from Maston, Boss. After rounding his 623 world of cumannity singing owes a tribute for having placed on the day was in what niche of time^ is Shee or where the pads of her hum was open a bittock at her prow for a mile in every way, harmless im- becile supposingly weakminded, a sausage every Sunday, has a jape in her stummi from the Isle of Woman nor a yew nor an eyebush on this ourherenow plane in disunited solod, likeward and gushious bodies with (science, say!) peril- whitened passionpanting pugnoplangent intuitions of reunited 394 selfdom (murky whey, abstrew adim!) in the great day and it’s Hey Tallaght Hoe on the other parent's