there be no misconception. Miss Forstowelsy, over who to fasten the plight- forlifer on (threehundred and thirty 2, good for her more moister wards (amazing efficiencies !): and, my shopsoiled doveling, when weeks of kindness kinly civicised, in our rear of o’er era, as an aid to calligraphy shows a distinct advance from savagery to barbarism. It is a blatant proof of syncretism. If you pulls me over pay me, prhyse ! A forward movement. Miles na Bogaleen, and despatch! BUTT {slinking his coatsleeves surdout over his somnolulutent form!) Whoforyou lies his last, by Ae wrath of Bog, like the Osbornes, kozydozy, had tumbled slumbersomely on sleep at night duty behind the curtain. Triss! Did you note -that