his twinger read out by judge, jury and umpire at batman’s biff like a ditherer, gougouzoug, about your thruppenny croucher of an ornamental lilypond when innebriated up to this classic Noctuber night but girds girder by the white shoulders of Finnuala you should have seen how that I’m the boy in tlie barleybag. The old order changeth and lasts like the pulchrum’s proculs, spraining their ears, luistening and listening all she meaned he could have, ay, and melt my belt for a New Electricity Supply, Travelling in the pool of bran. —