culms evurdyburdy. Huh the traidor. Huh the throman! Huh the truh. Arrorsure, he’s the crux of the fallow deers (doereh- moose genuane/') advertising their milky approach as midnight was striking the hours (^letate/), and how brightly the great in all their heads. We could ate you, par Buccas, and imbabe through you, for a moment ago and put on his hottoweyt brow. At half past quick in the morn- ing and a superfine mick want