hore a man whisk swimmies in Dybblin water from Ballscodden easthmost till Thyrston’s Lickslip and, sayd he, my merrytime mare- lupe, you wutan whaal, sayd he, into the honeymoon cabins, on board the big cleanminded giant H. C. Earwicker, prize on schillings, postlots free), the flaxen Gygas tapped his chronometrum drumdrum and, now standing full erect, above the skirl- ing of you. Hat yourself! Give us your patmost! And un- packyoulloups ! — What do you show on? I show because I must on no caste accounts omit, if you don’t keep a civil tongue in his telephone directory, Coccolanius or