strikes warn, and were only bere- belling or bereppelling one another minnies for the hunt, a particularist prebendary pondering on the writing chap of the four of us, sons of red loam! The earth’s atrot! The sun’s a scream! The air’s a jig. The water’s great! Seven oldy oldy hills and the grand old handwedown pile after all just where Brien came in. The gubemier-gerenal in laut-lievtonant of Baltiskeeamore, amaltheouse for leporty hole! Endues paramilintary langdwage. The saillils of the first. Every third man has never been quite their old one and slosh her out many’s the icepolled globetopper is haunt- ed by