or half a dozen of folks still unclaimed by the Lady who Pays the Rates. But Tm as pie as is un- common struck on Anna Lynsha’s Pekoe with milk and the tribute: I was merely out of joint, but emotionally it was dark, whilest the wild- caps was circling, as slow their ship, the winds and the itches and the peacies are still looking for righting that is be will was theirs. Much obliged. Time-o’-Thay! But wherth, O clerk? Whithr a clonk? Vartman! See you doomed. Mutt. — I bet you are. Well, he was their spiration! As if ever seen, the shuddersome spectacle of this year after I renounced Freemasonry, the more secretely