® Bussmullah, cried Lord Wolsley, how me Aunty Mag’ll row! 292 WHY MY AS LIKEWISE WHIS HIS* Coss? Cossist? Your pam! You, you make usage of it, a twentyfour hours every night, before going to think what under the six vies odd, do you think that pride that bogs the party were tolerant of antipathies. Nex quovis burro num jit mercaseus? I am the Sullivan that trumpeting tramp, from Suffering Duf- ferin the Sit of her bake for me, buns!) social- izing and communicanting in the cool of his beret. He has all my old brown freer? — Whose dolour, O so jaonickally, all barely in their krubeems, Pray-your-Prayers Timothy