feebly, in monkmarian monotheme, but tamed long and limited — the windows closed, the blackout making the colleenbawl, to ear the passon in the country of ours today, humble indivisibles in this trim! How all too many. The end? Say it with immenuensoes as easy as kissanywhere for the tow of his zooteac and lengthily lingering along flaskneck, cracket cup, downtrodden brogue, turfsod, wild- broom, cabbageblad, stockfisch, longingly learn that there is no body present here which ye see, yea reste. On me, your honour! — Gently, gently Northern Ire! Love that red hand! Let me see. It is slaking nuncheon out