Bennett Medical College - Em Dee Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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was and a jump, and you are through tlte aoita, and on your way to the suburbs. There you are, provided with a neat package containing a combination of oxygen and assorted nourishment for these remote regions, which you carry gaily under your arm and toss into the outlying tissue as you skip by. ln a minute, you are plodding along at the rate of a hundred miles an hour or so along the venous boulevard, wretchedly lighted. ln a jiffy, however, you cavort into the heart, and from there into the lungs, where you get a breath of fresh air, and then you are off again to lndia, China, the Dardanelles, through the Suez, and back by way of Hoboken and the Hudson tubeg as for your nervous system, that is backed up against the wall, waiting for a chance to escape, hoping that a door will open somewhere, so that it can rush off outside into space and get a good night's sleep. At least that is the way we have felt since we have known abcut it. We trust when this meets your eye, you will feel that way, also. Misery loves company. juni

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MQW WHERE KNOWLEDGE IS MISERY. P TO within a comparatively recent period, we who pen these lines had been of a happy and contented disposition, performing our simple du- ties with gladness and resting quietly after our labors, with a heartfelt sense of gratitude. But the other day we happened to read in the en- cyclopedia that a certain portion of the blood traverses the entire circulation system in half a minute. You couldn't stop it from doing so, even if you tried. It will go on and on, dancing about inside of you in spite of everything you say or do. Since then. so far as we ourselves are concerned, all has been changed. How can anyone rest. we ask, with a process like that going on inside. and absolutely no let-up? lt appears that the rest of the blood only lakes about a minute and a half at the outside. lt would probably take a trifle longer in the case of a man over six feet high. Some of the corpuscles like to lag behind and make an attempt at least to view the scenery: we can- not help but admire them for that. That is what we should do if we were there. But consider for a moment the hopelessness of being permitted to sit down by the wayside for a few minutes' rest. We know, of course, the argu- ment used for this sort of mad rushiwhere you are traveling over the same route every minute or so, no matter how fast you go, you get to know it: you can tell by instinct when there is a 'ithank you, marmu right ahead. and by constant practice, slide over it: you can brace yourself for curves and corners. It appears also that there are two kinds of contestants in this ceaseless merry- go-round, namely, the red and the white corpuscles. The white ones are the laggards, and that, by the way, is what we would be, we don't know how many miles long the route is, but at any rate, the white corpuscles take as much time as they can-about a minute and a half. The red fellows are at them all the time, urging them on, grabbing them by the coat, pushing them from behind, saying rude and boisterous things to them. When they all come to a straightaway, the red corpuscles shout out, Step up in front, please. plenty of room ahead! Sometimes there is a strike among the whites, and they all try to sit down: one white corpuscle begins preaching the doctrine of non-resistance, and being a kind of genius in his way, makes an impression upon his period, iso they all let up, but in the long run, the marathonic,reds have their way. lf you really want to kncw what is happening inside of you, you have only to imagine yourself a corpuscle, with the power to dance around this world and back again inside of a minute and a half, in the com- pany of a vast aggregation of tourists, who, like yourself, are all coming back constantly. You can start anywhere, but say it's at the semilunar valve: lhat's a good place for a lot of lunatics to begin from: you take a hop, skip Q 205

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, , ies BONE YARD. ln my head, known as my pate, There are bones just twenty-eight. ln my trunk are Fifty-four That l add to my bone store, While my limbs have plenty more- Full one hundred twenty-four. ln my sl-cull, the strong round box Which protects my brains from knocks, There are eight bones in its wall- Glad to have them when l fall. Occipital there is but one: One ethmoid and wedge sphenoid one, One frontal bone not very long- Comparecl with oak, just twice as strong Parietals there are but two, ' Two temporals will also do. There's thirteen bones within my face To know them is not a disgrace. One lower jaw and upper, tcm, Help me each day when l must chew. Two turbinated, shaped like cones, Two nasal, malar, palate bones, Two lachrymals and vomer one, But very large bones there are none. The smallest bones are in my ear, And help me when l want to hear. These bones are small, and hard to see- The mallet, anvil, stapes wee. My bony trunk, it takes good care Of all the organs hidden there. lts spinal column, very long, Has six and twenty bones so strong. Small bones just seven it doth take, A neck or cervical to make, With dorsals twelve and lumbars five, I surely need if l would thriveg With sacrum one, and lots of ribs, Fourteen true, and ten called fibs, One coccyx, sternum, hyoid small, With two big hip bones, that is all. Now, in my limbs-just let me see- l own a clavicle, or key, A scapula, or shoulder blade, Ancl which for gold l wouldn't trade: A humerus, not meant for fun, A. radius and ulner one. Eight carpals help to form my wristg Five metacarpals in my fist, While all my fingers have each three Phalanges that are strong, but wee. But my poor thumb can only boast Of two phalanges at the most. -VAN BUREN MAURICAU I6 207