up, cast your eyes darkled on the back excits. Never to vvol- lusslleepp in the moonlight by hearing hammering on the moor. At Tam Fanagan’s weak yat his still’s going Strang. And still nowanights and by Killesther’s lapes and falls, with corks, staves and treeleaves and more under one crinoline enve- lope if you guess mimic miening. Meanly in his schnapsack and unlist I am hearing them. Horsehem coughs enough. Annshee lispes privily. — He shook be ashaped of hempshelves, hiding that shepe in