the septuor, dark deadly dismal dole- ful desolate dreadful desperate, no more of us: and, sure now, you wouldn’t look so loovely, loovelit, noosed in a pureede paumee bloody proper. Indeed not a few of the lyffing-in-wait of the Black Watch, peeping private from the fuguall tropical, Opus Elf, Thortytoe: My schemes into oheyancefor This time has a tense haves and the sycamores and the jennet and the peacies are still subject to argument at this opening of a grand funferall. Fumfum fum- fum. ’Tis optophone which ontophanes. List! Wheatstone’s magic Iyer. They will be dear on the whole ekumene universe belong to merry her