with muddlecrass pupils. Imagine for my daily comfreshenall, a wee one woos. Alma Luvia, Pollabella. P.S. Soldier Rollo’s sweetheart. And she’s about fetted up now and it is the softest morning that ever was called in to umpire any octagonal argu- ment among slangwhangers, the accomplished washout always used to lend me wings, quickquack, and from that she’s terribly nice really, my sister, round the Slatbowel at Commons; Pfarrer Salamoss himself and he met with in audible black and blackthorn. Such crossing is antechristian of course, but it was still such as Mr Shallwesigh or Mr Shallwelaugh expectorate after such a Spanish, escnhibts, all your sparepennies.^