| he'd lust in Wooming but with that smeoil like a grace of backon- | 1 |
| ing over his egglips of the sunsoonshine. Here's heering you in | 2 |
| a guessmasque, latterman! And such an improofment! As royt | 3 |
| as the mail and as fat as a fuddle! Schoen! Shoan! Shoon the | 4 |
| Puzt! A penny for your thought abouts! Tay, tibby, tanny, | 5 |
| tummy, tasty, tosty, tay. Batch is for Baker who baxters our | 6 |
| bread. O, what an ovenly odour! Butter butter! Bring us this | 7 |
| days our maily bag! But receive me, my frensheets, from the | 8 |
| emerald dark winterlong! For diss is the doss for Eilder Downes | 9 |
| and dass is it duss,as singen sengers,what the hardworking | 10 |
| straightwalking stoutstamping securelysealing officials who trow | 11 |
| to form our G.M.P.'s pass muster generally shay for shee and | 12 |
| sloo for slee when butting their headd to the pillow for a night- | 13 |
| shared nakeshift with the alter girl they tuck in for sweepsake. | 14 |
| Dutiful wealker for his hydes of march. Haves you the time. | 15 |
| Hans ahike? Heard you the crime, senny boy? The man was | 16 |
| giddy on letties on the dewry of the duary, be pursueded, | 17 |
| whethered with entrenous, midgreys, dagos, teatimes, shadows, | 18 |
| nocturnes or samoans, if wellstocked fillerouters plushfeverfraus | 19 |
| with dopy chonks, and this, that and the other pigskin or muffle | 20 |
| kinkles, taking a pipe course or doing an anguish, seen to his | 21 |
| fleece in after his foull, when Dr Chart of Greet Chorsles street | 22 |
| he changed his backbone at a citting. He had not the declaina- | 23 |
| tion, as what with the foos as whet with the fays, but so far as | 24 |
| hanging a goobes on the precedings, wherethen the lag allows, it | 25 |
| mights be anything after darks. Which the deers alones they sees | 26 |
| and the darkies they is snuffing of the wind up. Debbling. | 27 |
| Greanteavvents! Hyacinssies with heliotrollops! Not once | 28 |
| fullvixen freakings and but dubbledecoys! It is a lable iction on | 29 |
| the porte of the cuthulic church and summum most atole for it. | 30 |
| Where is that blinketey blanketer, that quound of a pealer, the | 31 |
| sunt of a hunt whant foxes good men! Where or he, our loved | 32 |
| among many? | 33 |
| But what does Coemghem, the fostard? Tyro a tora. The | 34 |
| novened iconostase of his blueygreyned vitroils but begins | 35 |
| in feint to light his legend. Let Phosphoron proclaim! Peechy | 36 |