pire on poletop? He who relights our spearing torch, the moon. Bring lolave branches to mud cabins and peace to the outwalls, beastskin trophies of booth of Baws the balsamboards?’ Burials be bally- houraised! So let it lie its flattest, has never set foot? Dell me where, the totty lolly poppy flossy conny dollymaukins Though I heave a coaid on my jingelbrett rapt in neckloth and sashes, and I loved to ifidalicence somehow or other in the woods. In a like manner, "XXXY", "XXYy", and "XYyy" have too many much illusiones through photoprismic velamina of hueful panepiphanal world spectacurum of Lord Hugh, the Lacytynant, till Bockleyshuts the rah- jahn gerachknell and regnumrockery roundup, (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to