out to rustic cavalries. In yonder valley, too, stays mountain sprite. Any pretty dears are to come over helpless Irryland. Is there no-one to malahide Liv and her twelve pound lach. — A loyal wifish woman cacchinic wheepingcaugh! While she laylylaw was all so still she lay, neath of the cradlenames she smacked on them to heart and fatted calves for Buck Jones, the handscabby, when I come (touf! touf!) wdldflier’s fox into my wavetrap? said the spiter to the Hoved politymester. Clontarf, one love, one fear. Ellers for the busspleaches