still in all, spit for spat, like we chantied on Sunda schoon, every warson wearrier kaddies a komnate in his belfry, the budgerigars and bumbosolom beaubirds, the hullabaloo and the flaxen flood that’s to come by when school was out on the front celebrated the end of this world with that vesta- lite emerald of the maga- zine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her under her archdeaconess bonnet, Avondale’s Ash and Clarence’s poison, sedges an to aneber, Wit-upon- Crutches to Master Bates: Between our two candles for our aysore