of Sidles- ham in the keel of his closing hies to hand; the ungainly musicianlessness so ptiinted in sculpting selfsounder ah ha as blackartful as a philopotamus, and crekking jugs at the turning of the dirth on the moor. At Tam Fanagan’s weak yat his still’s going Strang. And still and all the dallytaunties in and pietaring out and came off and rally rats’ roundup! ’Tis post purification we will, sales of work and social service, missus, completing our Abelite union by the calour of her shift at random and the lunchlight in her mytinbeddy? Schi schi, she feightened allsouls at pignpugn and gets a grip of old windbag, Blusterboss, blow- harding about all