Ng Nan, a Chinaman, died yesterday at 295 Main street, his countrymen say of liver trouble.  He has been in this country a number of years and, for a long time, lived in Denison.  Recently, he removed to Fort Worth, and five days ago, came to Dallas, sick, and stopped with his cousin, Way Sing, where, as above stated, he died.
     The funeral took place from Smith’s undertaking shop at 10:30 a. m.
     The following were the pall bearers: Yee Wing, Ah Po, Ah Non and Way Sing. The only ceremony at the cemetery was that of burning the clothes of the deceased by the side of the grave.
Ng Nan is the second Chinaman buried here.  Undertaker Smith says about nine years ago, he buried a Chinaman in the potter’s field at public expense.  Several years afterwards, a cousin of the dead man came from San Francisco and employed him to dig up the remains so the bones could be sent to China, the Chinese having a superstition that if they are buried out of their own country, their spirits will not show up in the right place.
     The evening before the day on which the body was to be dug up, the Chinaman and his friends placed three loaves of bread and a peck of apples on the supposed grave and left them there over night.  Next morning, they instructed Mr. Smith to proceed to dig.  He did so, and to the great disappointment and grief of the cousin, instead of the dead Chinaman, he dug up a red-headed woman.  Mr. Smith says the way the Chinaman took on was one of the most touching exhibitions of grief he ever witnessed.  The Chinaman then tore paper into small bits and threw them up, believing the spirits would make them fall on the right grave, but they scattered in every direction, and the sorrowing relative had to give up all hope of finding the bones of the departed and reconcile himself to the belief that his soul was forever lost.

     There is trouble in the Chinese colony in Dallas.  The Chinese are said to be inveterate gamblers, and recently, several of them were indicted for infraction of the law, which is leveled against persons backing their judgment in the good old-fashioned way.  This was followed on yesterday evening by the arrest of Willie Foo, on an affidavit sworn to by Ah Hing.
     Foo gave bond for his appearance in Justice Lauderdale’s court.
     Foo, who has a store on South Ervay street, and who is preparing to open a restaurant on Main street, says it is all a put up job on him; that in the effort to break up gambling, he had the owners of the game indicted.  This not only incensed the owners, but also, those who bucked at the game, and they sought to get even by accusing him of playing Deputy Tax Collector and collecting from his country, $2 each, a month.
     A TIMES HERALD reporter interviewed a Chinaman, whose name he failed to grasp, at Sam Choi’s old stand.  This Chinaman said Foo borrowed some money from a Chinaman, and when it fell due, he threatened to have the lender indicted for gaming if he attempted to collect, and did have him indicted; that Foo did collect $2 from every Chinaman in town last month by representing himself as a wealthy Deputy Tax Collector.
     Having noticed a new Chinaman in town, dressed somewhat differently from the ordinary Chinaman, the reporter asked the Chinaman at Sam Choi’s, who the new comer was, and the Chinaman said:
     “He Clistian. Glot sloft jlogb. Tlabble in Melica and tell pleple (the Chinese) to glo Slunday Sklool.  Stay nice.  He clum Dallas, Flort Wut, Blelton, all alound. Clistians play [pay] him.  Stop Olient hotel.  Name Johnny Foo,” by which he meant to say that Johnny is a Christian missionary and is employed by the Christian sect to travel in America and induce the Chinese to go to Sunday school and be nice boys.

    The biggest Chinaman in town is dead.
    His name was Ah Toy and he was one of the proprietors of the restaurant No. 196 Main street, better known as the Moen restaurant.
    He died suddenly at about 8 o’clock this morning, supposedly from heart disease.
    Ah Toy had lived in Dallas about three months, having come here from Galveston where he has a brother in the restaurant business.  He worked all last night at the restaurant and was on duty until about 7 o’clock this morning, when he was suddenly seized while about to sit down to breakfast.
    He slipped from the chair to the floor and was picked up by one of his assistants in a spasmodic condition.
    An eye witness said he was breathing like a wind-broken horse.
    He was put in a hack and taken to his home at 185 Ross avenue, where his cousin lives.
    Dr. Reeves was called in but the Chinaman was unconscious and remained so until he died.  Death was due to heart disease.
    His brother in Galveston was telegraphed and will arrive tomorrow morning and take charge of the remains.  It is very likely the remains will be embalmed and shipped to California.
    Toy was one of the partners in the Jim Wing Company, which operates two restaurants in Dallas.
    Joe Sing, one of the proprietors of the Moon, told a Times Herald reporter this afternoon that he attributed Toy’s death to too great an indulgence in ice cold watermelon and cold drinks.  Toy was very large and he thinks this caused his death.
    Toy had been complaining for several days of not feeling well.

    A Times Herald reporter repaired this morning to the home of Ah Toy, the deceased Chinaman, who died yesterday at 185 Ross avenue.
    The death of [the] Chinaman is something out of the natural order of things, and the newspaper man imagined he would learn something of interest.
    A very small girl, possibly 4 years old, in a little blue gingham, volunteered the information that there was a dead Chinaman in there, pointing to the house, and that they were going to ship him to China.
    Unfortunately, the information from this mature young lady was not correct, as was discovered when a little Chinaman came to the door of the house, No. 185, in response to a knock.
    After some hesitation and a hurried conference with several other Celestials inside, the reporter was admitted.
    The crowd of morbid children that had collected around the undertaker’s wagon drawn up in front of the door, moved uneasily, and several of the more curious ones endeavored to squeeze past the small Chinaman into the house.
    These attempts were gently, but firmly, frustrated.  The door was closed, and the reporter ushered into a rear room, where Ah Toy lay in the habiliments of death.  He was dressed in a fine lilac-colored blouse and navy blue trousers.  On his feet were low tan shoes.
    Undertaker Loudermilk, who was preparing a large coffin to receive the dead and portly Chinaman, greeted the reporter.
    Five Chinamen, with queer, solemn faces, stood around the corpse, occasionally glancing curiously at the body of the dead Chinaman.  There were no evidences of grief, as expressed in the usual way.
    Just before the body was transferred to the coffin, one of the Chinamen came forward and dropped a silver half dollar into the empty case.
    Whether or not this was to propitiate the Celestial Jess, or reward the grim Charon for his trouble in ferrying the dead man’s soul across the lonely waters of Stix, is open to question.
    No information on this score could be gathered from the sad Celestials.
    The dead man was formerly a merchant in the Chinese quarter of San Francisco.
    One of the Chinamen volunteered the information, that while thus, he “broke” just like the Melican man.
    His brother, a well-to-do Chinaman, arrived this morning from Galveston.
    While the body was being prepared for burial, he was not present, but when all that was mortal of Ah Toy lay nicely fixed in the coffin, he was summoned in from the outside.
    He looked at his brother as he lay in the coffin, without any demonstration of grief noticeable, and then with Oriental stoicism, retired to the front room, where he remained sitting in a chair with his face to the wall, until all the arrangements were over.
    Contrary to accepted tradition, Ah Toy will not be shipped to far off China.  Neither will he be sent to ‘Frisco.
    He will be interred in Greenwood Cemetery at 3 o’clock to-day.
    His Chinese friends, about twelve in number, will be present.  They told the reporter that the funeral would be of the accepted type, and have nothing of an Oriental cast about it.

    A quiet wedding took place at 4 o’clock yesterday afternoon at the residence of Mr. James Wah, corner of Ross avenue and Lamar street.  The contracting parties were Mr. Wah and Mrs. Catherine Vaughan Bell.  Mr. Wah is a native of China, and is engaged in the laundry business.  Mrs. Vaughan Bell-Wah is a native of Kentucky, a member of the proud Anglo-Saxon race, and is a professional nurse.  Justice J. M. Skelton performed the ceremony.  A News reporter was given a tip that the celestial had taken unto his heart and home an American bride and made a bee-line for the Wah residence to extend his congratulations and obtain the details of the wedding.  When he arrived there, he found the doors locked and a gentleman in the next house remarked, “After an item?  Well, Jim and his new wife left after the knot had been tied and are calling on friends, I guess.  Call later and you’ll find Jim.”  At 9 o’clock, the scribe paid a second visit and found Mr. Wah in the front office busily engaged in sorting out soiled linen for to-day’s washing.  His face was all smiles.  He extended his right hand and said, “News man.  Velly good.  Me Jim Wah.  Aha! Aha!  Velly good.  News man, him wanted item?”
    The News reporter congratulated Mr. Wah and asked if Mrs. Wah was at home to representatives of the press.
    “Don’t say a word to him, Jim.  Don’t say a word,” were the words of warning wafted from a room on the right, evidently the sleeping apartments of the Wah domicile.  Mr. Wah heeded not the warning.  It was his wedding night, and he was willing that all the world should become acquainted with the fact that he had joy in his heart and was at peace with the world.  He appeared to enjoy the rather embarrassing situation, into which the representative of the News had been plunged.  “Don’t tell him a thing, Jim,” was the second warning from the bride.  Mr. Wah continued to smile and said nothing.  “Madame,” said the scribe, “I am in possession of all the facts connected with your rather romantic marriage, but prefer to have them from the lips of the party most concerned.  The News will publish your story without the addition of any spectacular frills.”  This broke the ice, and Mrs. Wah and The News reporter were on a friendly footing, at once, although separated by a partition and a portiere.  She said, in substance:
    “I married Jim Wah to-day, and I did not plunge headlong into wedlock with a Chinaman until I had given the subject calm and deliberate thought and careful consideration.  He loves me, and I love him, and we will get along all right.  For a Chinaman, he is very intelligent.  He is also very industrious, kind and considerate.  I do not regret the step which I have taken.”
    “Are you a Texan?”
    “No, I was born in Hopkinsville, Ky., thirty-five years ago and educated at Bardstown in a convent.  My maiden name was Katherine Vaughan.  My first husband was Dr. D. Bell, who belonged to one of the best families in Kentucky.  My married life was unhappy.  Finally, my husband deserted me and came to Texas.  At San Antonio, eight years ago, a person shot Dr. Bell, but did not kill him.  Dr. Bell died from the effects of the wounds inflicted.  I had one child, a boy, who is now in his ninth year.  My first marriage was a failure and I made up my mind to remain a widow.  I received an excellent common school education and a medical education, as well.  I am a trained nurse, and have worked in leading hospitals in San Francisco, St. Louis and other American cities.  I came to Texas three years ago, and have worked like a dog to support myself and my boy, Aloysius.  The little fellow has sold papers to assist me, and has done all in his power to aid his mother.  I have had bad luck in Texas, and the parties I have nursed for, declined to pay me a cent.  I was without money, and hence, could not get out of the state.  And so, I became the wife of Jim Wah.”
    “How long have you known Mr. Wah?”
    “I met him first last winter, but nothing was said about marriage until ten days ago.”
    “But when did you and Mr. Wah do your courting?”
    “Courting?  Why, there was no courting connected with it.  The ideal!”  and Mrs. Wah laughed heartily.
    “No courting, and yet married to-day.  Well, this is a queer way of doing business,” remarked the reporter, and Mr. Wah laughed and showed his white teeth.  He has a fair knowledge of English and enjoyed the conversation hugely.
    “No, there was no courting.  He loved me and told me so.  During the past three weeks, I have had three proposals of marriage.  Why, one of the offers came from a newspaper man.  He works for the (mentioning the name of a weekly newspaper).  I came to the conclusion that Jim Wah was the best man in the lot, and told him that I would accept his proposition and become his wife.  Jim has been attending Sunday school, and one or two members of the church where he has worshipped, tried to persuade him not to marry.  One of these parties told him that I was ‘no good.’  I have led a correct life and I produced letters from substantial parties and read the documents to Jim.  They did all in their power to keep him from marrying me, but he loved me and believed in me, and to-day, he visited the courthouse and secured the license.”
    “Have you relatives in Texas?”
    “An aunt in Dallas -- that’s all.  My father and mother are dead.  I have relatives in Kentucky.  You think it strange that I should marry a Chinaman.  Go to San Francisco, and you will see hundreds of white women -- good women, too -- whose husbands are celestials.  I know the Chinese character.  I studied the Chinese in San Francisco.  They are industrious, kind and upright.  They get along well with their American wives.  A Chinese husband is preferable to an American, who will get drunk, beat, starve and maltreat a woman, and perhaps desert her, in the end, for another woman.  I know my relatives will feel chagrined when they learn of my marriage, but I was compelled to fight the world for my own support and to raise my boy.  I am responsible for my own actions, and am willing to bear the consequences.”
    “But, the boy?  What has he to say anent [about] his new father?”
    “Well, poor lad, he doesn’t like it a little, but he will get used to it.  He is fearful that the boys will tease him because his mother married Jim Wah.”  There was a tremor in the voice of the bride that was easily detected by the scribe, but it escaped Jim Wah, evidently, as he was too full of bliss to notice trifles.
    “Mrs. Wah,” asked the News missionary, “pardon the presumption displayed, but are you a blonde or brunette?  A marriage notice without a description of the bride would be as barren of interest as the play of ‘Hamlet’ with Hamlet omitted.  My eyes can not penetrate the partition, and it is impossible at this hour to secure X-rays?”
    “I am very tired,” said Mrs. Wah, “but I am a blonde -- almost red-headed.”
    “Have you a photograph handy?”
    “No, and I don’t want my photo in The News.”
    In response to an urgent invitation of the reporter, Mrs. Wah rose from her couch, dressed and materialized.  She seated herself in a chair, the reporter mounted to a box and Mr. Wah leaned upon an ironing-board and listened attentively to the conversation that ensued.  Mrs. Wah is on the shady side of 30, has blue eyes, reddish hair and sharp features.  She is below the medium in height and will weigh 112 or 115 pounds.  She is a fluent talker, and for the next ten minutes, discussed her early life, her school days, her marriage, the death of her husband, her experience in Texas, and the circumstances leading up to her acquaintance with Jim Wah.
    “I have married him,” she said, “and I am going to make him a good wife.  I am confident that he will prove true and make me a kind and devoted husband.”
    The portieres parted at this juncture, and a little lad of 8 or 9 years came into the room and peeped into the face of The News representative.  “I am Aloysius Bell,” said he, “and I sell newspapers.”  The boy, whose stepfather is a celestial, is a manly little fellow, with large, blue eyes and flaxen hair.  The reporter then turned his attention to Mr. Wah.  “Jim,” said he, “is it true that this is your second venture?”
    Mr. Wah bowed assent.
    “Your first wife was a white woman?”
    Mr. Wah bowed again.
    “He was fooled the first time,” interposed Mrs. Wah.  “He secured a divorce from his first wife.  It was last May, I believe.”
    Mr. Wah then broke in” “Velly young woman.  Don’t like no more; velly young woman,” and the laundryman chuckled.
    “How many of your countrymen in Dallas have American wives, Jim?” queried the reporter.
    “Jim Koon and Willie Foo.  No more Chinamen white wives.  Velly good women.”
    The reporter again congratulated Mr. and Mrs. Wah, shook hands with the couple, cordially, and departed.  Just as he reached the sidewalk, Mr. Wah said: “Good night.  I think she velly good for me.  Put him in newspaper.”
    Jim Wah is 40 years old, has been in America fifteen years, and in Dallas, three years.  It is said that he is well-to-do, and has a snug bank account.

    Shortly after 10 o’clock this morning , fire which originated on the second floor of the house of Jim Wah, a Chinaman, at the corner of North Lamar street and Ross avenue, destroyed one of the oldest landmarks in the city.  The house for the past ten years has been occupied by Jim Wah, and was used as his residence and laundry.  The fire, which originated through a defective flue, not only destroyed the interior of the house and much of the furniture, but also burned up much of the washing which was ready for delivery.  There was no insurance on the house, and it has been some two years since Wah has paid his insurance.
    The house which was destroyed, is one of two, that for years, have stood side by side, at the corner of Lamar street and Ross avenue.  These two houses were built by W. J. Clark and J. H. Bryan, of the firm of Clark & Bryan, who were merchants in Dallas from 1867 until 1876.  The house which was damaged, was built by W.J. Clark on the site of the old compress in 1868.  In 1874, it was moved to the site it now occupies.  The house which adjoins it was built in 1867 by J. H. Bryan, and at the time, was considered one of the most up-to-date houses in the city.  Being a frame, it was veneered with brick on the inside.  For years, these houses were occupied by their owners.
    The fire was discovered in the absence of Mr. Wah, though he arrived home in time to assist his wife to a place of safety.  To a Times Herald reporter, Mr. Wah said:
    “I have no insurance on my furniture, but what makes me feel bad is that fact that much of the laundry has been destroyed.  My wife, too, is sick, and I don’t know just what I will do.”
    When the fire department arrived, the interior of the house was a mass of flames, though with several streams of water, the firemen confined the damage by fire to the rooms on the second floor, although everything on the first floor was flooded with water.

    Sam Choi, who runs a laundry at 153 South Ervay street, gave bond at the sheriff’s office yesterday evening in three cases, in which he was indicted by the present grand jury on charges of selling opium.  The bond in each case was fixed at $250; the alleged offense being a misdemeanor under the Texas law.
    Special Grand Jury Bailiff C. B. James and Alex Pegues worked up the evidence in this case, watching Sam Choi’s place for many days and nights, before they felt justified in bringing the case to the attention of the grand jury.  The offense is punishable by fine, the maximum limit being $200.

    Suits for damages amounting to approximately $16,000, have been filed with district clerk against the owners of the building at 910 Main street, which collapsed August 9.  The suits were filed by W. H. Atwell for the Chinese, who operated a cafe under the name of Jim Wing.
    The owners of the Jim Wing cafe ask damages in the amount of $4,935, for fixtures and stock lost when the building collapsed.  The owners of the cafe are listed as Joe Sehong, Joe Kylook, Joe Chong, Joe Yium, Jew Toung and Yue Chow Hoy.
    Jew Teung and Joe Wing ask damages for personal injuries in the amount of $10,370 and $831, respectively.