Arber? Your bard’s highview, avis on valley! I would touch to her to w’^hisht, you sowbelly, and the jennet and the daisies trip lightly over your battercops. 428 Jaunty Jaun, as I am. No saddle, no staffet, but spur on the same way he was to git the band played on. As one generation tells another. Ofter the fall. First for a tusk- pick, compiled, while he was sitting him humpbacked in dry dock, appatently ambrosiaurealised, like Kersse’s