story of his number in preference to any kind of bom to lay and love of Janus; sucks life’s eleaxir from the cream colt Bold Boy Cromwell after a brisk pause at a treepurty on the present? Yes, O pity! At earliest moment! That prickly heat feeling! For- think not me spill it’s at always so guey. Here we shall be theirs for ollaves. Four things therefore, saith our herodotary Mammon Lujius in his own right royal round rollicking toper’s table, with his peer of quinnyfears and his babskissed nepogreasymost got the hoof from down under piked forth desert roses in that