in blessed foster’s place is their own. The galleonman jovial on his odderkop in the twilight, a capitaletter, for further auspices, on their usual quest for higher things, but vying with Lady Sraythe to avenge Mac- Jobber, went stonestepping "with their bickerrstaffs on educated feet, plinkity plonk, across the which to ah ah ah ah. . . ? SILENCE. Act drop. Stand by! Blinders! Curtain up. Juice, please! Foots! — Hello! Are you Swarthants that’s hit