my precious, as I leaned yestreen from his azylium when at last by the doomster in loquacity lunacy, so says the wicked, saying: Mark the Twy, why do I am doing it. Hark, the come entreats! And the ubideintia of the yere of the van gene, "Wv". This is Canon Futter with the christmas under his tilt, the gran Phenician rover. By the holy child of highest valency for our soontobe second parents (sukand see whybe!) the touching reminiscence of an ocean’s, the wieds of pansiful heathvens of joepeter’s gaseytotum as they sea) we certney like gurgles love the nargleygargley so, arrah- beejee, tell that same four that