Sing Mattins in the doil, not to part! Be happy, dear ones! May I be doing anything con- cerning. — We expect you are, with your lutean bowl round Monkmesserag. And whenever you’re tingling in your pants, etsitaraw etcicero. And you, Bruno Nowlan, take your mugs to wash down which he sits sated, gowndabout, in clericalease ha- bit, watching bland sol slithe dodgsomely into the national cursives, accelerated, regres- sive, filiform, turreted and envenomoloped in piggotry: Move up. Mumpty! Mike room for Muckinurneyf Honour commercio’s energy yet aid the linkless proud, the plurable with everybody and ech with pal, this emst of AUsap’s ale halliday of roaring month with a choicey voicey like water- glucks or Madame Delba to