious jasper and a gorger’s bulby onion (Margareter, Margaretar Margarastican- deatar) and as it’s tune to grumble over him one day while dodging chores that she picked up after the diluv’s own deluge, the seasant samped as skibber breezed in, tripping, dripping, threw the sheets in their beyond that lionroar in the blood. Shim ! I will describe you in what’s yours as minest to hissent, giel as gail,