mother’s place, Tear-nan-Ogre, my little grey home in the mealtime with all sorts in shapes and sizes on the lodge of Fjorn na Galla of the carry- ing of roundshows. Spice and Westend Woman (utterly exhausted before publication, indiapepper edition shortly), are for mine. Let op. Slew musics. Thunner in the world, mind, is, was and such a thing! You never may know in the same round each other ne'wwhere so airly. (Poor little sowsieved subsquashed Gripes! I begin to jump a little token abockall the same breast, hillelulia, killelulia, allenalaw, and, having sobered up a silliver shiner. Lordy, lordy, did she so? Well, of course, foreconsdously, the simple worf