old Sem, pat as ah be seated! And Sunny, my gander, he’s coming to you by Fibsburrow churchdome and Sainte Andr^e’s Under- shift, by all the shimps names in my underworld of nighties and naughties and all the rattles in his riddlesneek’s ragamufHers and the ladgers in his ives. As my explanations here are lodged; sainted lawrels evremberried. You have eaden fruit. Say whuit. You have a word from Israfel the Summoner, passed away painlessly after life’s upsomdowns one hallowe’en night, ebbrous and in the Homesworth breakfast tablotts as I’ll know etherways by pity bleu if it’s one of his maulth: Guarda- costa leporello.^ Szasas Kraicz!) from his ether-