The residential palace in Darmstadt, where Queen Victoria made a brief stay in the spring of this year, has a clock-tower the chimes in which discourse sweet music four times every hour. At the first quarter they strike up a verse of the stirring "Watch on the Rhine;" at the half-hour the familiar notes of "God save the Queen" fall upon the listener's ear; at the third quarter an air from the well-known opera of the "Marriage of Figaro," enlivens the palace; while the hour is hailed with the bridal chorus from Wagner's "Lohengrin."
Oiling the Waves.
During the last two or three years a good deal has been heard of experiments for calming an angry sea by pouring oil upon the troubled waters. This has been proved to have a marked effect, but it is interesting to note that the idea is by no means new. In 1844 experiments were made in the North Sea, with a view to test this special property, and though several gallons were used on the occasion, no diminution of their rage was noticed in the waves. Captain Wilkes, however, the commander of the United States Exploring Expedition in the Antarctic Ocean, 1838-42, observed that the oil leaking from a whaler had a stilling influence upon the sea. And this quite agrees with the result of nearly, if not all, recent trials.
Spider Knicknacks.
A large trade is done at Santa Barbara, in South California, in the preparation of stuffed specimens of a big, ugly, vicious, poisonous spider. Cards decorated with these insect monsters are readily bought by tourists, by museums, and by science schools. This spider excites great curiosity on account of the nest with trap-door which it constructs with much skill, but though its native valleys abound with countless numbers of the homes and tunnels, yet hardly a living spider can be seen. It is for this reason, doubtless, that the demand for stuffed specimens is so considerable as to engage wholesale merchants as well as retail shopkeepers in meeting its supply.
An Affectionate Dog.
Early this year, a lady died in New York. She had had a Skye terrier as a pet for twelve years, and during the two months of her illness it remained by her bed. After the funeral it took up its old position by the bed, refusing to eat. A few days afterwards it found a pair of its mistress's shoes which had been thrown out of doors. The faithful animal brought them in its mouth to the bedroom, placed them on the floor, laid its fore paws and head across them, and continued in this position for several hours. Early one morning its mournful cries aroused the household, and exactly a week, to the very hour, after its mistress's death, the poor terrier expired beside the bed, its head and paws still resting on the cast-off shoes. This story shows how keenly some animals feel the loss of those who have treated them kindly.
A Sagacious Cavalry Horse.
Some weeks since a gentleman was knocked down by a cab in a busy street in London, and owed his escape from what might have proved a fatal accident to the sagacity of the horse by which the cab was driven. The hansom cab was going along at an ordinary pace, and the gentleman (who carried a bundle of papers) tried to pass it. In doing so he was knocked down, his papers were scattered, and he was himself in imminent danger of being run over, as the driver did not notice the accident in time to pull up. The horse, however, happened to be an old cavalry horse, and it neatly stepped over the prostrate body of the gentleman and stopped just as the wheels of the vehicle had reached his body. The gentleman was then dragged from his perilous position, much shaken and frightened, but in other respects uninjured.