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VOLUME VI.
LOVE, DRINK AND DEBT*
Moa of mine! the world before yoil
Spreads a thousand secret snares
ltound the feet of every mortal
Who through life’* long highway fares.
Three especial, let me warn you,
Arc by every traveler met;
Three to try your might or virtue—
They are ldvo, and drink, and debt
Love, my boy, there’s do escaping,
’Tis the common fate ot man;
Father had it; I have had it;
Hut for love you had not been.
Take your chances, but be cautious;
Know a squab is not a dove;
He the upright man of honor—
All deceit doth murder love.
As for drink, avoid it wholly;
Like the adder it will sting;
Crush the earliest temptation,
Handle not the dangerous thing.
See the wrecks df men around us—
Once as pure and fair as you—
Mark the warning! Shun the pathway,
And the hell they re trotting through.
Yes, though love be pure ar.d gentle,
And from drink 3 ou may be free,
With a yearning heart I warn you
’Gaint the worst of all the three.
Many a demon in his journey
Banyan's Christian Pilgrim nlet,
They were lambs, e'en old Apollyon,
To that awful demon debt!
With quaking heart and face abashed
The wretched debtor goes;
I h starts at shadows lost they be
The shrdes of men he owes.
Down through silent streets he steals,
The race of men to shun;
Ho shivers at the postman’s ring,
And fears the dreadful dun-.
Beware of debt! Once in, you’ll be
A slave for evermore;
If credit tempt you, thunder “No!”
And show it to the door.
Cold water, a crust of brCad
A-aj 7 be the best 3 7 0u’1l get;
Accept it like a man and swear—
“l'll never run in debt,”
Now savagely from roof to roof
The pussy-cat is driven.
For there is no sweet repose
Nor peace nor quiet given.
■She hath not where to lay her head,
A vagr nit’s pangs do till her;
But soon the summer time will come
And bring the caterpillar.
MISCELLAJVY.
LITTLE NELL,
THE MANIAC’S DAUGHTER
BY w. A. rots.
L CONCLUDED. ]
Several days elapse! before T visited
Miss Levert and her fhther* Vs I re
quested, during my former visit, Iwas
conducted bytlie young ladyinto a room
be had set apart as the Temple where
his rites as High Priest were solemn
ized. I entered tlie room alone. Upon
a raised platform was seated this self
constituted Priest, wrapped in a loose
gown, like the surplices usually worn
by the Catholic Priesthood* Upon a
huge block rested an old rust-eaten
sword, denominated by him the sacii
iicial knife. He removed the scarlet
three cornered cap when lie observed
my entrance. The surroundings of
the room, except the altar alluded to,
did not convey the least idea of the
character given it by the maniac. Ilis
imagination however supplied the ap
purtenances necessary to transform
the room into a temple of human sac
r fiee. 1 remained silently gazing upon
the unhappy tnan. After some mo
ments he gave utterance to the follow
ing wild words :
“From the regions of terror, over
burning billows, I have come as the
duly appointed Priest of the King of
1 errors, to demand in his name a suit
able sacrifice. I proclaim, as my au
thority permits, that before the evening
sun ceases to shine upon the earth,
P"s victim must present himself before
this altar, as a willing sacrifice to ap-
P (, use the appetite for blood which now
consumes my Master. Thrice will I
proclaim tlfis mandate ; let those who
hear tiring forth the victim ere the sun
18 n ’ s behind the hill tops.’*
His face was averted while ho pro
uounced fervently the imaginary eom
uiantl of his specter master. Gazing
u P° n me a moment, he quitted the
r uised position ho occupied, he ad
vanced to w hore I was standing, then
passed out of the door. Soon, how
ever, he returned ; on his arm was a
gaudy colored cloth.
“Put on the sacrificial robe/ said lie
handing this garment to me, ‘prepare
h i the great ordeal, while I the
song of sacrifice. 4
fß3s §&|tnratt pme#.
‘Why, sir/ said I, forcing a smile,
‘you are an adept in personating an
Aztec priest of the bloody rites. I am
not however surprised at your exact
personation of this cruel monster, The
French are adepts as mimics.*
‘By the Eternal King ’tis false / he
died, excitedly. ‘I am no Frenchman
—never have I dwelt upon French
soil *
‘Why/ said I calmly, ‘would you
deny to me, your friend, your land of
nativity, I know your bloody se
cret/
‘lla, ha/ he laughed, ‘you would
dispel me from performing upon you
my priestly office. You know my
bloody secret. Ila, ha. Yes the fiends
in hell shriek its story. The fiends in
hell will gnaw with teeth of fire upon
this living flesh/
The door opened hastily and in
Unshed his daughter.
‘What have you done?’ she exclaim
ed excitedly.
‘Retire/ I whispered. l l am doing
your father no injury. ’ My earnest
manner lmd the desired effect, and
she lell the room, leaving me with the
maniac.
‘I am surprised, Mr. Levert,’ said I,
‘that you will allow this impostor, this
dark, mysterious being whom you de
nominate the King of Terrors, whom
you call your Master, to have such an
influence over you. I beg yon, to
cast from you this delusion, fbr you,
my friend, are subject to ttie will of
one incapable of pity, an unrelenting
and avenging master, whose appetite
for blood is never satiated. You are
a man, capable of reason, with the
powers of self-will ; hurl defiance at
this creature, be yourself again, be a
man/
I spake with all the power I Wag
capable of My language caused him
to pause a moment in his madness.—.
By accepting his belief in this being,
created by his wild imagination, I
hoped to convince him of his power to
reject and dispise his influence.
Fora shoit lime he remained silent
as if impressed by my words. The de
mons which sin rounded him soon
gained way, and he replied eXcitcd
:
‘lla, ha, you know not what you
utter, sir ; you have little conception
of him I call master. Think you that
I Could desert him ? Think you that
I dare hoot at his authority ! while
around me crowds of fiends of dark
ness hover, ready to cast 1113" body in
to hell, at their master’s bidding.—
See 1 look 1' said he, wildly. ‘They
come and will crush me l f As if to
conceal himself from these imaginary
spirits, he crouched himself into a far
corner, and his face was blanched with
terror.
‘Come/ said I taking his hand,
‘stand forth. Let the manhood that
is within you strengthen you. See !
I can meet them fearlessly. I fear not
their power.*
‘You fear them not/ he whispered.
‘You are sinless, you arc guilty of no
man’s blood* While I—help !’ he
shouted,‘Save me, save me.* Over
come by his excitement, he sank pow
erless to the floor.
Again the young girl rushed into
the room*
‘Got me a glass of water/ said I.
She left the room, soon returning. I
gave him a dose of that soothing drug,
opium.
‘Oli. sir, I fear your conversation
has injured my father/ said she tear
fully.
‘No/ I replied. ‘I have learned the
cause of lus madness. 1 hope to cure
him/
‘How?* asked the young girl quite
eagerly.
‘I do not know'' perhaps my efforts
wilt be useless. When I call again you
shall hear what I hope to do.*
‘God grant you may be able to help
him,’ she said, clasping her hands and
raising her beautiful eyes toward
heaven.
For a month I made regular visits
to the home of Little Nell, as I had
learned to call her. At times her hi
ther conversed with as much rationali
ty as the sanest of men These lucid
intervals, however, w T ere of short du
ration. Unexpectedly, and without ap
parent cause, his manner would change
and his speech become wild, as he ex
citedly proclaimed his office of High
Priest to the King of Terrors. If I
had done no good I had at least re
lieved Nell of a portion of the weight
of ere and anxiety that had pressed
on her when she fulfilled her melan
choly task alone. Ilereje had grown
brighter, her check fresher since I
came to her with my sympathy and
friendship. Friendship—all ! it was
more—l, the lonely old bachelor, had
learned to love this sweet, self-sacri~
ficing girl, and it was the happiest
moment of my life, when I learned that
my love was returned.
We stood together one evening, her
little hand in mine. ‘Do you think,
Arthur/ said she, blushing, as she
always does, when she had uttered the
name I begged her to call me, ‘that I
shall ever know the happiness of see
ing my father sound in mind and
body.’
‘My darling/ said I, kissing her fair
forehead, ‘hope is not denied us. You
who have borne so great a sorrow un
complainingly. must have been
strengthened by this divine gift/
‘Now that I have your counsel, your
love/ she replied, ‘I can bear my tii
als, endure all God chooses to afflict
me with. And yet, bow I long to clasp
my father round the neck,knowing that
be is capable of feeling the great joy
my heart then would experience. Yef,
w T ould he even know happiness again.
I often think our Heavenly Father, in
mercy, has partially taken his rea
son/
llow I longed to comfort her 1—
With my life how gladly would I have
removed this cloud from the life of this
dear being I worshipped. But words
Were idle, advice mockery, retribution
would have its way.
When I returned to niy room that
evening, I found on my desk two let
ters. One from an old friend whom I
had cont-nually corresponded with for
years. Thn other bore a foreign post
mark ; this I opened and discovered
was from Monsieur Casagnac. Oil I
read ; the night was far advanced when
I laid that voluminous communication
aside. In my joy I almost shouted
aloud. No sleep visited my eyes that
night. In my restless eagerness to
see my little Nell, how slowly the hours
went by. Day dawned at last. Hasti
ly breakfasting, I mounted my horse
and rode to the little cottage of the
recluse.
‘Where/ said I after a hasty greet
ing to little Nell, ‘where is youi fa
ther ?’
‘Oh, Arthur/ she cried, much agita
ted, ‘what, oh, tell mo what has hap
pened. Has everything been discov
ered ? Mitst we fly for safety ?’
‘Yes fly,’ said I gaily, ‘and summon
your father. No bad news, Nell, but
the best you have ever heard in your
life/
She needed uo further bidding, but
hastened from the room, soon return
ing accompanied by her father, who I
was glad to see was more collected
than usual.
‘I have/ said, t when they entered
the room, ‘a letter containing such
good news, that I would not, could
not wait for a more seasonable hour
than the present to communicate it.—
Be seated, sir ; and you, Nell, must
remain near your father, as the con
tents of this letter deeply concerns
you both.*
Before they had an opportunity to
reply, I began to read the following
letter ;
Paris, June—, 187—.
Monsieur Roberts, M. D.—Dear
Sir : Your letter having date April 18,
asking that I would visit the castle of
Baron Wallenstein, and enquire into
the circumstances of his death, the
date, and where his lady lies buried,
was received. As I was unable to
leave my office, I entrusted this mission
to my confidential clerk, who has re
turned the following report. The facts
are sustained by two near neighbors of
Baron Wulfenstein.
I have, sir, the honor to be, your
obedient servant
Adrien Casagnac.
Report of D. Moseuey, confidential
clerk to Adrien Casagnac, Esq.:
“At your bidding,-sir, I began my
journey to north-western France three
days ago, to make definite enquiries
concerning the manner of the death of
Carl Walfenstein, also the date of his
demise, and the place where his lady
was interred. After two days fatigu
ing travel I arrived at the village of—
s'tuate five miles from the castle of
Walfenstein. Here I halted and was
soon engaged in conversation with the
proprietor of the village house of en
tertainment—enquiring of him the di
rection of the castle, remarking that
I intended visiting the grave of Carl
VValfenstin.
‘Carl Walfenstein Vhe repeated. ‘I
suppose, sir, you refer to the German
Baron by that name, residing five
miles from my bouse V
‘No/ said I, ‘not this one, but the
one killed by his brother-in-law, Al
lred Levert, many years ago/
f Ah,I understand you are a lawyer's
EASTMAN, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JUNE 20, 1878.
clerk, and have a question to answer.
I assure you, sir, this is the same per
son, not killed, as was supposed, by
Alfred Levert, and many others. 1
remember well, sir, the night he was
shot by Levert. Immediately after
hearing that the Baron was dead, I
hastened to the castle and there saw 7
him lying apparently liteless upon the
bed. He recoveTed, sir ? after many
weeks. Alfred Levert married the sis
ter of Baron Walfenstein. The diffi
culty was but the termination of a
long standing feud. Levert escaped
the night the murderous assault was
committed, with his daughter,a young
er brother and governess of Miss Le
vert. I have heard the governess re
turned to France and died/
As the day was not far advanced, 1
procured a horse and began my ride
to the castle, to satisfy myself of the
truth of the story. It is useless, sir,
to dwell upon its incidents which were
of little moment. Arriving at the cas
tle I was conducted to an apartment
where was seated Baron Walfenstein.
Informing him of the nature of my
visit, I heard from his own lips but a
repetition of the facts already written.
I have, for the sake of certainty, pro
cured affidavits from two of Baron
Walfensteii/s nearest neighbors, sub
stantiating these facts. I send this by
post, as my other duties will not per
mit me to return to Paris for many
days.
With esteem and respect, your ser
vant, D. Moseney.
‘Help, oh, help my father 1’ scream
ed Nell, as he fell from his chair insen
sible upon the floor.
For week We watched by the bed of
the sufferer; his life at times seemed
passing away. The removal of the
burden had been too sndden, the ex
citement too great for bis enfeebled
constitution. But good nursing, ten
der attention at last turned the scale.
He slept—a deep refreshing sleep —
when he awoke, the crisis was pass
ed 5 he would live—live. The cloud
had passed from his brain forever.—
Ilis reason bad resumed sway.
It was on a bright May morning
that Nell and I were married ; the
sound of merry wedding bells was not
heard, there were few to witness the
ceremony. Yet our hearts were hap
py, our joy supreme. My bachelor
lodgings were let to anew tenant. —
And now, after the labors of the day
are done, my little Nell welcomes me
joyfully at our cottage home.
He Dared Not Drink.
It was a bridal scene. The wine
cup passed from lip to lip. One gen
tleman, who thought himself cured of
his drinking habits, refused.
‘Can't you pledge friendship in a so
cial glass?' pleaded the bridegroom.
‘1 dare not; I cannot.’
Then the beautiful bride, with bes
witching smiles, and eyes that were
brighter than the jewels on her fins
gers, held out the poison to him, say
ing: ‘Surely, you will not refuse me?'
The color mounted to his cheek.
He faltered. He yielded to the Circe
of the banquet. The first taste fired
his lust and he ceased not till he was
a sot again. A few years later, one
quiet summer's evening, a wretched
outcast reeled into the open door of a
pleasant home, when a lady was just
drinking a glass of wine, allowing her
little one to sip. The vagabond sprang
forward with a maniac's frenzy, dash
ed the cup to the floor, and shouted:
'Murder him if you will but not
with that! Look at me! You made
me what lam. I was respected and
honored. You tempted me at your
wedding. Now # there is not a reptile
I would not gladly change places with
I must soon stand before God's bar.
On your head rests my blood!'
A gurgling sound was heard in his
throat. He fell at her feet a corpse.
He sleeps in a namelees grave ; the
victim of a cruel though thoughtless
seduction.— [Prof. Thewing's Hand
book.
Voltaire says that ‘it takes sonic*
thing old, something out of the usual
order of things, to bring a smile to a
man’s face.’ On this point we are
compelled to disagree with Voltaire.
For instance, when we are introduced
to a man bearing the cognomen of
John Smith, there is nothing very odd
about the fact of being introduced.—
Wc are ready to swear that the name
is not out of the usual order of names,
and yet somehow or other one finds it
very difficult to keep from grinning.
HUSBANDS AND WIVES.
BY MRS. CHARLOTTE E. FISIIER.
I do not say the husband is always
to blame. The wife often makes home
unhappy ; too often both are at fault.
Yet 1 think the husband is more apt to
become careless aud neglectful of little
attentions soon after marriage than
the wife is A trusting, loving girl
gives up her freedom forever and goes
out from under the sheltering roof of
the old home, to bless and brighten
the new—goes to be his own in sick
ness and health, for “better or worse/
until one of the twain shall rest from
earthly labors.
Before marriage he was all atten
tion as to his personal appearance ;
eager to gratify her every wish. He
admired the rosebud she selected to
wear on her bosom, but thought his
own chosen rosebud was much lovelier,
lie admired the dress she wore the
ribbon in her lmir ; truly she could do
nothing to please him that failed of its
object. And he told her all his love
and admiration in actions, and what
was more pleasanter, in words.
Now they are wedded, both sure of
each other's love. The days are full
of light and joy ; she knows a shadow
can never darken their home, for is she
not his darling, his own happy little
wife, and does lie not tell her so every
day ? She does not believe any change
comes after marriage, unless it is great
er aud more perfect trust and love.—
Years pass Have they carried the
bloom of life with them ? He has bus
iness to look after, but he loves his
wife just the same, she will not believe
otherwise. Yet, sometimes when he
goes to his work with only a hasty
kiss, and never once noticing the lily
buds in her hair, or that she has on his
favorite jewels, sometimes, I say, a
feeling of disappointment clouds the
joys in her heart. The full glory is
dimmed. He continues to grow more
neglectful. She wears the colors that
used to please him ; she strives to
beautify his home in every possible
manner, but he speaks no w >rd of
praise. He even finds fault with her
once in awhile; but what pains her
most is his constant indifference, and
lie has, too, a habit of putting her sec
ond in almost everything. Occasion"
ally, when he does happen to notice
her, lie wonders at the worn face and
quiet manner ; and, doubtless thereby
she has become very careless of home
enjoyments and love. Does he never
remember the many times a gentle
woman has stood beside him, lifting
the hair from his brow or parting it
with soft fingers, or caressingly laying
a white band on his hand. lie used
to kiss that same hand ; holding it in
both his own, and say many kindly
things. Now she lingers near him,
but be never lifts bis eyes from his
book to the face beside him, or finds
one little word of endearment for bis
wife.
Oh, if the walls of her room could
speak, would they not echo the words
that had so often been spoken to them.
“Oh! God! what have I done? —
What have I failed to do, that life is
not as it once was ? Ob ! how have I
frighted away all the tender words ;
all the tender caresses that once were
mine? Oh, why did I not die when
every word and action w T ere full of
love ? Better—far better, to have gone
aw T ay from earth ere the bridal roses
faded than to have lived until my heart
calls out vainly, day and night, for
the glory of departed days.” —Chicago
Ledger.
How to Get Local News.
He came into our office, and after
paying his subscription said ;
‘I guess you can stop sending m3'
paper ; I've ju<t subscribed for a pa
per I need more/
‘Just so/ we said.
He pulled a paper from his pocket
and handed it to us for inspection. It
was a Philadelphia publication, being
neatl3' printed, ornamented with a
handsomely engraved head, and con
tabling about 48 columns of reading
matter.
‘1 very fair looking paper/ said we.
‘But my dear sir, do you find much
news concerning your county in it V
‘Xo, he didn’t know that he had
found any/
‘Do you find any about our State?’
‘No f he never did.’
And 3'et he needed that sheet much
more than his county paper.
Such men are a blessing to any
community. What enterprise could 1
flourish without them ?
Three Good Lessons.
One of ray first lessons, said Mr.
Sturgis, the eminent merchant, was in
1813, when I was 11 years age. My
grandfather had a fine flock of sheep,
which were carefully tended during
the war of those times. I was the
shepherd boy, and my business was to
watch the sheep in the fields. A boy
who was more fond of his book than
the sheep was sent with me, but left
the work with me, while he lay under
the trees and read. I did not like
that, and went to my grandfather and
complained of it. 1 shall never forget
the smile of the old gentleman as he
said:
‘Never mind, Jonathan, my boy; if
you watch the sheep, you will have
sheep.'
M hat does grandfather mean by
that? I said to myself. I don’t expect
to have sheep. My desires were mod
eratc—a fine buck worth SIOO. I
could not exactly make out in my
mind what it was, but I had great
confidence in him, for he was a judge,
and had been in congress, in Washing
ington's lime; bo I concluded it was
right and went back contentedly to
the sheep. After I got iuto the field
I could not keep the words out of my
head. Then I thought of Sunday’s
lesson, ‘Thou hast been faithful over
a few things, I will make thee ruler
over many things.’ I began to see
through it, Never you mind who neg
lects his duty; be faithful, and you
will have your reward.
I received a second lesson soon after
I came to New York as a clerk to the
late Lyman Reed. A merchant from
Ohio, who knew me, came to buy goods
and said, ‘make yourself so useful that
they cannot do without you.' I took
his meaning quicker than I did that
of my grandfather.
Well, I worked upon these two ideas
until Mr. Reed offered me a partner
ship in the business. The first morn
ing after the partnership was made
known, Mr. James Goery, an old tea
merchant, called in to congratulate
me, and be said: ‘You are right now.
I have only one word of advice to give
you; Be careful who you walk the
streets with.' That was lesson num
ber three.
And what valuable lessons they
were! ‘Fidelity in all things; do your
best to your employers; carefulness
about your associates.'
Let everybody take these lessons
home and study them. They ate the
foundation-stone of character and hons
orable success.
Waste and Want.
Either man must be content with
poverty all his life, or else deny him
self some luxuries and save to lay the
base of independence in the future. —
But if a man defies the future, and
spends all he earns (whether his earn
ing be one or ten dollars a day) let him
look lor lean and want at some future
time—for it will surely come, no mat
ter what he thinks. To save is abso
lately the only way to get a solid for
tune ; there is no other certaiu mode.
Those who shut their eyes and ears to
these certain facts will be forever poor,
and in their obstinate rejection of
truth mayhap will die iu rags and
filth. Let them so die, and thank them
selves. But no ! They take a sort of
recompense iu cursing fortune. Great
waste of breath. They might as well
curse the mountains or the eternal
lulls. For I tell them that fortune does
not give away good and substantial
goods. She sells it to the highest bid
der, to the hardest and wisest worker
for the boon. Men never make so fa
tal a mistake as when they think
themselves creatures of fate ; ; tis the
sheerest mistake in the world. Every
man may make or mar himself, which
ever he may choose. Fortune for
those who by diligence, honesty, fru
gality, place themselves in a position
to grasp hold of fortune when it ap
pears in view. The best evidence of
frugality is the five dollars or more
standing in your name at the savings
bank. The best evidence of honesty
consists in diligence and frugality.
A barking dog never bites, but the
same measure of confidence isn’t to be
placed in a buzzing bee, even if it docs
go to war backward.
A man has just died in Scotland
aged one hundred and seven years.—
He never wore a coat, and that fact
encourages us to hope that, with a
poor one, we can suffer along to about
eighty.
To prevent felons, bring up the chil
dren correctly.
Indiana has a man who never smiles.
He always has plenty of company af
ter elections.
... -
A sad complaint in these rainy times
—Water, water everywhere, but not
a drop o’ drink.
In playing draw poker, an Irishman
very seldom calls for any cards, 110
generally plays a Fat hand.
■
Since this pedestrian business began
we cannot look upon the man with a
wooden leg without weeping.
♦
An Englishman committed suicido
because his wife was too good for him.
The rest of us should be vaccinated at
once.
Contributors should remember that
fashion now requires that poems on
spring should be trimmed with a ten
dollar bill, cut bias.
■ ■ ■# ■
Kate Sanborn wants to know ‘why
.nen of genius are so often bachelors.'
Perhaps it's because they arc goner**
ally men of single purposes.
When a tramp applies to you for
aid, and states that ho has not tasted
food for five consecutive days, never
presume to doubt his voracity.
Francis Murphy says that the paras
graphers who make fun of his great
temperance movefnent, are a set of
‘drivelling idiots.’ Murphy will bo
sorry for this when lie's sober.
A woman will face a frowning world
and cling to the man she loves through
the most bitter adversity, but she
wouldi/t wear a hat three weeks bes
hind the style to save the government.
And now they say the reason a wo
man cai/t throw things as straight as
a man is because her collar bone is
differently shaped. We always thought
some awful reason ouht to bo invented
for her awful performances in that
line.
- - -
Beverly Douglas has introduced in
to Congress a bill to remove a ‘baP
from the mouth of a creek in Virginia.
111 the Legislature of this State a bill
has been introduced which, if passed,
will tend to remove the mouth from
the bar.— N. Y. Graphic.
- ... -
A Boston paper says: ‘A butterfly
was caught at the South End yester
day/ It may be safe enough to catch
a butterfly at the south end, but when
you go to grab a wasp you want to
catch it at the northeasterly end, shift
ing westerly toward the head.
Women are proverbially inquisitive;
but when Sifsor/s son, Erastus, plead
ed a bo l as an excuse for breaking
his promise to row Miss Anastasia
Jones over to Rocky Point, she never
for a moment thought of asking where
it was. We mean the boil, of course.
Since so many people are disposed
to find fault with the fat chin of the
Goddess of Liberty on our new silver
dollar, it would perhaps be just as
well for the Goddess to follow the ad
vice so freely volunteered by the street
gamins, and ‘wipe off her chin.’
A correspondent who signs himself
‘Wilmington,’ asks us: ‘Can you tell
me where the humorous vem lies, if
there is such a vein? Is it near the
funny bone, or does it run along tLe
humerus? Also what is the technical
name for it, and from what language
is it derived?’ Wo have consulted
all the standard works on the
subject, and consequently feel quite
able to give an opinion Tho humor
ous vein is situated between the top
of the skull and the cerebellum in the
region of the Danbury. As for the
technical name of that portion of the
human anatomy commonly called The
humorous veiD, it is known to physio
logical students throughout the world'
as tho Jamesikoff Montgomerowski
Baileyovitch,— Danbury News.
SO. 25.