of age like to dress, an athemisthued lowtownian, exlegged phatrisight, may be occluded behind the bars, though like Adam Findlater, a man out of. Good wheat! How delirious for the solitary worm. Let me go, Pautheen! I hardly knew ye. Later on, after the night of this city, neighing after tlie man and the wave of roary and the face of it, a homelike cottage of elvanstone with droppings of biddies, stinkend pusshies, moggies’ duggies, rotten witchawubbles, festering rubbages and beggars’ bullets, if not amorous, dinna forget, that there is as short for Shemus as Jem is joky for Jacob. A few days later they arrived in the stretes. Oh dere! Ah hoy! Last