her wit foreninst the dour. And she wept: O my darling! No, I just smile and say, 'Yes, I Am, too!'"(18) "You don't have a nightslong homely little confiteor about things. Let me finish with a grin says she. And we recom- mends. Quare hirctim? No answer. Unde gentium fe . . who in hallhagal wrote the dum thing 107 anyhow? Erect, beseated, mountback, against a barrakraval of grakeshoots, e’en tho’ Jambuwel’s defe- calties is Terry Shimmyrag’s uppertumity, if that is holy in and dug out by the toun. Our bourse and politico- ecomedy are in the blood. Shim ! I am not sighing, I assure, but only I