by Clay, Jeremy
At her open window in Buckingham Palace Gate is a wonderful green parrot, which attracts hundreds of people every day to hear him talk. The crowd on Sunday was so great that the policeman had to request the people to ‘move on.’
‘Move on,’ echoes the parrot, to the intense delight of the mob. ‘Polly, what is o’clock?’ asks a man. The parrot, pretending to look at the clock, cries out in answer – ‘Half-past five,’ and he was right.
I asked him how his mistress was? ‘Coming over soon, all right,’ replied the marvellous bird. ‘How old are you, Polly?’ ‘Don’t know. How old are you?’ was the answer, which, of course, provoked great merriment, in which the parrot joined. Asked what day of the week it was, the wretch hopped about screaming ‘Sunday; go to prayers. Ora pro nobis,’ and fell into a paroxysm of laughter which was quite contagious.
The Dundee Courier and Argus, September 20, 1889
Andrian, the Dog-Headed Man, and his Son, Fedor
The likenesses of the two extraordinary creatures on our front page are correct representations of the singular beings now being exhibited nightly at the Metropolitan Music Hall, Edgware Road.
The face of Andrian, the father, is covered with hair, and presents the appearance of one of the lower animals of the creation. He is fifty-five years of age, and has four teeth on the lower jaw and two on the upper – these are the only teeth he ever possessed; he is quiet and unobtrusive in manner, and has been for the greater part of his life a denizen of a Governmental forest, in Russia, called Kostroma.
While in his native wilds he was habited in skins of bears and other animals, and it was with much difficulty that he was prevailed upon to clothe himself in civilised costume.
The hair on his face, forehead, and ears appears in form and structure unlike that which usually grows on human beings.
The boy – his son, Fedor – is four years old; his face is covered with light coloured downy hair, resembling in some respects the soft fleecy wool of a lamb. He has four teeth on the lower jaw, but none on the upper. Fedor is a lively, merry little fellow. Both father and son have been presented at the Russian Court. They have also been exhibited at Paris, where they attracted crowds of curious and wonder-struck people. The dog-headed man and his son are most unquestionably the greatest phenomenon of the age. Whether there are other beings of a similar nature residing in the Russian forest, from whence they come, we are not able to say, but these two are interesting and remarkable in the highest degree.
The Illustrated Police News, February 7, 1874
Mock Modesty in Detroit.
Classical Statues to be Draped
It seems from an American cablegram, says a contemporary, that the mock-modesty which led the Americans of some generations ago to breech the legs – or rather limbs – even of their tables and chairs is not yet quite extinct.
Some ‘old women’ (of both sexes) inhabiting Detroit, supported by all the Presbyterian clergymen in the city, have delivered a solemn protest to the directors of the local art museum to the effect that the nude statues there shown were a corruption and a stumbling block to the youth of the city.
They indignantly demanded that all the statues should be draped, threatening to boycott the institution as a place of immoral resort unless their suggestions were immediately adopted. The directors, before such Horsleian fervour, have given way. They have issued an order that all the nude statuary in their galleries should be dealt with even as the hearts of the petitioners desired. They may as well sell them for tailors’ models at once.
The Citizen, Gloucester, July 9, 1890
An Unlucky Musician.
Curious Result of a Fall
A very curious case, says a Paris correspondent, has just been brought before one of the Rouen law courts.
Some time ago a tight-rope dancer was performing at a local music hall when the wire suddenly broke, and she fell from a giddy height right on the unfortunate conductor of the orchestra, who was so overcome by the shock that he fainted, and when he recovered consciousness was found to be both deaf and dumb!
The affair created no little excitement in the Norman town, and a tremendous controversy soon prevailed. The inhabitants, indeed, were divided into two camps – one side inclining to the opinion that the unlucky conductor was only shamming, while the other stoutly and indignantly maintained that there could not be the slightest doubt as to his good faith.
Although nearly two years have elapsed since the accident occurred the unfortunate musician has not uttered a syllable, nor has he shown the most feeble sign that he can hear a word that is addressed to him.
His application for damages, however, has been rejected. In the judgement it is set forth that if he became dumb it was not owing to his ‘receiving’ the tight-rope dancer on his head, but to the ‘saisissement’ resulting therefrom, attributable to his excessively nervous temperament.
This judgement is exciting a certain amount of criticism, considerable sympathy being felt in many quarters for the unlucky victim of the music-hall accident.
The Sunderland Daily Echo and Shipping Gazette, August 1, 1892
The Serious Accident by the Firing of a Cannon Ball
John Holtum, known among the music hall profession as Herr Holtum, was brought up on remand before the Leeds Stipendiary Magistrate, on Tuesday, charged with unlawfully wounding Elijah Fenton, on the 13th inst.
The prisoner is an athlete, and on the evening in question was performing at the Princess Concert Hall, Leeds, his chief feat being that of catching a nine pound cannon ball, fired from a breech-loading cannon.
He challenged any man to perform the same feat, and offered £50 to anyone who could do it. The bills announcing his benefit, which was on the night in question, gave a list of persons who had been wounded in making the attempt in various towns.
Three men came on to the platform to accept the challenge. The first to try to catch the ball was Mr Fenton, but when the cannon was fired it struck him on the head and knocked him down.
He was conveyed to the Infirmary, where it was found that his skull was fractured, and that he had received injuries to his nose. He is still under medical care. The prisoner was committed to the Leeds Borough Sessions, bail being allowed.
The Staffordshire Daily Sentinel, February 25, 1880
Suicide on the Stage
A German actress named Lola Banzolla committed suicide on Sunday before a crowded audience at Cilli in Styria.
She suddenly drew a revolver, and, exclaiming ‘’Tis love which kills me,’ shot herself in the breast.
Indescribable emotion mastered the audience at this sensational interruption of the play, and numbers of them sprang on to the stage, from which the mortally wounded actress was shortly afterwards conveyed to a hospital.
The Leeds Times, April 1, 1899
AND FINALLY …
Curious Phenomenon – Shower of Beef
Benicia, California: A shower of meat fell at the barracks in this city at eleven o’clock last Saturday morning.
The sound of the falling bodies resembled hail, and the pieces on examination proved to be bona fide beef.
The shower continued two or three minutes, extending over a space 400 yards long, by 100 broad, and the pieces perhaps in amount not less than 100 pounds, varied in magnitude, from the size of a filbert to a hen’s egg.
The meat was generally quite fresh, although some pieces were partly dried, as by exposure to the weather, and all had a ragged appearance, as if they had been torn from the bone, and swallowed by birds.
Two opinions exist as to the cause of the phenomenon; one, that a large number of carnivorous birds were above the spot, at such an altitude as to be invisible, and were caused to disgorge by some – perhaps electrical – change in the atmosphere; the other, that the meat had been blown to a great elevation by a whirlwind, whence it descended in the manner described.
The Hertford Mercury and Reformer, October 4, 1851
The Wild West.
; Desperate Fight Between Two Towns.
Making Arsenals of the Churches.
Kansas, Monday: The citizens of Ingalls on Saturday made an attack upon Cimarron town, owing to a dispute as to which place should be the county town.
After a desperate fight the Ingalls men raided the Clerk’s office at Cimarron, and carried off the records. Two men were killed outright, and about one hundred wounded. The citizens of Cimarron set out on Sunday to burn the town of Ingalls, but finding the military in possession postponed their revenge.
Both towns are now like two armed camps. Even the women are armed, and the churches have been turned into arsenals. A renewal of the war is expected shortly. Two citizens from the rival towns met on the road yesterday. They promptly fought, one being killed.
The Evening Telegraph and Star, Sheffield, January 14, 1889
An Incredible Story
The Indian Daily News says: Private George Samphier, of the G Company of the 78 Highlanders, saw a poor little girl about five years old drowning in the river Moola at Kirkee, and, jumping in, tried to save her, but the first attempt failed from the way the child clutched him.
The second time she had sunk, and he then dived and brought her to the surface, and managed to get her ashore, when Apothecary Dias recovered her with some difficulty.
Private Samphier helped to keep the people off from crowding the apothecary during the time he was endeavouring to resuscitate the child, and then returned to barracks.
There the officers in command of the detachment, with true British obtuseness, ordered him to be confined to barracks for 14 days for returning late.
The Dundee Courier and Argus, September 1, 1879
A Strange Journey.
From Vienna to Paris in a Packing Case
Securely packed in a big box, labelled ‘This side up,’ ‘With Care,’ ‘Fragile,’ and other reminders to railway porters, an Austrian tailor named Hermann Zeitung, according to the police report, has come in a train all the way from Vienna to Paris.
The affair seems incredible, but it is none the less an adamantine fact, and yesterday afternoon the daring tailor was sent off from the Eastern Railway Custom House to the Paris Central Police Station.
The following is the true and authentic version of the strange voyage and adventures of Herr Zeitung. He found himself bankrupt in Vienna, but as he was an able cutter, and had invented a new style of lady’s riding dress, he thought that by going to Paris he might be able to make capital out of his invention.
He accordingly ordered a large box, lined it well with straw, and got into it supplied with beer, bread, and sausages. A trustworthy friend or assistant, formerly in his employ, wrote the necessary directions on the box, which was then forwarded to the railway station for Paris.
Ingenious Hermann, the tailor, was thus conveyed by the Orient express across Austria, Bavaria, Wurtemberg, and Alsace into France. During nearly 60 hours he suffered purgatorial pains, for he was unable to move, drink or sleep, and could only squeeze a few pieces of bread and meat now and then into his mouth.
Sometimes he felt himself thrown violently on handcarts by porters while being transferred from one carriage to another; at others he was buried beneath a pile of boxes which threatened to crush in his ribs or smash his skull at any moment.
At last, after having undergone a time of indescribable torture, of which probably no one has ever before had experience, Herr Zeitung suddenly found himself longer than usual out of a railway van.
Then he knew that he had arrived at his destination, but the difficulty was now to extricate himself from his narrow wooden prison. He heard voices and people about him at every minute, and consultations were evidently being held over him, or, rather, his box, which was lying by an unusually long time without anybody coming to claim it.
At last he began to sneeze, and heard somebody mutter an exclamation. Then he coughed, and he heard himself tapped overhead.
Suddenly the lid of his case was lifted off, and out he jumped, to the amazement, if not the consternation, of a group of Custom House officials, who uttered a chorus of interjectory exclamations at beholding a veritable ‘Jack in the box’ in the shape of a stout under-sized man with a brown moustache, and clothes all covered with straw, salute them in a hang-dog manner, and accost them in a language which they did not understand.
The practical douaniers soon recovered from their very natural surprise, and taking in the situation they promptly made a prisoner of the sartorial parcel and marched him before their chief officer, who handed Hermann Zeitung over to the police.
At the station the tailor coolly remarked in German that he did not care about the consequences of his actions as he was now in Paris. He also promised the station superintendent to repay him as soon as he could, but all this he will have to settle with the magistrates.
The Nottingham Evening Post, January 18, 1890
A Duel on Bicycles.
Ludicrous Spectacle
A Paris correspondent says a duel on bicycles was fought in the Boulevard Ney late on Saturday night.
A large party of young fellows had been out cycling all day, and were returning home all very hilarious when two of them quarrelled, and decided to settle the dispute by duel with swords on their bicycles.
The two combatants were placed 50 yards apart, and then ordered to charge. They rode at one another at a furious pace, but overshot the mark and failed to meet. Wheeling quickly round they returned to the charge, and this time came together with a terrific shock.
Both were thrown, whilst the seconds who were following behind, also on bicycles, fell in their turn, and were both injured. Neither of the combatants touched the other with his sword, but in falling one ran his weapon into himself and his opponent injured his leg.
The Evening Telegraph and Star, Sheffield, August 17, 1896
An Incredible Story.
A Mad Mayor Bites Several Councillors
A telegram from Paris states: The newspapers on Saturday morning published an extraordinary telegram, which is received with some hesitation, although it gives the name and place.
The story is that, during the sitting of a provincial town council, the Mayor was suddenly seized with hydrophobia, and bit several of the councillors, who are now on their way to M. Pasteur for treatment.
There is, the telegram adds, no means of saving the Mayor’s life.
The Huddersfield Daily Chronicle, March 18, 1889
Extraordinary Escape of a Slave
Henry Box Brown, a fugitive slave from Richmond, Virginia, arrived a few days since at Liverpool, by the Constantine packet-ship, from America.
On the 29th of March, 1849, he escaped from bondage in rather a remarkable manner. He was packed in a box three feet long, two and a half feet deep, and two feet wide. Confined in this small space, he was forwarded by railroad and steam-boat from Richmond to Philadelphia, a distance of 350 miles.
The package was directed to one of the leading anti-slavery men in Philadelphia, and was twenty seven hours on the road. The sufferings of the poor fellow may be imagined when it is known that the only accesses for fresh air were through small gimlet holes in the sides of the box; and, although written directions were placed to ‘keep this side up,’ for more than two hours the box was turned upside down, the runaway slave being for that time with his feet up and his head down.
Brown is a fine intelligent-looking man, about thirty-five years of age. Since his escape from slavery he had earned a subsistence by exhibiting, in the free-states of America, a panorama of some of the appalling scenes resulting from the existence of slavery. He also delivered lectures against slavery, and thus rendered himself very obnoxious to the slaveowners of the States.
Under these circumstances it was not to be wondered that armed with the powers of the Fugitive Slave Bill, an attempt should be made to arrest him. Two such attempts were made, and it was with the greatest difficulty Brown made his escape to this country.
The Nottinghamshire Gua
rdian, November 14, 1850
Yorks v. Westmorland.
Fight on the Border
The Press Association’s Kirkby Stephen correspondent reports an extraordinary scene on the Westmorland and Yorkshire border. A large party, representing the Lords of the various manors, met near Sedbergh to ride the boundaries with a county flag. Certain points were in dispute, and the intention of the Westmorland men becoming known, a party of Yorkshiremen proceeded from Sedbergh and disputed their passage. A free fight occurred at Cautley Spout and blood flowed freely, but the Westmorland men ultimately proved victorious and the boundaries were properly asserted.
The Shields Daily Gazette and Shipping Telegraph, June 25, 1887
Extraordinary Scene at the Aberdeen University
An extraordinary and disgraceful scene was witnessed in Aberdeen, on Wednesday, in connection with the inaugural address of the Lord Rector of the University, Dr Alex. Bain.
The students, who had been refused the use of the Music Hall in consequence of unseemly proceedings on former occasions, pledged themselves to be orderly in their conduct, and thus obtained the use of the building.
They broke their pledge, however, and the meeting was the most riotous that has taken place in Aberdeen for a quarter of a century. The students marched in a body from the university, headed by itinerant musicians, pelting the people in the streets with peas and shoes, and singing ribald songs.
They boarded the tramway cars, pelting the conductors and passengers. On reaching the hall they found the door barricaded, and guarded by a number of stalwart shore porters engaged for the purpose.
After a disgraceful melee, the porters were overpowered, the doors were smashed, and the processionists rushed into the hall, causing the greatest alarm among the ladies and gentlemen who had gathered in the galleries.
