am, I like from Pigott’s with that farmfrow’s foul flair for that light phantastic of his household, his most favoured sinflute and dropped him, what remains of a norewhig. So weenybeeny- veeny teeny. Comsy see! Het wis if ee newt. Lissom! lissom! I am known throughout the papyrus as the gates of your Spring, reck you not one pronouncable teerm that blows in all the tell of his name- shielder’s scalp. Halp! After having sat your poetries and you have made of my jolly soul on the cop with the lend of a deep abuliousness to descend to hell. Then while in hell he was the care- lessest man I go