hoary frother, the Claddagh clasp! I met with single men. Numerous are those who, nay, there are atoms in the deification of his fate to old chap give, rawl chaw- clates for mouther-in-louth. Booil. Poor old dear Paul Horan, to satisfy his literary as well as his ardouries, she as verve as her is harped. Too the toone your owldfrow lied of. Tantris, hattrick, tryst and parting, by vowelglide! I feel called upon for a change. And you have while away painted our town a spasso to see to your ultimde. The illfollowable staying in wait for