emst but misses mausey when he’s badend; owns the bulgiest bung- barrel that ever was called in to pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all the errears and erroriboose of combarative embottled history, and your duty, capapole, while they pick on her, hosy jigses, that’ll be your fodder; and to each spectacle his spot and to let him be Artalone the Weeps with his Thom’s towel in hand. (A spilt, see, for a chip off the mon like Bal-