| the farther back we manage to wiggle the more we need the loan | 1 |
| of a lens to see as much as the hen saw. Tip. | 2 |
| You is feeling like you was lost in the bush, boy? You says: | 3 |
| It is a puling sample jungle of woods. You most shouts out: | 4 |
| Bethicket me for a stump of a beech if I have the poultriest no- | 5 |
| tions what the farest he all means. Gee up, girly! The quad gos- | 6 |
| pellers may own the targum but any of the Zingari shoolerim | 7 |
| may pick a peck of kindlings yet from the sack of auld hensyne. | 8 |
| Lead, kindly fowl! They always did: ask the ages. What bird | 9 |
| has done yesterday man may do next year, be it fly, be it moult, | 10 |
| be it hatch, be it agreement in the nest. For her socioscientific | 11 |
| sense is sound as a bell, sir, her volucrine automutativeness right | 12 |
| on normalcy: she knows, she just feels she was kind of born to | 13 |
| lay and love eggs (trust her to propagate the species and hoosh | 14 |
| her fluffballs safe through din and danger!); lastly but mostly, in | 15 |
| her genesic field it is all game and no gammon; she is ladylike in | 16 |
| everything she does and plays the gentleman's part every time. | 17 |
| Let us auspice it! Yes, before all this has time to end the golden | 18 |
| age must return with its vengeance. Man will become dirigible, | 19 |
| Ague will be rejuvenated, woman with her ridiculous white bur- | 20 |
| den will reach by one step sublime incubation, the manewanting | 21 |
| human lioness with her dishorned discipular manram will lie | 22 |
| down together publicly flank upon fleece. No, assuredly, they are | 23 |
| not justified, those gloompourers who grouse that letters have | 24 |
| never been quite their old selves again since that weird weekday | 25 |
| in bleak Janiveer (yet how palmy date in a waste's oasis!) when | 26 |
| to the shock of both, Biddy Doran looked at literature. | 27 |
| And. She may be a mere marcella, this midget madgetcy, | 28 |
| Misthress of Arths. But. It is not a hear or say of some anomo- | 29 |
| rous letter, signed Toga Girilis, (teasy dear). We have a cop of | 30 |
| her fist right against our nosibos. We note the paper with her | 31 |
| jotty young watermark: Notre Dame du Bon Marché. And she | 32 |
| has a heart of Arin! What lumililts as she fols with her falli- | 33 |
| mineers and her nadianods. As a strow will shaw she does the | 34 |
| wind blague, recting to show the rudess of a robur curling and | 35 |
| shewing the fansaties of a frizette. But how many of her readers | 36 |