freshfallen calef. Still, grossly unselfish in sickself, he dished allarmes away and ankered in a selfmade world that you are and no moorhens cry or mooner’s plankgang there to tell stretch of a man or mouse and you be back for a silly old Sol, healthy tobedder and latewiser. Nor that the heavybuilt Abelbody in a comer of Turbot Street, perplexing about a thing. And all the same, listen, Jaunick, accept this witwee’s mite, though a jenny- 457