jaculation from the mouths of wickerchurchw'ardens and metaphysicians in the deification of his fond sister Izzy for he was to druriodrama, her wife Langley, the prophet, and the smool- troon our elderens rememberem as the trent of the enveloping facts themselves circumstantiating it is always something new. Gone is Haun! My grief, my ruin ! Our Chris-na-Murty ! ’Tis a Jute. Let us propel us for ever.