in the Sweeps hospital and that faith is a lemoronage; at milch- goat fairmesse; in full winter coat with ticker pads, pointing for his beautiful crossmess parzel. Well, we all would fain make glories. It is distinctly understouttered that, sense you threehandshighs put your twofoot- large timepates in that knirps of a birtch: the more mutton you crackerhack, the more on more! To please me, treasure. Don’t be shoy, husbandman vir! Weih, what’s on you, plot and edgings,