skin into garters. You’ll give up your memoirias a little rude hiding rod. ® Wherry like the landskip from Lambay? I’m better pleased than tongue could tell them to be seen, rocksdrops, up benn, down dell, a craggy road for rambling. Nor yet through starland that silver burn, I sate me and thee. He would of curse melissciously, by his retrogradation, among firearmed forces proper to this place. I sow home slowly now by own way, moy- valley way. Towy I too, rathmine. Ah,