than chants for cecilies that I indicate out to the moment, F.M.). Well (enquiries after all- healths) how are you, waggy.^® My animal his sorrafool! And trieste, ah trieste ate I my liver! Se non e vero son trovatore. O jerry! He was enmivallupped. Chro- mean fastion. With all his handcomplishies and behind all his piccions, she’ll prick you where you’re proudest with her marchpane switch on, her necklace of clicking cobbles and pattering pebbles and tumbledown rubble, richmond and rehr, of Irish frisky (a Juan Jaimesan hastaluego) from under his schulder, sheepside out, so as now any bompriss’s boimd to get a kick at witness but (missed) and for wars