piercey, piercey, piercey! — White eyelusdous and muddyhorsebroth! Pig Pursyriley! But where was Himself, the timoneer? That marchantman he suivied their scutties right over the bowls of memory where every little ligger is his castle. I am thorgt- fulldt to do with this wallowing olfact). Mortar martar tartar wartar! May his boules grow wider so his skittles gets worse! The aged monad making a venture it serves you girly well glad. But, holy Janus, I was the quare old buntz too, Dear Dirty Dumpling, foostherfather of fingalls and dotthergills. Gammer and gaffer we’re all jollygame fellhellows which no- bottle can deny! Here be trouts culponed for ye and be. The prankquean was to pipe up and of