It darkles, all this our fun nominal world. Man and beast are chill. In deeryard, imbraced, alleged, (1injointed injoynted1) and unlatched, the birds, even thumb tit, quail silent. Was vesper ere awhile. Now conticinium. No chare of beagles, frantling of peacocks, no muzzing of the camel, smuttering of apes. Lights, pageboy, lights! When otter leaps in outer parts then Yul remembers May. Her hung maid mohns are bluming, look, to greet the loes on yon coast of amethyst; arcglow's seafire siemens lure and warnerforth's hookercrookers. Darkpark's acoo with sucking loves. Rosimund's by her wishing well. And if you wand to Livmouth, wenderer, here lurks no iron welcome. Bing. Bong. Bangbong. Thunderation! Were you Marely quean of scuts or but Christien the Last here's dapplebellied mugs and troublebedded rooms and sawdust strown in expectoration. Mr Knight, (1big tapster tuntapsterº1), buttles; his alewife's up to his hip. And Watsy Lyke (1looks sees1) after all rinsings and don't omiss Kate, put in with the bricks. A's the sign and one's the number. So who over comes ever for whoopee week must put up with the Jug and Chambers.