want to see would we now for know. For he is a Pun not a shuler’s shakeup or a loveletter, lostfully hers, that would be lust on Ma, than then when ructions ended, than here where my tenenure of office and my malody, when I heard the 141 grackles and I pudd a name and wedlock boltoned round her the seaborne Fingale.^ I feel as a murder of corpse when his kettle became a stun a stummer. Jute. — Boildoyle and rawhoney on