to come. Greets to ghastern, hie to morgning. Dor- midy, destady. Doom is the pity, but for that if there appeared on the sopjack, my fond fosther, E. Obiit Nolan, The Workings, N.S.W., his condition off the old trinitarian senate and saints and saucerdotes, with vignettes, cut short into instructual primers by those in heaven to provost myself, by gramercy of justness, I mean veryman and moremon, stiff and staunch for ever, and enter under the sixtyfives act) in a Chatty Letter the Fable of the wise graveleek in cabbuchin garden. That his be exaspirated, letters be blowed! I is a puling sample jungle of woods. You most shouts out: