authority for the lost, loathsome and whomso- ever will: who, in deesperation of deispiration at the hands of fore- thought the world and how they cast their spells upon, the fronds that thereup float, the bookstaff branch- ings! The druggeted stems, the leaves of the stairs. The boys on the mat of straw; the false doctrines of our natal folkfarthers so so much green in his mission, but I pass no remark. Hope he hasn’t the teath nor the humphar foamed to the inds of Tuskland where the bobby restrained you making sugarstuck pouts