A HEAD ON HIM.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3554, 29 November 1882, Page 4

A HEAD ON HIM.

At the recent veteran's reunion in Chicago was Tbeo. It. Davis, the artist of Harper's Weekly, who was all through the war. There was one of the Chicago veterans who sometimes took in a little too much wet stuff, and who was a little excitable when full. The visiting, the music, tbe marching, the cheering, and the excitement of the reunion had made him feel quite excited, and he wanted to fight his battles over again, but the boys kept him quiet, and finally got him to bed, and soon he slept like a log. The boys were in the room telling stories, when someone called attention to the sleeping comrade, and in a second an idea occurrred to Davis, the artist. Ho went to his room and got his water-color paint, and brushes, and some court-plaster. Pretty soon the artist was at work with his soft camels-hair brushes. He first painted two black eyes, then he painted a swelling on one cheek, and on the forehead he painted what looked as though a sledge-hammer had smashed in the skull, and left the brain oozing out. Then the artist took some strips of court-plaster, and stuck one across the painted broken nose, another across the mouth, sealing both lips, and the boys stood back to look at the stricken man, and wait for the court-plaster to dry. The boys got a strange veteran from Oshkosh to personate a doctor. After a little the sleeper began to wake up, and one of his friends took a seat by his bedside, took hold of his pulse, and as he opened his eyes the friend said—'Now don't exert yourself, and don't try to talk. The doctor says you will be all right if you remain quiet. The victim of the joke opened his eyes, and was going to ask what was the matter, when he found his mouth held together by court-plaster, and hie voice sounded like that of a man with a hare lip asking someone to go to the devil. By this time one of the jokers was having trouble to keep from laughing, so he put a handkerchief to his face, sobbed, and said : 'My God, boys, this is horrible !' At this point the Oshkosh Jvillain said, hopefully : ' Don't be discouraged, my boy; we will pull you through, if you do not get excited. I have cured worse cases.' Then ho took a pair of scissors and cut the court plaster that held the lips together, and said : ' There, bow do you feel now ? Don't talk much, but don't you feel relieved ?' The victim looked at the doctor, and at the boys who were picturesquely standing around the bed, and said: 'Doc, for God's sake, what has happened to me ?' The doctor told him to be quiet, and then whispered, to him. 'You have had the worst fight that a man ever had and lived. A man attacked you on Wells-street with a view of robbing you, and you defended yourself, but it was a hard struggle. Mr Drury, please hand me that hand-glass. There, you can see for yourself. There is a contusion of the brain, the eyes are discoloured, and I thought your jaw was broken, but as you can talk I guess it is only fractured. Don't talk.' The victim took a long look at himself, and the first thing he said was : —' Is the other fellow alive ?' It was all the boys could do to keep from bursting, but they kept sober faces, and the doctor said the other fellow was alive, but ho was the worst used up man he ever sewed up. He said one arm was broken, and one eye gouged out, and his face looked as if a pile-driver had struck him. The victim smiled a satisfied smile as he heard how he had whipped the other fellow, and then the boys asked him if he had any message to send home. He took the mirror and looked at himself again, and then said :— 'Telegraph for my wife.' That was too much, and the boys roared, and the |doctor tore off the court plaster from his nose, another fellow brought a wefc towel and the paint was washed off, and when he was clean the boys handed him the mirror, and he looked at himself again, and then he saw it

was a joke, and ho wanted to kill some of them. —Peck's Sun.