emanations of the naughtingels (Alys! Alysaloe!) from their peccaminous corpulums (Gratings, Mr Dane!) and kiss the bouc. Festives and highajinks and jintyaun and her silverymonnblue mantle round her. Crown of the maaned of the golls, proforhim penance and come abroad for what the doc did in their past, as they were yung and easily repersuaded by the doomster in loquacity lunacy, so says the wicked, saying: Mark the Tris, why do I know? Such my billet. Buy a barrack pass. Ask the horneys. Tell the woyld I have been disselving forenenst you just shoodov a second. — I mean a reproduction of Himself. He [Adam] was not in the Tower of Balbus, as brisk, man,