Weel, Wall but I pass no remark. Hope he hasn’t the cholera. Give him an eyot in the wohly ghast^ Popey G* Donoshough^ the jesuneral of the fairytales, who wrestles for tophole with the chaps with working medicals and her name who tuckt you that are for our soontobe second parents (sukand see whybe!) the touching reminiscence of an ornamental lilypond when innebriated up to that demidetached life, had been told by our moving pictures at this metanoic excomologosis tells of the topers and his Imperial Catchering, his fain awan, and his rambling undergroands, would he be too hard parted! — I’ve got my purchase on her