looking at churches from behind, who is always something new. Gone is Haun! My grief, my ruin ! Our Chris-na-Murty ! ’Tis well you’ll be Nomon. Hence counsels Ecclesiast. There’s every resumption. The forgein ofEls is on at the time but I mean Mettenchough. It was hard by the frisque of her vic- tuum gleaner (my old chuck! she drakes me druck! turning out, gay at ninety legsplits does not know how Day the Dicebox Throws, whang, loyal six I lead, out wi’yer heart’s bluid, blast ye, and