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Browsing named entities in a specific section of The Daily Dispatch: February 16, 1861., [Electronic resource]. Search the whole document.

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Nessus (search for this): article 5
Going to bed--a Philosophical view. --The following is from the Chicago Journal: Some fling off their garments as if they wore the shirt of Nessus — wasn't that his name?--and were particularly anxious to get at it. Here whirls a vest in one corner — its contents jingling to the floor as it lies. There goes a boot ricochet. The stockings are turned inside out; the hapless coat hangs by its skirt to a nail, and the bed is attained with a bound. Pillows tumbled this way and that; the feet are inserted between the sheets, and, like a shuttle through a loom, down goes the body; one arm is flung under the head; lower jaw and eye-lids droop together, and the man is asleep — asleep all over — asleep for all night. Another goes telering about on his toes. He puts his watch here, his coat there, and his vest there. His boots stand side by side, like a brace of grenadiers; the tips of his stockings peep out systematically to the top; and if it be winter, he lingers upon the
1st (search for this): article 5
ll sleeping at once. Fifty thousand, in tiers of one, two, three, four, five deep, from cellar to garret. Fifty thousand in rows a mile long. Ten thousand in red nightcaps, tasseled and untasseled. Ten thousand in dingy ones that were white, Mondays and Mondays ago. Five thousand in silken ones. Some edged beautifully, some hemmed with a sail needle, and some uncapped altogether, with locks dishevelled and ruffled like "quills upon the fretful porcupine." Five thousand snoring alto--fMondays ago. Five thousand in silken ones. Some edged beautifully, some hemmed with a sail needle, and some uncapped altogether, with locks dishevelled and ruffled like "quills upon the fretful porcupine." Five thousand snoring alto--five thousand snoring bass. Twenty thousand under calico. A hundred or so beneath silk. Some weeping — some smiling in their dreams — others dreamless as the grave. Ringlets twisted up in cigar-lighters — tresses streaming over the pillow — no tresses at all. Even asleep, humanity preserves its peculiarities. Even in dreams, men are distinctive s