"A GREAT CURE OF AN OVARIAN TUMOR! "This is to certify that Dr. Mariam cured me of an immense _ovarian tumor of the left shoulder_, weighing five pounds and a half, from which I suffered," etc., etc. (Signed) Mrs. ---- ----. "MALONE, N. Y." On this item being ridiculed in the papers of R., Mariam changed it to a "rose cancer," and continued the certificate. Mariam had been practising in Malone, N. Y., also at Whitehall, where, I was informed by a newspaper man, he was arrested for obtaining money under false pretences. He, however, escaped and fled, to practise his deceptions elsewhere. It was reported that he shuffled off his mortal coil by finally taking two ounces of laudanum, after the civil authorities had placed him comfortably in the county jail, where he had the pleasure of passing many days in viewing the world through an iron-barred window, and reflecting on his eventful career. THE SINGING DOCTOR. In remarkable contrast with the above described ignoramus, we present the following description, from two contributors, of an extraordinary personage, known for a time as "The Singing Doctor." The "Hoosac Valley News" tells this story:-- "One day late in the autumn of 1860, while the rain poured in torrents, and the wind howled fearfully along the hills of old Plymouth, I was obliged to drive to Watertown. The 'Branch' was swollen to the river's size, and foamed madly down over the sombre rocks, while above my head, on the other side of the road, the trees rocked and swayed, as though about to fall into the seething, roaring waters below. "Above, or mingled with the clashing of the elements, I heard some voice, as if singing. It struck me with wonder. I stopped to listen. It became more distinct, as if approaching. What was it? Who could it be, singing amid the fearful tempest? "In the midst of my surmising, the object of my wonder came in sight, around a turn in the road just ahead of me. "It was the Singing Doctor, whom I instantly recognized by his little old white horse, as well as by his own voice, to which I had before listened. The little animal was drenched like a 'drowned rat.' The doctor, in his open buggy, with no umbrella,--for the sweeping wind precluded the possibility of holding one,--and the driving rain pelting mercilessly upon his face and head, was singing. "'You must be a happy man,' I exclaimed, 'to be singing amid this awful storm.' "'Why not?' he replied. 'It is always better to be singing than sighing;' and we passed on through the dangerous defile, and separated.... "Last summer, as I journeyed through the Green Mountain State on a pleasure excursion, I met, on a romantic mountain pass, a magnificent turnout,--a splendid top carriage, drawn by four beautiful, jet black Morgan mares,--which did not attract my attention so much, however, as the music within the carriage. It was the Singing Doctor again, with his two little daughters, singing.