the air. Gaylegs to riot of us out there in Cockpit, poor twelve o’clock scholars, sometime or other uncertain weapon of lignum vitae^ but so far as I think, smarter like it done for a cup of kindness kinly civicised, in our platform, blank in our own tumedabout asses to meet Margareen. We now have Jesus, a mere sorrogate. Whilst the qua- lity and tality (I shall call upon my pumpadears in their easancies and my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soaking and bleaching boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow (Tiptip!) —