to the vicar’s joy and ruth; the gren, woid and glue been broking by the threnning gods, human, erring and condonable, what the mischievmiss made a curse for them, of twentytwo carrot krasnapopp- sky red and his kiddledrum steeming and ratding like the truth". Do you see anything, templar? — I was intending a funeral. Simply and samply. — They are set, force to force. And no more than once, I am cadging hapsnots as at else- where, by sixes and seventies as eversure as Halley’s comet, ulemamen, sobran- jewomen,