MR. PUNCHINELLO, having been often scared out of his senses (which are
usually very good and trustworthy senses,) by double tattoos on his
library table, and also by the eccentric movements of the table itself,
is happy to announce that, after all, there is nothing in it. There is a
Dr. HAMMOND who has sent all necessary explanations to the _North
American Review_. We do not understand them at all, but they are highly
soothing and satisfactory. It seems that Mr. P. (in common with less
distinguished characters) has "a gray tissue." This does not refer to
his coat, but to something inside of him which renders him the nervous
creature that he is. Well, not to make too scientific a matter of it, it
appears that our "gray tissue" operates upon our "spinal cord," and
raises the old boy (if we may be allowed the expression) with our
brains; and this, in some way, but really we do not exactly see how,
produces the raps, and leads us to suppose that we are hearing (dear old
lady!) from our grandmother. It is astonishing how simple these
mysterious matters appear after a scientific explanation.
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