"Where," I cried, as I struggled in vain to release myself from
the eccentric female's claws, "where is the Capting--the man who
was into the Crimea, amidst the cannon's thunder? I want him."

He came forward, and cried, "What do I see? Me Sister! me sweet
Adulaide! and in teers! Willin!" he screamed, "and you're the
serpent I took to my boosum, and borrowed money of, and went
round with, and was cheerful with, are you?--You ought to be
ashamed of yourself."

Somehow my coat was jerked off, the brest-pocket of which
contained my pocket-book, and it parsed away like the brest pin.
Then they sorter quietly hustled me into the street.

It was about 12 at night when I reached the Green Lion.

"Ha! ha! you sly old rascal, you've been up to larks!" said the
lan'lord, larfin loudly, and digging his fist into my ribs.

I said, "Bigsby, if you do that agin, I shall hit you! Much as I
respect you and your excellent faml'y, I shall disfiger your
beneverlent countenance for life!"

"What has ruffled your spirits, friend?" said the lan'lord.

"My spirits has been ruffled," I ansered in a bittur voice, "by a
viper who was into the Crimea. What good was it," I cried, "for
Sebastopol to fall down without enwelopin in its ruins that
viper?"