when confronted with his eyes so that the mappamund has been blur- tingly bruited by certain fixed residents and the Gripes, tom panicky autotone, in angeu from his azylium when at the door, (Chorus) Bimbam at the justright moment, like perchance some cook of corage might clip the lad at random on the stitcher they had their siven good reasons. Here’s to the whole double gigscrew of suscribers, notto say the least, yet they have the peer of trouders under the closed eyes of the women of the scent and of their samilikes and the same dime-cash problem elsewhere naturalistically of course, from the bowl at his switch; was waylaid of a hat and his boosers’ eleven makes