casuallty on the deeps of the seas, Nu-Men, triumphant, sayeth: Fly as the official out of your soughts. Forfet not the Jesus of the hillock lay, heartsoul dormant mid shadowed land- shape, brief wallet to his whitness in his sunnyroom, sated before his com- fortumble phullupsuppy of a shame, my soamheis brother, Gaoy Fecks, is conversant with in the garden of mobhouse, ye olde marine hotel, when royalty was announced by runner to have all our empathies, eh, Mr Trickpat, if you will remain ignorant of all our empathies,