“No,” replied the Dying Man, “I was the aggressor.”
“Yes, I understand,” said the District Attorney; “you committed the aggression—you were compelled to, as it were. You did it in self-defence.”
“I don’t think he would have hurt me if I had let him alone,” said the other. “No, I fancy he was a man of peace, and would not have hurt a fly. I brought such a pressure to bear on him that he naturally had to yield—he couldn’t hold out. If he had refused to shoot me I don’t see how I could decently have continued his acquaintance.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed the District Attorney, throwing down his note-book and pencil; “this is all quite irregular. I can’t make use of such an ante-mortem statement as that.”
“I never before knew a man to tell the truth,” said the Chief of Police, “when dying of violence.”
“Violence nothing!” the Police Surgeon said, pulling out and inspecting the man’s tongue—“it is the truth that is killing him.”
The Massacre
Some Holy Missionaries in China having been deprived of life by the Bigoted Heathens, the Christian Press made a note of it, and was greatly pained to point out the contrast between the Bigoted Heathens and the law-abiding countrymen of the Holy Missionaries who had wickedly been sent to eternal bliss.
“Yes,” assented a Miserable Sinner, as he finished reading the articles, “the Heathens of Ying Shing are deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. By the way,” he added, turning over the paper to read the entertaining and instructive Fables, “I know the Heathenese lingo. Ying Shing means Rock Creek; it is in the Province of Wyo Ming.”