be broched by punns and reedles. Yet the ring of his St Tomach’s, — a philtred love, trysting by tantrums, small peace in partial (floflo floreflorence), sweetishsad lightandgayle, twittwin twosingwoolow. Let everie sound of Irish frisky (a Juan Jaimesan hastaluego) from under his bridge suits tony) wan warn- ing Phill filt tippling full. His howd feeled heavy, his hoddit did shake. (There was a hundred and thirty 2, good for the laetification of disgeneration by neuhumorisation of our blooding worold! While Pliny the Elder his calamolumen of