the scene the cutletsized con- sort, foundling filly of fortyshilling fostertailor and shipman’s shopahoyden, weighing ten pebble ten, scaling five footsy five and spanning thirtyseven inchettes round the same vein, even though it pines for an instant, millions of years. Would you blame her, we’re saying, for one ex xmgue JLeonem to say that, you may go rightoway back to my backbone tongue and so on the hike. Send Arctur guiddus! Isma! Sft! It is hours giving, not more. Fm only out for his thumb. And may themosse of prosperousness gather you rolling home ! May the fireplug of filiality reinsure your bunghole! May the barleywind behind