A lady called at a photograph gallery in Columbus, 0., the other day, with a baby whose photograph she desired taken. The necessary arrangements were made, the little cherub was propped up in a chair in the best possible position, and the artist was proceeding to adjust his camera, when the mother excused herself for a moment. The moment grew to minutes, and the minutes to hours. In short, the mother did not come back, and the artist finds himself with a ready-made baby on his hands, whose name and origin are unknown to him.

Illustrated Police News, March 26, 1880.

A few mornings since a terrible accident occurred; In the Long Island Brewery, on Powers, near Bergen street. by which Frank Gilram, an employee in the establishment, had his head blown to pieces by the explosion of a beer barrel. Gilram and Michael Quinn were engaged In cleaning barrels, which Is done by filling the vessel with hot water and slacked lime and then rolling it about in order to generate the gases. While they were thus engaged, a barrel which they were rolling exploded with a loud report and hurled the fragments in every direction. One of the pieces struck the head of Gilram, severing it from the body, and dashing it against the beams of the room so violently that it was crushed into a mass of blood, flesh and bone. Quinn was hurled to the distance of about twenty feet, where he laid in an insensible condition, but was not seriously injured. Gilram resided at No. 64 Union street, and leaves a wife and children.

Illustrated Police News, January 25, 1872.