THE rocky hill long known as the Elsa Craig has been given a new name. It is now called The Mountain of the Camel's Last Gasp.
            Guy Barnabas Bone.

Note:

            The foregoing tale being true should be properly authenticated. I attended to the matter last summer whilst on a visit to the Isle of Man. I repaired to the County Town Peel. Such matters in the Isle of Man are always attended to in the open air. Peel Castle was the place. When I arrived I was ushered into the Courtyard of the Castle. I was told to be seated. I was left alone. I seated myself on the edge of Saint Patrick's Purgatory. I soon heard the click of bolts. Directly in front of me stood a flat crisket rock. On the rock hung a picture. The martyrdom of Saint Bartholomew. The saint was represented as he appeared five minutes after he was skinned alive. Very harrowing! We will avoid particulars. The gate opened and then there entered, three men, one nigger and a horse. The names of the witnesses are inserted below, every member sworn in. J. Brixton Scrubb. Peter Clink. Angelo Van Gink. Daniel Dumper. Filmore Flumper. Pedro Von Stick. Johnny Snow.

            Immediately after the signing of the signatures we all heard a creaking sound. The iron door of a tomb flew open. Two Irish Roman Lictors entered. They were rolling in a barrel labelled Bushmills.

            They set up the barrel on a sawed-off Druid Column. And then—the barrel—they rapped it, they tapped it, we sipped it. Superb! I prefer the open plumbing every time. And then—that chattering sound. The armadillo enters. The armadillo looks at me. The armadillo winks at me. The armadillo beats a hasty retreat. Let the reader look between lines. It will be easily seen that the armadillo plays a very important part in this narrative. Many people hate the word ,goodbye. I don't. It is the old English for God bless you.

            RICHARD GRIFFIN.

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