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1869. VOL. XIII. —NO. 40. The Democratic Messenger, PFBUBHED EVEBY SATURDAY BY LITTLETON DENNIS. Proprietor AT SNOW HILL. WORCESTER CO., RID. Subscription, $1 a Year in Advance. Liberal arrangement* made with clnbe. Correspondence solicited from alt parts of the county. ADVERTISING RATES. One dollar for one Inch space will be charged for the first insertion, and fifty cents for each (übeequent insertion. A libera! discount will be made on quarterly six months, or yearly advertisements. Local notices will be inserted at 20 cents per line. Marriage and death notices inserted tree. Obituary notices inserted at half advertising rates. All advertising hills arc due after the first Insertion, unless otherwise agreed upon. LITTLETON DENNIS. Snow Hill. Md PROFESSIONAL CARDS. A DIAL P. BARNES, ATTORNEY-AT-lAW. Office opposite Court House, Bnow Hill. Md. Will visit Pocomoke City every Saturday. Btriet attention given to the collection ol claims. J. PURNELL, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Office opposite Conrt House, Snow HUH. Md. Strict attention given to the collection ot claims. Will visit Berlin on the second Satur day of every month. DWARD D. MARTIN, -E' ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Office opposite Town Hall. Berlir, Md. Bnecial attention given to the collection ol claims. 17 DWARD B. BATES, (Late of Baltimore Bar.) ATTORNEY AND COUNSELOR-AT-LAW, Snow Hill. Md. Office opposite Court House, adjoining the Post Office. OEORGE M. UPSHUR, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Office, Court House Square, Snow Hill, Md. Prompt attention given to the collection of claims. W. PURNELL, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Office, opposite Court House. Snow Hill, Md. Claims promptly collected. Will visit Poco rooke City on the second Saturday of eaeh month. George w, covington, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Office, Court House Square, Snow Hill, Md. Prompt attention given to the collection of claims. OAMUEL H. TOWNSEND, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Office, opposite Conrt llonse, Snow Hill, Md. Prompt attention given to the collection of claims. \VM. SIDNEY WILSON, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Office on Washington Street three doors above Post Office, Snow Hill, Md. Immediate attention given to the collection of claims. Dr. e. e. dashiell, DENTIST. Offire, opposite Franklin House, Snow Hill. Will visit Berlin on Thursday, Friday and Saturday of each week. All operations on the teeth performed in the most skillful man ner, MOTELS. NATIONAL HOTE L, (Late Con. Dtmock's.) Opposite Court House, Snow Hill >1(1. Large Airy Rooms, Excellent Table. Home Comforts Permanent and transient guests kindly re ceived and hospitably entertained. Terms. $1.50 per day. Hacks at the R. R. Depot to meet all trains J. S. PRICE. Proprietor. SALISBURY HOTEL, TJLMAN & BEO., Proprietor*. DiviNion Stroot, opposite! Court House, SALISBURY. MD First-class Restaurant, Billiard Parlor, Bar and Livery Stable attached. Free Hi cks at Depot to mo t al! trains. Passengers conveyed to any part oft! i Peninsula upon the most favorable terms. TERMS, f 1.50 PER DAY. First-class accommodations and home com forts. CLARKE HOUSE, POCOMOKE CITY, MD, H. C. POWELL, Proprietor. Accommodations Unsurpassed FIRST-CLASS BAR ATTACHED. Twilley A Bros.’ Livery Stable eonneete-’ wit’i this House. ATLANTIC HOTEL^ (Lath English's.) CHINCOTEAGIK ISLAND. V.t. W. i. MATTHEWS & CO.. Proprietor*. The undersigned beg leave to inform theii friends and the general public that they have leased and refurnished the above ele.r int mid commodious bouse, and are now prepared to aeeommodate permanent and trans'cnt guests' In first-class style. Large airy room*. Home comforts. Fine Sea and Bar Fi-mlng, Ginning and Bathing, etc. Th' table is provided with Wild Fowl, Terrapin, Fish, Oysters. Crabs, and all the luxuries of the season. Pleasure boats of all kinds, guides, fishing lines, decoys, ponies, etc., always ready for the use of guests. First-class Bar attached. Choice wines, Iquors, ales, beers and cigars. Passengers for Cbincoteague connect with steamer for the island at Franklin City, the terminus of the Worcester Kaiiioad, morning and evening. Connection may also be hi ide dally at Nashville. All who visit the Atlantic may rest assnri d that they will receive cour teous treatment and excellent fare. Yew patronage is rsspecttally solicited. W. J. MATTHEWS A CO. SNOW HILL, WORCESTER COUNTY, MARYLAND, SATURDAY. OCTOBER 8, 1881. NIGHTFALL. Lie still, O heart ! Crush out thy vainness and unreached desires. Mark how the sunset-tires, Which kindled all the west with red and gold, Arc slumbering 'neatb the amethystino glow Of the recediug day, whose tale is told. Stay, stay thy questionings ; what would’st thou know, O anxious heart ? Soft is the air ; And not a leaflet rustles to the ground To break the calm around. Creep, little wakeful heart, into thy nest ; The world is full of flowers even yet. Close fast thy dewy eyes, and be at rest. I’our out thy plaints at day, if thon mus fret; Day is for care. Now, turn to God. Night is too beautiful for us to cling To selfish sorrowing. 0 memory! the grass is ever green Above thy grace; but wo have brighter things Than thou bast ever claimed or known. I ween, Day is for tears. At night, the soul hatli wings To leave the sod. The thought of night, That comes to ns like breath of primrose time, That comes like the sweet rhyme Of a pure thought expressed, lulls all our fears. And stirs the'angel that is in us—night, Which is a sermon to the soul that heors. Hush! for the heavens with starlets are alight. Thank God for night! A False Start. A Moral Comedy. Harry—l am hungry. Can I live an other half-hoar on a cup of coffee ? Half an hour ? I’ll staud it somehow. I'll starve myself every morning for Nora’s sake. I'll sacrifice myself every hour of the day for Nora’s sake. I’ll—l wonder where she got this notion of breakfast ing in the foreign fashion ; as if I hadn’t bad enough of foreigners and their fash ions ? I did think that when I married I should leave all that nonsense with my mother in Paris, and come home and live like a Briton ; and eat ham and eggs at nine o’clock, and a mnfiin—a muffin ! Oh, hut Nora wishes it, and she shall never know that I don’t delight in wait ing for my breakfast till twelve o’clock. Clara Roedale wonld never believe it of me. I always knew that marriage would bring ont the finer parts of my char acter. lam married, and the finer parts of my character are brought ont. Muf fin ! There’s nothing eatable about here! One can’t eat coal. A paper-knife ! No. By George, there was a biscuit some where —yesterday 1 Yes—there certain ly was a bisenit in my great coat pocket. 1 can lie cheerful with a bisenit; and Nora shall never know what I suffer for her sake. [ Harry goes in Rearch of the biscuit; and Nora comes in search of her hus band. ] Nora—Harry ! Harry ! Where can he be ? Oh, lam famished, and lam glad of it! Harry, it is for yonr sake that I endnre these torments. You shall never have reason to say that yon resigned the easy habits of Continental life for the sake of a little girl like me. Yonr friend Lady Roedale—dear Lady Roedale— shall never be able to say that I put a stop to a f ingle one of yonr delightful bachelor amusements. Yon shall smoke everywhere. I will beg and implore you to go to yonr horrid club. 1 will teach myself to dote upon yonr absence. I will learn to like tobacco. I will starve myself every day till noon. I will Oh, if I could only find the smallest morsel of bread ! Half an hour more ! no; only six-and-twenty minutes ! Courage ! That’s Harry's step. With him I could go without breakfast for ever. Always meet yonr husband with a smile. That’s Clara Roedale’s golden rule. I will smile, if I die for it. H. [as he comes in. ]—Ah, Nora! Why, what’s the matter dear ? What an odd smile you’ve got. N.—Have I, dear ? I was thinking of you. H.—Thanks, Nora ; you don’t know what an awfully clever dog your Mop pet is. N.—lsn’t he clever? H. —Fancy him getting a biscuit ont of my great-coat pocket! N.—Did he really ? The clever dar ling ! Are you qnite snre ? H.—l saw the ernmbs on the floor. N.—Tou speak quite sentimentally about it. H.—Oh yes, it’s qnite pathetic—this sagacity of dumb animals. Isn't it a lovely morning? I’ve been round the garden and the meadow. N.—To get an appetite for breakfast? H.—No—that is, I'm hungry enough —T'm not very hungry. N.- Of course not. Nineteen minutes and a half ? H.—What, dear? N.—Nothing. Is there anything in the paper ? H.—l don’t know. N.—Haven’t you read the paper ? I thought that every man began the day by reading the paper. H.—Began the day! N.—Don’t you read the papers? II.—I always read my paper after break lest. [Here is a pause full of emotion.] N.—Did yon remember to order the carriage? H.—Yes, dear. N.—lsn’t it a lovely day tor the pic nic ? lam so glad! Ido so love tea on the rocks ! ' , H.—Tea! Oh! And a muffin ! N.—What’s the matter, Harry? H.—Nothing, dear. I think I feel it less if I keep moving. I N.—Yon do like picnics, don’t you, l Harry ? H.—l’m awfnlly food of picnics. [ Walking up and down he murmurs to himself]—Clara Roedale wouldn’t be lieve it of me. Picnics ! Fancy anybody ’ liking a picnic! , N.—l think it Beems bettor if I walk , about. [Walking npand down she mur murs to herself] —He shan’t be shut up : at home with his dull little wife ; he shall have all the aocial pleasures to w hich he has been aconstomed. Harry, dear, were yon what they call an orna ment of sooiety ? “’Tis Liberty Alone that Gives the Flower of Fleeting Life its Lustre and Perfume—and We are Weeds Without it.” H.—l don’t know. Was I, Nora? N.—What? H. —Why are we walking up and down like two tigers at the Zoo ? N.—ls it a riddle, dear ? I will try to guess it later—after breakfast. H.—Breakfast? Breakfast? Yes, that reminds me; it must be nearly breakfast-time. N.—Not quite. Are you ready for breakfast ? H.—Oh yes—l think so, if you are. N.—You are sure it’s not too early for you? H.—Not a bit. But you? Wonld yon like to have it now if it’s ready ? N.—l really think I should—if you are qnite snre that you wonld not like it later. H.—l don’t think so. N. [heroically]—Harry, shall I pnt it off for half an hour ? H. —As you please, dear. [He sinks into a chair. ] [Here is a pause full of emotion. ] N.—lf breakfast is ready, it may be spoiled by being kept; and then you wouldn’t like it. Shall Igo and see if it’s ready ? H.—Perhaps you like it spoiled. N.—What an idea ! [At the door] — Oh, how delicious ! H. [as he joins her] —Isn’t it good? Let me go and see if breakfast’s ready. [He goes out.] N.—He was an ornament of society. I know it. Shall I be so wickedly sel fish as to deprive society of its most brilliant ornament? The more 1 dote on a quiet life with Harry, and nobody else, the more I hate outside people, and dressing np, and dancing about; the mo r e I hate those odious picnics with spiders—oh, how afraid I am of a spider ! —the more certain I am that it is my dnty to pretend to like them all, to dissemble for Harry’s sake, and for the sako of society. Yes, Harry, yon shall go to a picnic every day, if I die for it. I think I am dying. I feel thin—very, very thin. I think I am going to faint. [Here Harry appears leaning in th doorway, pale and faint. ] H.—Nora, the cook wants to speak to yon. N.—Oh, Harry, is anything the mat ter? H. —I don’t know. [She goes out; he sinks into a chair. ] If I could get something to eat, some breakfast, I could face this picnic. I wonld go cheerfully to a picnic, even to a picnic. How I used to long for rest! When I chose a little girl in the country, I fancied a sort of ballet life all cream and roses, and jam, and a ci gar under a tree, with sheep about, and —and rest. It was like my r abominable selfishness. Nora has never bail any fun. Of course Nora wonld like to have some fnn. Of conrse Nora shall have some fun; and I’ll pretend to like it. Fun ! Turning round and round in a crowd, and being kicked on the ankles 1 Eating lobster salad and ices at three o’clock in the morning ! Talking to a girl about another girl’s eyes, aucl star ing into hers ! Fun ! The treadmill’s a joke to it. And yet, all this and more will I go through for the sake of my little Nora—all except that eye business. Nora shall taste the pleasures of so ciety, and I’ll pretend to enjoy them; by George, I will enjoy them ! [When his voice has sunk to the depth of tragic gloom, Nora rnus in.] N.—Breakfast is ready. H.—Ah! [They go away lovingly to breakfast. After a while Lady Roedale is shown in by the footman. ] H. [as he comes in]—Clara ! Lady Roedale! Lady R.—Harry, as you horrid boys say, how goes it ? H.—As we horrid boys say, it simply walks in. And what on earth brings you here? Lady R.— Reasons are tiresome. You ought to say that yon are glad. H. —l’m awfully glad. Lady R. —My doctor recommends the society of young people. I suppose yon know that I am antediluvian, and ush ered the animals into the ark. H.—How pleased Nora will be ! Come and have some breakfast. Lady R.—Thank you. I breakfast in the morning. H.—H’m. I don’t. Lady R.—You used to bo an absurdly early creature—up with the foolish lark. H.—Ah, yes. But you see Nora likes to breaktast at twelve, and so of course Lady R.—Of course you ! Oh, Harry, this is profoundly interesting. Do you do just what Nora likes in everything ? H.—Yes. Yon didn’t think it of me. did yon ? Yon thought all men were selfish, didn’t yon ? Don’t you remem ber telling me that all the men you ever knew—all your admirers, yon know— were all selfish—dark and fair, fat and thin, comic and gloomy, the whole lot of ’em—all alike m being selfish ! Lady R.—Very likely. H. —Well ? Look at me. Whatever turns np, I simply look at it in one way. I ask, What will Nora like? Then I pretend that what she likes is what I like. Lady R.—H’m. Yon tell fibs ? H.—One must, you know. Lady R.—Must one? H.—Little unselfish sort of fibs, you kndw. I was in agony for two hours Itefore breakfast, and I enjoyed it. I remembered where there was a biscuit, and Nora’s infernal little beast of a dog had eaten it—and I enjoyed that! Now we are off to a picnic—and I mean to enjoy that! Lady R.—My dear Harry, even you must have passed the picnic age—ants and indigestion. But of course you don’t mean to say that you are going off to a picnic when I have come to see you ? H.—You mnst come too. Yon know her. It’s yonr friend Mrs. Lorimer. Lady R.—Busan Lorimer? H.—She is a friend of yours, isn’t she ? Lady R. —Oh yes. I’ve known her forever. She’s a most dangerous wo man. You mnst throw her over. H.—Bnt Nora? Nora’s wild about this picnic. • Lady R.—She’s wilder abont me. i Call her, and we’ll see. i [Harry callß her, and she presently comes in. ] N.—Lady Roedale! Oh, I am glad. I Have yon come to stay with ns ? • Lady R.—No, dear; only to spend the day. N. —Oh, lam sorry. How unlucky ! Has Harry told you about our engage ment? H.—Yes, and I want her to come, too —you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Norah? I thought I was snre you’d like it. Lady R—lt’s impossible. I couldn’t go in these things. N. -Why, you look stnnning. F. —I am sure that that gown will do perfectly. Lady R. —Thanks, dear. 1 have passed the age of gowns that “ will do perfectly.” Don’t you think yon could throw over Susan Lorimer for me ? I am sure nobody can like her better than me. N.—Lady Roedale ! Lady R. —Am I too old to be called Clara ? Your husband always calls me Clara. N.—Does he? Lady R. —He always was an imperti nent boy. Come, my dear, you need not mind offending Susan Lorimer; she is snre to abuse yon any way. You can write a line and say that an aged friend has come unexpectedly, and you can’t leave her; and you can stay at home and give the aged friend some luncheon. N.—Well, yon see, dear Harry—the fact is, I am so afraid that he should give tip going ont and seeing his friends. I should like to stay at home with you, but Harry— H.—Oh, I don’t care to go ! I mean— if you really mean, Nora, that you’d like to stay at home, I shouldn’t mind. 1 should be awfully glad to stay at home with Clara. N.—Oh, Harry, I thought you were so eager to go ! H.—Oh, yes, yes—of course—l know I said so—bnt—but, you see— N.—But what, Harry ? H.—Why, yon see, Clara’s coming makes all the difference. Bnt, look here ; are you quite sure that yon don’t care to go? Of course, if you care to go—if you care the least bit— N.—Oh, no. Why should £? Pray don’t consider me. H.—Not consider yon ! Why, Nora— N. [to Lady Roedale. ]—Won’t yon come up to my room and take yonr things off ? Lady R.—Then it’s all settled. You stay with me. I am sure I am doing you both a good turn—by saving you from one of Susan Lorimer’s picnics. [She goes away with Nora ; Harry is left alone and in perplexity. ] H. —What on earth is the matter with Nora?—“Pray don’t consider me.” Doesn’t she know that I spend every hour in the day in considering her; that the only thing I care for is to do every thing to please her—to give up every thing to her? Doesn’t site know—no, by George! of course she doesn’t know. That would spoil it all. I go on the principle of doing everything she likes, and making her think it’s what I like; that’s my cunning. Perhaps she really wants to go on this infernal chicken feed. [He goes to Nora as she comes in. ] Look here, Nora! are you sure you’d rather staj at home ? N.—l am quite content. And you ? Your conversion was a little sudden. H.—My conversion ! N.—Just before breakfast yon were dying to go on this picnic. H.—Was I? Oh, yes, bnt—but you see, Clara— N —Yes, I see Clara. Just because she comes, you care for nothing but stay ng home with her; yon couldn’t Itear the idea of staying at home with me. [Here Lady Roedale comes in, but they don’t see her. ] H.—Nora! By George! Here! I say! What shall I say! I didn’t want to go. 1 never wanted to go on the infernal picnic. I hate ’em. N.—Then you were deceiving me. H.—l pretended to want to go, be cause you wanted me to go. N.—l didn’t think I should be de ceived so soon. H.—Nora! N.—How can I tell when you are speaking the truth ? No; I believe you are deceiving mo now. You did want to go till she came, and now yon pre tend you didn’t. H. —Nora, don’t; I say, Nora, don’t. On my honor, I hate picnics. I was going solely for your sake. N.—That can’t be true; for I was go ing solely for yonr sake. H. —Well, then, by George, yon were deceiving me! N.—Oh, it’s too much! Oh, that I should lie accused of deceiving my hus band! Stay at home, since yon prefer it; stay at home with her—and be agree able to her—don’t stop me! my heart is broken; oh! oh! oh! H.—Where are you going? Nora. Where are you going ? N.—To the picnic ! [She goes away without seeing Lady Rtk'dalo ; but now Harry sees her. ] H.—Good heavens! Clara! What’s this? Lady R.—Nothing. H.—Nothing? Lady R.—l don’t think yon under stand women. H.—l thought I did. Lady R.—Poor boy! yon never will. H.—What shall I do ? Lady R.—Never tell fibs to your wife. H.—Oh ! Lady R.—You have been playing the Jesuit. H.—By George, it’s all my fault! I see it all. Nora’s quite right; she’s the liest and sweetest-tempered but oh, Lady Roedale, I never thought I should see her in a rage. It’s awful! Lady R.—Awful! I only wish I could be in a rage with anybody. H.—What? Lady R.—Let me see. It must be at least ten years since I lost my temper. I shonld like to be angry just for once. H.—l suppose I don’t understand women. Lady R.- And never will. H.—Bnt what am I to do ? I mnst do something. Oh, Clara, don’t yon see that the happiness of my life is at stake ? Lady R.—Oh dear me, yon must have been reading novels. Men ought not to read novels ; they take them too seri ously. Sit down like a good boy and read the paper. Yes, I am going to exert myself for yonr sako. I shall be ■ back in a few minntes. Now this is al- I most exciting. It is certainly better I than china—or chickens. e [She goes out and leaves Harry alone. ] • H.—On the next few minutes may de • pend the happiness of my life. What an awful thing this marriage is ! And I ’ went into it as if I were taking a girl • down to supper. It’s awful! I thought I knew all about Nora; I snpposo j I f knew nothing at all. Good heavens ! I wonder what she is! Good heavens ! Fancy me wondering what sort of a ) woman my wife is—my own wife! It’s awful! I wonder if any man ever went 3 through such an experience before ! I > have married a what-d’ye-call-it —a 1 pelican; no -those are insurance offices; 1 a sphinx—that’s it—a sphinx. Nora is a sphinx ! Why did not Clara tell me ? She knows all about marriages and such 1 things. She might have told me it 5 wasn’t all cake and satin slippers. Is that a gown on the stairs? How my heart beats ! I must be a man! I - must nerve myself for a terrible scene. [He nerves himself; the ladies come 1 in chatting and smiling; but Nora’s eyes 1 are red. j I N.—Then you really think olive : green would be best ? ! Lady It. —Much the best. N.—Harry, dear, Clara thinks olive ! green for the dining room. I told her l you thought a Japanesy sort of blue. H. —Did I, dear ? Blue ? Yes, dear —of course; you are so fond of blue, and I Lady R.—Harry, did you say bluebe ' cause it is Nora’s favorite color? No fibs? 1 H.—Yes. Lady R.—Nora, is blue your favorite 1 color ? N.—l am very fond of a nice blue. Lady R.—Was it your favorite color before you married ? N.— Oh, yes, really and truly before ’ that. Lady R. —Before yon saw Harry ? ‘ N.—l—l—l don’t remember. I think ' not. Lady R.—Harry, turn to the light. I thought so. Blue necktie ! A Japa nesy sort of blue ! He always wears blue neckties. Oh, you young people, how ■ profoundly wicked yon both are! I can’t preach without food. Won’t you give me some luncheon ? N.—Oh, yes, Clara. Why, you poor dear, I forgot; I never thought of it; we’ve only just breakfasted. Lady R.—Oh, dear! And you break -1 fast at this preposterous hour to please Harry ? N.—l don’t mind it ; I don’t really mind it—much. Yon see Harry has lived so much abroad, and— Lady R. —That is enough. Harry, do you starve yourself for hours in the morning for Nora’s sake ? H.—You know; I told you; yes. I thought Nora liked it. Lady R.— Really, it's an interesting study. I suppose I ought to print a “ royal road to connubial felicity.” 1 wouder if these young people are very good or very bad ? They were making 1 a great mess of it till I came. 1 H.—Nora, you are not very angry with me ? N.—Oh, Harry dear, I will never tell you anything but the whole truth. It was all my fault. H.—No, no; it was all mine. Lady R.—They are both telling fibs again. May I ask about that luncheon? N.—Oh, I beg your pardon ; 1 am so 1 sorry ! Will you have it here ? H.—Why, there's the carriage; I never countermanded it. What was I • thinking about ? Lady R.—Thinking about ? You were ■ probably thinking that the happiness of your life was at stake. Since the car riage is here, suppose we make Harry drive us out of the glare. I should like to have luncheon somewhere in the wood. N.—Oh, yes; that will be nice ! H. —A picnic! Lady R.—No, no ; no picnic ! Nora shall send a little note to Susan Lorimer. No picnic ; only luncheon in the open air. 1 H.—l don’t understand women. Lady R.—And never will. But we 1 have had enough of that little comedy. H.—Comedy! It wasn’t very funny to me. Lady It.—lt amused me. But enough l is as good as a feast—a great deal better than one of Susan Lorimer’s picnics. N.—What little comedy do you mean, Clara? 1 Lady R. —Never mind, dear; it’s fin ished aud that’s always something. I ring down the curtain on that little comedy. Colors and Insanity. Professor Schlager, director of a noted ■ insane asylum at Vienna, announces the result of experiments made by him in relation to the blue-glass healing theory, r which at one time attracted so much attention in America as well as abroad. 1 He had a room furnished with windows of blue glass, aud had the walls painted of the same color. He then selected sixty persons who were more or less deranged mentally, aud made them the subjects of experimentation for a period of three years, placing them at selected times in the blue room and carefully noting the apparent effects upon them. • He discovered that the abnormally aroused and excited temperament ex -9 perienced a remarkably soothing and quieting influence m the blue light, and 1 he expresses the conviction that with 9 persons thus mentally deranged, with • whom every other method of treatment 1 has failed, this should be tried. He does not report any complete cures 1 made by this means alone, but says that in most cases the treatment has proved beneficial, and that if continued sys t tematically and persistently, the iudi • cations are that it will lead to com • plete restoration. In no case did it 1 work injury. He expresses the inten tion to continue his experiments, and calls upon all associates and colleagues o in the treatment of the insane to do 9 the same, and make careful notes of ? their observations. Prof. Schlager has e also made valuable and interesting ex -9 periments in treating deranged persons -of abnormally depressed or sluggish and I apathetic temperaments by exposing 9 them in a similar manner to red light. B His conclusions seem to be based upon - careful and scrupulous study aud ob r servation, and are attracting deserved ' attention. Ia a Tight Place. Peck’s Milwaukee Sun tells the fol ; lowing story :—A young Fond du Lac lawyer learned something the other I night. We know it will seem strange ; that a young lawyer could learn any thing, but this one admits it himself. He was out calling on a young lady, when I a young man and another young lady i called, and the young lawyer thonght .it would be cunning to get down behind the lounge and not let them know he was there, and surprise them by bobbing up . serenely from below when the proper time came. They came in and the first i thing they asked for was the young law ' yer, who had told the young man he would be there that evening. Then they liegan to talk about him, discussed the size of his feet, which they claimed were large, and the size of his head, which they asserted was child’s size. He per spired aud they talked about his mashing qualities, how he had mashed a girl thal worked in a laundry, and the opinion was expressed that he was a regular flirt. Then they talked about his family, and he tried'to stuff his ears. Just then a little terrier belonging to the girl's brother came in the room, and some body said “rats,” aud told the dog to hunt for them, and the dog went under the lounge and began to growl and shake something, and there was a sound of revelry by night. The other young man and the two girls rushed out of the room, and the lawyer got up on his feet, pull ing the dog up near his suspenders by the teeth, and the dog shook, and the j lawyer kicked and yelled, and presently the girl’s father came in and seeing the dog trying to hold what he supposed was a burglar he took an old haircloth covered chair and was going to brain the burglar when the young man told who he was, and the father unlocked the dog’s teeth, after he had remembered the combination, and the young lawyer took himself in his hand and went away. He won’t speak to the young people now, and it is said he will sue the owner of the dog for arron or atpace, or some Latin phrase. The worst thing in the world is to be attacked by conversation or a dog, when you are not looking. The Best Team Time. During the past few years there has been a rivalry among wealthy gentlemen as to who could secure the fastest trot ting team, the same aa there was some twenty years ago, which brought out Mr. Robert Bonner’s team Lady Palmer and Flatbnsh Msid, which on May 10, 1862, trotted a mile over the Fashion Course, driven by Mr. Bonner, in 2:26, and three days afterward trotted two miles in 5:01 J, the second quarter of the second mile being trotted in thirty-three seconds. This fast time remained at the top of the record until two years ago, when Mr. W. H. Vanderbilt drove Lady Mac and Small Hopes a mile over the Fleetwood Park in 2:23, which con tinued the best until last week, when Mr. John Shephard's team, Blondin and Mill Boy, trotted a mile to a road wagon in 2:22 over the Beacon Park track: But it remained for Mr. Frank Work’s team, Edward and Dick Swiv eller, to wipe out all previous reoords. This they did in Fleetwood Park in the presence of a large number of the mem bers of the Gentlemen’s Driving Asso ciation. Dan Mace was selected to drive the team. After a little jogging and some speeding to get the hang of the team Dan came up for the word and it was given, and he dashed away at a clipping pace, which he kept up all the way, the horses working nicely and trotting as one horse. They came home without a skip or break in the unprece dented time of two minutes and nine teen seconds and a half, two seconds and a half faster than the fastest time ever made. The first quarter was trot ted in 331 seconds, the half mile in The top wagon to which the horses trot ted weighed 165 pounds. Dead Stars. Like the sand of the sea, the stars of heaven, says Sir John Lubbock, in his opeuing address at the recent meeting of the British Association for the Ad vancement of Science, have ever been used as effective symbols of number, and the improvement in our methods of observation have added fresh force to our original impressions. We new know that our earth is but a fraction of one out of at least 75,000,000 worlds. But this is not all. In addition to the lu minous heavenly bodies, we cannot doubt that there are countless others, invisible to us from their greater dis tance, smaller size, or feebler light; in deed, we know that there are many dark bodies which now emit no light or com paratively little. Thus in the cars of Procyon, the existence of an invisible body is proved by the movement of the visible star. Again I may refer to the curious phenomona presented by Algol, a bright star in the head of Medusa. This star shines without change for two , days and thirteen hours ; then, in three hours and a half, dwindles from a star of the second to one of the fourth mag nitude ; and then, in another three and a half hours, reassumes its original brilliancy. These changes seem cer tainly to indicate the presence of an opaque body which intercepts at regular intervals a part of the light emitted by Algol. Thus the floor of heaven is not only | “thick inlaid with patines of bright , gold,” but studded also with extinct stars once probably as brilliant as our own, but now dead and cold, as Helm holtz tells us that our sun itself will be, some seventeen millions of years hence. Royal Mourning. A correspondent writes to the Bnffalo 1 Express: The English order for mourn i ing for a week might appear, to the i American mind, a short period, but by ’ court etiquette it is seldom more thun i two weeks —if the period was prolonged ■ it might almost be continuous, as royal i persons are numerous and a death occurs I at frequent intervals. Short periods of ; court mourning promote business, whilst it is held that long ones have a contrary i effect. The writer never knew or heard of the I court going into mourning before this I iustauoe for anything less than royalty. SI.OO PER ANNUM. WIT AND WISDOM. Singular that artists affect slouch hats. Chimney-pots would make ’em draw better. When a man makes a rye face it is natural to snpposo that he is a little cross-grained. There is a limit—First young lady : “I could sit here forever.” Second ditto : “ And I till lunch time.” Hanotno a man in effigy is a good deal like kissing a cow owned by the father of your girl. It don’t hit the case. It is a startling fact in natural history that children who are “ perfect little lambs ” usually grow up to be “mutton heads. ” An old negro cook says: “Sass is powerful good in everything but chil dren. Dey needs some other kind of dressing.” Were Africa sun as ours so hot, No sun of any clime were hotter ; And e’en the verv Hottentot Would presently wax hot and totter. Mrs. Spriooins was boasting of her new house. The windows, she said, were all stained. “That’s too bad I But won’t turpentine or benzine wash it off?” asked the good Mrs. Oldbody. Natural religion.—Bishop (reproving delinquent page): “Wretched boy! Who is it that sees all we do, and before whom even I am but a crushed worm ?” | Page : “ The missus, my lord,” “You see, it’s just this way,” says a local politician; “a bummer votes forty times—a Main street man won’t perhaps vote once. Now, if a man wants an office, to whom shall he go for votes ?” At the medical examination: “How should you detect prussic acid among other substances ?” “By breathing it,” answers the candidate. “If I died im mediately, 1 should know prussic acid was present.” A Detroit young man denounces the poke bonnets “because they chafe his ears.” Here, now, is a question for scientists. Can they explain how it is that a poke bonnet worn by one person can chafe the ears of another person not wearing it ? According to Mayor Harrison, of Chicago, the difference between whisky and beer is this: When a man goes home full of whisky he beats his wife; but when he gets full of beer, ue goes home stupid and his wife beats him. That makes all the difference in the world to both of them. An Indianapolis ruralist seated him self in a restaurant the other day and began on the bill of fare. After employ ing three waiters nearly half an hour in bringing dishes to him, he heaved a sigh, and whispered, as he put his finger on the bill of. fare, “ Mister, I’ve et to thar, and”—moving his finger to the bottom of the bill—“ef it isn’t agin the rule, I’d like to skip from thar to thar.” Oh, the tiny little ants! How they climb np onr pants At the picnic 'neath the willows in the glen! How they seem to take delight in The obnoxious sport of bitin’ Indefensible and modest gentlemen! It’s delightful, when one's cooing To the damsel he is wooing. To feel the playful creatures in his pants ! And upon the perfumed air He throbs a soulful swear At his “sisters and his cousins and his ants.” Oh, it sets the brain a-throbbing To feel these insects bobbing Up and down our system in their inje glee There’s one way you can rig’, And that is-flee and fight eny ’Neath the shadow of some distant friendly tree! OUR BONNY PET. We have a sweet lassie jnst over the way, Who’s “ the cnnnlngest darling,” the aunties all say “That ever came into this li ight world of ours. Of coarse she is sweeter than spring’s sweetest flowers. Her voice ripples out like the bobolink’s song And her wee twinkling feet wander all the dav long 'Mong the daisies and buttercups, clover and grass, While the bees and the butterflies pause as they pass, To bask in the sunbeam that lingers, to play With this sweet bonny lassie just over the way. First he kisses her ringlets and lights them with gold, Then peeps in her bright eyes, this sunbeam so bold! Then ho tarries to ask “your name, if you please?” And the wee lassie answers him, “ ittl i Louise, My mamma is tallin, and I mus do way, So I'll hi 1 00. bite su ibeam. a peasant dood dav.” E. E. M. A Selfish General. One night in the spring of ’62 Gen eral Richardson, who then commanded a brigade, took it into his head to in spect the picket line. Coming npon a reserved picket of about thirty men under command of a captain of the Second Michigan Infantry, the general saw fit to interrogate as follows : “Captain, in case of an alarm by the advance picket what would you do ?” “ Send off a reinforcement at once.” “ And if the firing continued ?” “ I should move np with the remain der of my force.” “ And suppose a whole oompany of the e aemy should press forward ?” “We’d whip them.” “ But if it was a regiment ?” “ I’d form a line of battle and check them until I sent back and got orders to charge and capture the whole lot.” “ Well, suppose a brigade shonld move down on you in battle line ?” “ I’d order a charge, split the column in two and whip both halves in detail.” At midnight the brave captain was relieved from further duty on picket. He was very indignant and considerably puzzled, but after thinking the matter over for awhile he said to a brother officer: “Say. I’ve struck it! Old Rich was afraid my company might gobble the whole Confederate army and throw him out of a summer’s job! If that ain’t selfishness then I’d like to know what is?” 1880.