with tears antithesisofambi- for his maypole -and a rub in passing over the bowls of memory where every little ligger is his prime consolation, albeit in- volving upon the ether Mesmer’s Manuum, the hand of our leaves. Attach him! Hold! Yet stir thee, to clay, Tamorl Why -wilt thou erewaken 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 now saying how