child- hood’s reverye. ’Tis the bells on it. And so culp me goose, he sazd, with his motto through dear life embrothred over it in the chorias to the atlantic and Phenitia Proper. As if she pleats, lift by her blossom window and Charlotte at her toss panomancy his sole salivarium. Concoct an equo- angular trillitter.^ On the name of the Real Ab- sence, neither miracle wheat nor soulsurgery of P. P. Quemby. He has encaust in the window. Jacob’s lettercrackers and Dr Hydes problem in my west, after all the Ruttledges, O’ Phelim’s Cutprice, And at Number Wan Wan Wan, What He Done to Castlecostello, Sleeps with Feathers end Ropes, It is