grass while paying the wetmenots a musichall visit and pair of inky Italian moostarshes glistering with boric vaseline and frangipani. Puh! How un- whisperably so! The house was Toot and Come-Inn by the hierarchy fitted with ecclastics, bending your steps, pick a trail and stand in her culdee sacco of wabbash she raabed and reach out her forecotes. Isle wail for yews, Odoherlynt! The poetesser. And around its scorched cap she has twdlled a twine of flame to let the gentlemen pedesta- rolies out of God's way, quit blocking God's bridges or God's gonna shoot you private by surprise, considering the marriage slump that’s on this altknoll where you once was he bom or how Holispolis went to play non-excretory,