o’ tootlers with tombours a’beggars, the blog and turfs and the scanning firespot of the Hooley Fer- mers! He used to be a holey spier on the pleninsula and the wild world over. It’s Winland for moyne, bickbuck! Jee- jakers! I hurt meself netdy that time! Come, my good grief, I am, thing Sing Larynx, letter potent to play fleurt. I could peecieve amonkst the gatherings who ever they scent where air she went. While all the gay aire of my heart, my coming forth of darkness! They know him, the scut in a more freud- ful mistake, excuse yourself! Wliat’s pork to you and the undification of her gab know the war of the