One of the conspirators was really appalling with a tin sauce-pan on his head, and a tiger-skin sleigh-robe thrown over his shoulders.

I scarcely need say that there were no vestiges to be seen of the fearful gulfs over which I had passed so cautiously.

My ascent had been to the top of the hogshead, and my descent to the bottom thereof.

Holding one another by the hand, and chanting a low dirge, the Mystic Twelve revolved about me.

This concluded the ceremony.