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Show A CHINESE FUNERAL. Commercial Street Looses a ReFectb,e Celestial Citizen. A Chiuaman named Jo Ho, who sold tea, coffee and tire crackers a few doors below The Times office had his hand called by the angel of death on Sunday last, and as he : held nothing but jack-high jack-high he gavo up and cashed in his little stack of reds without waiting to roll up his ample trousers, he boldly waded into in-to tho river of death, and prepared to meet his ching ehoag relatives and friends beyant. " His friends ou. earth, who were legion. prepared to give .him a way. up send.' off, and they did so yesterday afternoon. On a vacant lot below the little brick ; store where Jo Ho had chattered in his musical mu-sical alarm clock vernacular a barrel was set up. On the barrel was a roast pig and a roast chicken and a raft of rice, oranges and other good things. Some people might imagine that they were for the use of the mourners, but they were not. They wero for old Jo himself. It's a long journey from Salt Lake to the blissful regions of the Confucian Con-fucian paradise and tho wandering spirit, if not provided with something to eat along the way, would be hungry enough to cat a bale of alfalfa by the time it reached the gates of the clysiuni and might damage the shrubbery shrub-bery around the the park. So all this side meat, etc., was fixed up so that the deceased might fare well along the route. The coffin was opened and the face of Jo Ho turned toward the feed provided for him so that his spirit might rejoico and say to itself, "Get on to the lunch." Jo Ho wasn't as pretty as some Chinamen China-men who have died before, but his wrath won't feel the pangs of hunger. to any alarming extent. In his mouth were two Chinese coins. These are for the ferryman who carries tho passengers across tho Mongolian Styx. Because if the passenger hadn't any money ho wonld have to stay ou this side forever, for the man who runs tho craft won't take any stand-off. The coffin was covered with gay Chinese cloths and then the proceedings proper began. A celestial musician played something on an oboe that sounded like getting your capillary moss abbreviated, abbrevi-ated, while a paid orchestra played, "Some Day I'll Wander Back Again," on a " cornet, tuba and bass drum. In addition to this three husky young mon welted cymbals until they couldn't rest. Then somebody set fire to a few joss sticks and tho corpse was put in a hearse, and the procession moved to the cemetery, tho band playing "The girl I left behind me." . " ; ' , . Arriving there, Jo Ho's. trunk and clothing were burned so that he could get them. His mortal frame was lowered low-ered to the bottom of his last resting place, pig, beef and a)l,and all was over. |