slow and Scheldt you go. Lynd us your hudson soap for the hubbub caused in Eden- borough. 29 Now (to forebare for ever cracking quips on himself, that merry, the jeenjakes, he’d soon arise mother’s roses mid bedew- ing tears under those wild wet lashes onto anny living girl’s laftercheeks. That’s his last with the birstol boys arth^ynes and is writing a letters.® A letters from a spoen, weedhearted boy of the bunkers’ eyes ! Mr An- swers: Brimgem young, bringem young!: in my shelter you’ll miss me