| asses all within bawl laughed and brayed for his intentions for | 1 |
| they knew their sly toad lowry now. I am rarumominum blessed | 2 |
| to see you, my dear mouster. Will you not perhopes tell me | 3 |
| everything if you are pleased, sanity? All about aulne and lithial | 4 |
| and allsall allinall about awn and liseias? Ney? | 5 |
| Think of it! O miserendissimest retempter! A Gripes! | 6 |
Rats! bullowed the Mookse most telesphorously, the con- | 7 |
| cionator, and the sissymusses and the zozzymusses in their ro- | 8 |
| benhauses quailed to hear his tardeynois at all for you cannot | 9 |
| wake a silken nouse out of a hoarse oar. Blast yourself and your | 10 |
| anathomy infairioriboos! No, hang you for an animal rurale! I | 11 |
| am superbly in my supremest poncif! Abase you, baldyqueens! | 12 |
| Gather behind me, satraps! Rots! | 13 |
I am till infinity obliged with you, bowed the Gripes, his | 14 |
| whine having gone to his palpruy head. I am still always having | 15 |
| a wish on all my extremities. By the watch, what is the time, pace? | 16 |
| Figure it! The pining peever! To a Mookse! | 17 |
Ask my index, mund my achilles, swell my obolum, wosh- | 18 |
| up my nase serene, answered the Mookse, rapidly by turning | 19 |
| clement, urban, eugenious and celestian in the formose of good | 20 |
| grogory humours. Quote awhore? That is quite about what I | 21 |
| came on my missions with my intentions laudibiliter to settle with | 22 |
| you, barbarousse. Let thor be orlog. Let Pauline be Irene. Let | 23 |
| you be Beeton. And let me be Los Angeles. Now measure your | 24 |
| length. Now estimate my capacity. Well, sour? Is this space of | 25 |
| our couple of hours too dimensional for you, temporiser? Will | 26 |
| you give you up? Como? Fuert it? | 27 |
| Sancta Patientia! You should have heard the voice that an- | 28 |
| swered him! Culla vosellina. | 29 |
I was just thinkling upon that, swees Mooksey, but, for all | 30 |
| the rime on my raisins, if I connow make my submission, I can- | 31 |
| nos give you up, the Gripes whimpered from nethermost of his | 32 |
| wanhope. Ishallassoboundbewilsothoutoosezit. My tumble, lou- | 33 |
| dy bullocker, is my own. My velicity is too fit in one stockend. | 34 |
| And my spetial inexshellsis the belowing things ab ove. But I | 35 |
| will never be abler to tell Your Honoriousness (here he near lost | 36 |