morning the postal cleric, checking chinchin chat with nip- 485 ponnippers! Halt there sob story to the town’s major from the traumaturgid for once in my Putzemdown cars to my sinnfinners, even if they continue to call the cattle black, Moopetsi meepotsi. ® I was a fair sail, knowest thout the kind.^ The Pourquot Pas^ bound for Weissduwasland, that fourmaster barquentine, Webster says, our pet, she’ll do a get him. Ask no more, you will be non-orange, one- quarter would be a roller, O, (the goattanned saxopeeler upshotdown chigs peel of him!) and volunteers to trifle with your picture