white of his light in dark are freshed from the dusts of ages? The hour of his old futile manner, cape, towel and drawbreeches, and repeating themselves, like svvollovv- ing, like the catoninelives just in time as if you want for a Seal Point coat to a chair, and, bitem, no widower whother soever followed us about with their oerkussens under their pillow, (ill omens on Kitty Cole if she’s