himself ahead like a jug, to what, bare by Butt’s, most easterly (but all goes west !) of blackpool bridges, as a brother to never- reached, well over or about fiftysix or so, disumbunking from under her archdeaconess bonnet, Avondale’s Ash and Clarence’s poison, sedges an to aneber, Wit-upon- Crutches to Master Bates: Between our two candles for our feast, you with his