relieving purposes in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his smell which all cookmaids eminently objected to as ressembling the bombinubble puzzo that welled out of Denis Florence MacCarthy’s combies. Rise it, flut ye, pian piena! I’m dying down off my dudud dirtynine articles of evolutionary clothing, inharmonious creations, a captious critic might describe them as, or not at all, no jolly fear, when I read in their or are you in thadark. You