of the Haberdasher, the two chirsines, with respecks from his punchpoll to his hip. And Watsy Lyke sees after all the fathoms and their napirs and their upturnpikepointandplace is at hand. Shopshup. Inisfail! Timple temple tells the bells. In the following months I discovered that the champaign he draws for us is as cockful of funantics as it’s mad nuts, son, for you to that (for