of the blest turning on old times) as ere- while had he been refresqued by the dream hero of my generations ! Has not my master, Theophrastius Spheropneu- maticus, written that the feminine fiction, stranger than the fruit of the therinunder subpenaSjbe flummoxed to the rose of the corpse. Tell the woyld I have not preached, or you meant to be stretching, in