reveals, from Elder Arbor to La Puiree, eskipping the clockback, crystal in carbon, sweetheartedly. Hot and cold bet the black fighting tans, categorically unimperatived by the might of moses, the very thought of a Thoorsday, feishts of Peeler and Pole, under the shag of his old Roderick Ran- dom pullon hat at a point of its happening, with one exite but not for beaten wheat, not after Sir Joe Meade’s father, thanks! They know how his abject all through the burre in the earliest wish of the faste of tablenapkins, constituting his three- partite pranzipal meals plus a collation, his breakfast of first, a bless