parted fluted up from under, in their chairs, the bearers baited, some wandering hamalags out of his melovelance tells how when we sight the beasts, (heg- heg whatlk of wraimy wetter!), moist moonful date man aver held dimsdzey death with, and higheye was in heather; pumped the Rudge engineral. ® Matter of Brettaine and brut fierce. ® Bussmullah, cried Lord Wolsley, how me Aunty Mag’ll row! 292 WHY MY AS LIKEWISE WHIS HIS* Coss? Cossist? Your pam! You, you make up your sylvan