It is my painful duty to announce to you that the head of our illustrious

house is no more--The Right Honourable, The Most Noble, The Most

Puissant Simon Lathers Lord Rossmore having departed this life ("Gone at

last --this is unspeakably precious news, my son,") at his seat in the

environs of the hamlet of Duffy's Corners in the grand old State of Arkansas,

--and his twin brother with him, both being crushed by a log at a

smoke-house-raising, owing to carelessness on the part of all present,

referable to over-confidence and gaiety induced by overplus of

sour-mash--("Extolled be sour-mash, whatever that may be, eh Berkeley?")

five days ago, with no scion of our ancient race present to close his

eyes and inter him with the honors due his historic name and lofty

rank--in fact, he is on the ice yet, him and his brother--friends took a

collection for it. But I shall take immediate occasion to have their

noble remains shipped to you ("Great heavens!") for interment, with due

ceremonies and solemnities, in the family vault or mausoleum of our

house. Meantime I shall put up a pair of hatchments on my house-front,

and you will of course do the same at your several seats.

I have also to remind you that by this sad disaster I as sole heir,

inherit and become seized of all the titles, honors, lands, and goods of

our lamented relative, and must of necessity, painful as the duty is,

shortly require at the bar of the Lords restitution of these dignities

and properties, now illegally enjoyed by your titular lordship.

With assurance of my distinguished consideration and warm cousinly

The American Claimant