— Soviet! we responded. Song! Shaun, song!
— I apologuise, Shaun began, but I would rather |+spin spinooze+| you one from the grimmgests of Jacko and Esaup, fable one, feeble too.
Let us here consider |+the casus+|, my dear little cousins, of the Ondt and a Gracehoper. A Gracehoper was always jigging ajog
|+in on akkant of+| his joyicity on a partnerpair of findlestilts or, if not, he was always making ungraceful overtures to Floh and Luse and Bienie and Vespatilla to play pupa-pupa and pulcy-pulcy and to commence
insects with him, even if only in chaste, behold a wateringpot. He would of curse by his fore antennas, lamely, harry me, marry me, bury me, bind me, till t she was puce |+out
of for+| shame and allso furnish her in housery |+at the veribest schoppinhour+| so |+quickly
summery+| as his cottage, which was called Tingsomingenting, growed up. Or, if he was not done doing that, he was always streicking us funny funereels with Besterfather Zeuts inscythe his wormcasket, attended to by a mutter & deffer baxing motch — anything above ground so as anywhy to kick times. Grouscious me! What a bagateller it is!
And Pou! What a zeit for the goths! thought the Ondt, who was making chilly fu spaces at himself affront of the icinglass in his windhame, the ventname of which was Nixnixundnix. The Ondt was a weltall fellow, raumybult and abelboobied, bynear saw altitudinous wee a schelling in
kopfers. He was sair sair sullemn and chairmanlooking when he was not making spaces but, laus!, when he wore making spaces he ware mouche moore secred and wisechairmanlooking. Now whim the sillybilly of a Gracehoper had jingled through a jungle of love and debts and jangled through a jumble of life in doubts afterworse, wetting with the waps,drinking with drones, bilking with bugs and horing after
hornets, heº joust as sieck as a sexton and tanto pooveroo as a churchprince. And wheer the midges to wend hemsylph, alick, he wist nat. Crick, which a plight! He had eaten all the whilepaper, swallowed the lustres, devoured forty flights of styearcases, chewed up all the menses, and seccles, ronged
the records, made mouthballs of
ephemerals and voracioused on the very timepiece in the ternitary — not too dusty a cicada for a little chip so mity. But when Chrysalmas was on the bare branches