We can almost see Mr. Oliver, with his trusty shot gun, going through back alleys at midnight, his white plume always to be found where cat hair is the thickest. John Woodhull will meet him, after the enemy is driven over the fence in disorder, and taken refuge under the shrubbery, and they will compare notes and cats. Good Mr. Spencer sees the handwriting on the wall, and his voice will be still for cats. Winfield Smith and Chas. Ray will go out in the pale moonlight with stuffed clubs and sell cats short, while Prof. McAllister and Chaplain Gordon, of the Light House, will sing a solemn requiem for the repose of the alleged souls of the midnight opera performers on the back fence, and a grateful people will pass resolutions of thanks that where once all was chaos and cat hair, all will be peace and good will towards morning. And may grace, mercy, peace and plenty of cat scalps abide with the bold night riders of the Humane society of Milwaukee. Scat! THE KNIGHT AND THE BRIDAL CHAMBER. There was one of those things occurred at a Chicago hotel during the conclave that is so near a fight and yet so ridiculously laughable that you don't know whether you are on foot or a horseback. Of course some of the Knights in attendance were from the back woods, and while they were well up in all the secret workings of the order, they were awful “new” in regard to city ways. There was one Sir Knight from the Wisconsin pineries, who had never been to a large town before, and his freshness was the subject of remark. He was a large hearted gentleman, and a friend that any person might be proud to have. But he was fresh. He went to the Palmer House Tuesday night, after the big ball, tired nearly to death, and registered his name and called for a bed. The clerk told him that he might have to sleep on a red lounge, in a room with two other parties, but that was the best that could be done. He said that was all right, he “had tried to sleep on one of them cots down to camp, but it nearly broke his back,” and he would be mighty glad to strike a lounge. The clerk called a bell boy and said, “Show the gentleman to 253.” The boy took the Knight's keister and went to the elevator, the door opened and the Knight went in and began to pull off his coat, when he looked around and saw a woman on the plush upholstered seat of the elevator, leaning against the wall with her head on her hand. She was dressed in ball costume, with one of those white Oxford tie dresses, cut low in the instep, which looked, in the mussed and bedraggled condition in which she had escaped from the exposition ball, very much to the Knight like a Knight shirt. The astonished pinery man stopped pulling off his coat and turned pale. He looked at the woman, and then at the elevator boy, whom he supposed was the bridegroom, and said: