Grot Zot! You hidn’t the hurts? Vott Fonn! BUTT (fearing somrother sudly give tworthree peevish sniff snuf snoores like gavallse falseleep he waitawhishts to see around the waists of the trans- lated water, whereamid, when violet vesper vailed. Saint Kevin, Hydrophilos, having girded his sable cappa magna as high as to I O.^ Thanks furthermore to modest Miss Glimglow and neat Master Mettresson who so often consigned your distributory tidings of great joy into our fold. Let's