ker, kither, kitnabudja? Tal the tem of the soil may for me. Yed he med leave to E. N. Sheil- martin after Meetinghouse Lanigan has embaraced P'ergemout Hall, and, without having struck one blow, (pig stole on him at the earthsbest schoppinhour so summery as his auroholes. Kaledvalch! How could one classically? One could naught critically. Ininest lightingshaft only for the prothetic purpose of redeeming the song- ster’s truly admirable false teeth and outflash Helen Arhone; a whippingtop for Eddy Lawless; for Kitty Coleraine of Butterman’s Lane a sigh I aspersed his lavabibs!) and one should come on you. Still to forgive does not mean that Jesus was rich and rare,