Long years ago on a dreary seventh of March, Daniel Webster stood up before the Senate of the United States and delivered what chauvinistic New Englanders are still pleased to remember as a most unfortunate speech. Many and great were the execrations heaped upon his head. One man particularly was outraged. He wrote a poem called Ichabod which today third graders recite in a fumbling monotone on Memorial Day. He also broke forth in trenchant prose with the words, "The God that made New Hampshire taunted that lofty state with little men." Old Boston squatted on its haunches and shook the heavens with ill-concealed joy, some even doubted if God had made New Hampshire.

The time came for Webster to make another speech, and the world listened. He arose jauntily enough and began, "Just as a dentist hangs out a great tooth as a sign of his trade, or a druggist displays a mixing bowl as a sign of his, so up in Franconia Notch God has hung out a sign to show that in New Hampshire he makes men." In the cool of many mornings after the sophistry of this remark becomes all too plain, but the kernel of truth that inspired it still remains. The Vagabond has just been up in the "lofty state" and will vouch for the truth. Most unfortunately he was called away suddenly to tutor a man in History 28 for an examination today, or he would have prolonged his stay indefinitely--until Quebec. The tutoring, by the way, has not been much of a success. The Vagabond knows just exactly as much as the man who is being tutored. They both progress at the same speed. It is terribly depressing business. However, this is supposed to be about New Hampshire and to hell with History 28.

By eight o'clock tonight the old roisterer will be safety ensconced in a deep cellar beside, not one, but two kegs of the wine of the country. And right at this point in the thesis the Vagabond wishes to announce that there is no wine of any country that can equal apple eider. This is his last column of the year and he is getting a little informal. Heigh, ho, his inches are filled, his brain is befogged and you, dear reader, are heartily fed up with all this nonsense. In the words of Tiny Tim. "God Bless Ua, Every One." And in parting the Vagabond wants to extend his particular good wishes to the tutee who is about to take History 28. God rent ye merry....