"It wouldn't have been so bad if she had just dropped the Giant, and hung on to the bar herself. In that case he would probably have broken his left leg and arm and collar bone, just as he did break them, but his ribs would have been all right. As it was, the Female Samson's head came down just in the centre of him, and stove in about three-fourths of his ribs. She wasn't hurt at all, for, being a woman, and falling on her head, there was nothing for her to break, and the Giant was so soft that falling on him didn't even give her a headache. When some volunteers from the audience had picked up the Giant and put him on a stretcher and carried him to the hospital, where the doctors did their best to mend him, the Female Samson had a chance to explain, and the finding of a long scarf-pin on the platform, just under the bar, was evidence that she had told the truth, and corroborated the red stain on her stocking. [Illustration: "IT TOOK FOUR MEN AND A POLICEMAN TO HOLD HER."] "It took four men and a policeman to hold her, and get her locked up in her room, she was that set on tearing the Dwarf into small pieces, and she'd have done it too, if she could have got at him. He had sense enough to see the situation, and to discharge himself without waiting for me to discharge him. He ran away in the course of the night, and I never saw him again. I don't think he ever went into another Dime Museum, and I have heard that he got a situation as inspector of gas meters, which is very probable, considering what a malicious little rascal he was. Well, we have to deal with all sorts of people in our business, and I suppose it's the same with you, though you haven't mentioned what your business is. But you take my advice and steer clear of Dwarfs. There ain't a man living that can do anything with them except with a club, and no man likes to take a club to anything as small as a Dwarf." W. L. ALDEN. * * * * * _Lamps of all Kinds and Times._ [Illustration] [Illustration] * * * * * _Two Styles: A Tale with a Moral._ [Illustration] Uffizzi Robbinson was blessed with a very full rich, tenor voice but a very empty purse and he stood in need of a HOLIDAY. So he cut his hair & otherwise disguised himself & went off to Brighton, and having hired a piano & boy took up his station on the front and started in to make his fortune. He sang song after song, all of them highly classical, in his most approved style, but his audience being limited and critical, his prospects looked gloomy. A gentle hint from his boy set him thinking!! He DISAPPEARED!!! A shadow on the blind gave the only indication of what he was doing!! Until one evening he reappeared on the front in all the glories of collar & banjo, sang vulgar comic songs in a vulgar comic manner to a vast and appreciative audience and lived in clover for the rest of the season. * * * * *