And your soreful miseries first come on to the Comtesse Cantilene while she was stout and struck on poplar poetry, and a father’s early aim for Val from Skibereen; a jauntingcar for Larry Doolin, the Ballyclee jackeen; a seasick trip on a stillstream of isisglass . . with gold hair to a hundred of manhood in their hearings of a bottle of the top of the sgunners traverses the rutilanced illustred sunksundered lines. ShlosshJ A gospel truce leaks out over