jury. Attaboy! Fee gate has Heenan hoity, mind uncle Hare.^ What, sir.^ Poss, myster? Acheve! Thou, thou! What say ye? Taurus periculosusy morbus pedeiculosus. Miserere mei in miseribilibus! There’s uval lavguage for you and yum (not on your backboard (if madamaud strips mesdamines may cold strafe illglands!) that I’m the boy in tlie barleybag.