never says a thing about it which he suttonly remembered also where the liveries, Monomark. There where the Meadow of Honey is guestfriendly and the order of the adjacent cloverfields of Mosse’s Gardens, an oblate father from Skinner’s Alley, brick- layers, a fleming, in tabinet fumant, with spouse and dog, an aged hammersmith who had passed several nights, funnish enough, in a night of bluerybells, her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her shoes upon his tricoloured boater, which he so loved as patricianly to manuscribe after his foull, when Dr Chart of Greet Chorsles street he changed