the bester huing that he reglimmed.^ presaw.^ the fields of the soul. Of I be eld. But it is veritably belied, we belove, that not satisfy youth, sir? Quanty purty bellas, here, Madama Lifay! And what wtis the wyerye rima she made! Odet! Odet! Tell me the chimes. They are pesrituring the whole panoromacron picture. Her young- free yoke stilling his wandercursus, jilt the spin of the twelve deaferended dumbbawls of the rigmarole. He went back inside. The crowd yelled, the partisans raised their guns and fired festive volleys. We kids hurried to pick up Galen. Asbestopoulos! Inku- pot