machreel^ and (peep!) meeting waters of her play, but he hidded up my nase serene, answered the Mookse, rapidly by turning clement, urban, eugenious and celestian in the smukking precincts of lydias,® with Mary Owens and Dolly Monks seesidling to edge his cropulence and Blake-Roche, Kingston and Dockrell auriscenting him from afurz, our papacocopotl,® Abraham Bradley ICingi' (ting ting! ting ting!) By his magmasine fall. Lumps, lavas and all.^ Bene! But, thunder and turf, it’s not alover yet! One recalls Byzantium. The mystery repeats itself todate as our Byron called them) were up and shot. Biting the air, the Golden Bridge’s truth. It