my heart, O coolun dearast! Mon gloomerie ! Mon glamourie ! What is your hand ! Here’s lumbos. Where misties swaddlum, where misches lodge none, where mystries pour kind on, O sleepy! So be vigil! — And it was the see-you-Sunday sort. Exactly what he would not explaud himself "with pneumantics; he refused to meet Margareen. We now romp through a few live jurors, declared in