I
V
1
A
VOL. III.
ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON: MARCH 2, 1883.
NO. 30.
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:
COLUMBIAN
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!
T RKVAUICATIOX IN I.OVK.
It was a lover !vol a mait
That hal a f.uh.r who
Was thought to he by all th worhl
Kxreiiiugiy well-to do.
Oh, be my wif.," th. lover crie.1:
"My LriJ', my jno'n. my own:"
'You "do not lov' uw." sh replied,
"I fear, for myself aloiie.
"My. pa. he is a wealthy man;
His only chilI am I.
And all liia riches shall le mi in?
Whenever he shall lie.
"Hut riohes. the apostle pay?.
L'nto themselves take wing; oh.
If pa were por would vou love me.'";
' 1 would," he fried, "by jino!''
"I am so glad -i knew you would
I in vutir love are blest;
Pa failed la.-t night," she yobb-d and nk
t'pon lier lover's bieur-t.
"That makes not a b t of ilitteremv,"
That gallant lover cried,
So 1 have you I eare not who
May take all ee beside."
That night when her lover took hi leave
At twenty minutes to one.
.c he w hii-peied soltly in his e;tr,
Parting, I a- in tun.
"Ti ne, pa has failed, but he his pi'.e
Ha.l duly salted by;
I only wished to ti v your truth
Iarling, how glad am I,
For uow I know you would love m well,
Kven in poverty."
And as he went home, the lover,
Who was by no means green.
Blithely hugged himself and sans
"I know what failures mean."
C'ineinnati Commercial.
foot: little sur.
Up in Tompkins County, X. Y., lives
a well-to-do iariner, named Pitkins, with
his wife and two daughters. Having no
sons he is dependent on hired help, ? the
supply of w hich is regulated according
to the season, a number of farm hands
being necessary during planting and
harvesting of crops, while one being
usually the only assistant needed in the
winter. Realizing the need of a boy on
the place to do the chores for which it
did not justify to hire a man, Fitkins
talked the matter over with his wife, and
they decided to select a waif from the
poorhouse and raise him up as one of
the family, which, of course, meant food
and clothing until he was of age, and
three months schooling in the winter.
With Farmer Pitkius, to decide was to
act, so the next day he and Mrs. Pitkius
drove over in the buggy to the county
poor house and made application for an
orphan. The superintendent, always
willing to dispose of bis charge to farm
ers, ordered out tbe boys in line for a re
view, and Pitkins and his wife eyed the
boys closely and talked with them. He,
with an eye to service, selected a large,
strong boy; but she, with it motherly
instinct, more akin to sympathy, picked
out little Sut, the 'subject of the
sketch.
"Why, Mary," exclaimed Pitkins,
'he's too small!"
"But he'll grow, John, and then I like
his looks better."
"Looks! tut, tut! What have looks got
to do with itr
"A great deal. If we are to adopt him
and raise him up as a son, and even if he
is only to be a farm hand, Ave do not
want a boy to grow up dishonest and
vicious. 1 don't like tho big boy's
face."
Ho, Farmer Pitkins grumbled a little
over her choice, as he lifted Sut into the
buggy between them and drove home.
The boy was indeed small for service ou
a farm, but beseem'ed grateful for the
home, and was willing to do all the busy
tasks his hands were put to, and would
put his little hand ou his tired back
without a murmur, after a long time
sawing wood. Mrs. Pitkins seemed
drawn tow ard him by his very diminu
tive size and strength, while Pitkins
seemed almost tc dislike him, and was
always grumbling about the boy's being
too small, although the . farmer's wife
very sensibly would remark that she be
lieved the willingness of a small boy
would accomplish more than the unwill
ingness of one tw ice his size. As little
Sut wasn't large enough to wait on the
girls, they rather sided with their father
and made the poor boy's life rather un
pleasant by teasing him.
Thus matters went on for a season or
so, while one farm hand after another
came and went, and although colts and
calves and pigs and chickens ali grew
and fattened on the place, little Sut
seemed at a standstill and failed to come
up to Mrs. Pitkin's assertion that he
would grow.
"It's no use, Mary, waitiug for this
boy to grow. I must take him back to
the poorhouse and get a larger boy. You
-.can go with me and select tho boy, but
he must be larger."
Mrs. Pitkius, with a feeling of tender
ness toward tho little homeless waif she
had selected, hadn't tho heart to go and
pick out a boy to supplant him in the
home that now seemed as dear to him as
if he had been born in it, so Mr. Pitkins
drove over alone, while the farm hand
took the wagon and drove to tbe mill for
lumber, leaving Mr. Pitkins, the two
girls and little Suton the farm alone, ex
cept a little dog which Sut had been al
lowed to adopt from the roadside, the
cattle on a farm scarcely being counted
as company by lone women who can
not look to them for tho protection
which even a boy or small dog can at
tempt. Trumps, miserable, dangerous out
casts, seem to be the constant menace of
unprotected farmers, especially the
roinen who are so often left alone. Little
Sut was in the barn,' with hia dog, sort
ing potatoes, when his attention was
called by hearing one of the girls
scream, and looking out, to his surprise
'and terror, he saw a man rush out at the
v
kitchen door in pursuit of one of tho
girls. " With a boyish impulse, Sut ran
ut with a basket of potatoes in his hand,
followed by the dog, ;which he urged to
a fierce attack on the man. The little
dog went gallantly into the fight and set
his teeth so vigorously into the legs of
the tramp, that the girl was enabled to
escape from him and run to a neighbor's
for assistance. Little Sut realized that
there was work fori him to do. The
screams which came from the house
plainly indicated that the one man was
not the only enemy j on the place, and
with a shout little Sut rushed in to find
another tramp on the point of overcom
ing Mrs. Pitkins and the other daughter
in u fierce struggle, in which he had al
most torn their clothing off.
The noise that little Sut made and the
vigorous fusillade ofj potatoes that he
hurled at the tramp so disconcerted him
that it allowed the two women a chance
to escape and lock themselves in a room
up stairs. Poor little Sut and his dog
wero left alone to contend with the two
enraged tramps; the' fight was uneven
and short, the dog was driveu from the
field, and little Sut stood alone at bay.
Suddenly one of the tramps, who had
been keeping an eye open for danger.saw
approaching the farmer, to whose house
the other daughter had fled, and giving
the alarm, tho two desperadoes rapidly
made their escape to the thick woods
near by. i
They had done theiri work cruelly and
well. Little Sut layliu the corner mo
tionless where he fellj and the neighbor
had him on the bed, while Mrs. Pitkins
and her daughters went over to him and
frantically called his name. There was
a gurgling sound in! his throat, and a
little stream of blood j trickled down the
side of his mouth and stained the white
ruffled slip of the pillow. Just then Sut
opened his eyes as MrJ Pitkins returned
from selecting another boy to take his
place. A little cut! on Sut's breast
showed where the knife had penetrated
his lungs, and the gurgling sound was
the blood that was forcing its life tide
inside. !
"Did I drive 'em off?"'
That was all little Sut ever said, but
with a smile on his face and the blood
streaming from his mouth, ho died in tbe
arms of Farmer Pitkins, who had gone
to 8wo) him off because he was too small
to do anything. j
A little grave down at the village
churchyard, Kept green by three grateful
women, and fragrant j with perfumes of
flowers, is all now left on earth of little
Sut, but somewhere we know he has
gone where they do not think him too
small. '
Found at L&t.
t
Almost every night of his life for the
last twenty-three years' a Detroiter has
been aroused , from his slumbers by a
poke in the rib3 and a voice whispering:
"John, do you hear that?"
On such occasions the conversation has
always run in one channel, and about as
follows: ;
"Whazzer want?" ;
"Don't you hear that noise?"
"No."
"Listen! I tell you some one is raising
a window." j
"Oh bosh!" ;
"For Heaven's sake, John, get up, or
we'll be murdered in bur beds! I hear
some one moving around in
room!" !
"Let 'em move." I
tho dining
"There i is again! If you don't get up
I will, for 1 m all in a chill!
There was no peace until John got up
and stumbled around the house -with a
rusty old revolver in his crrip. He never
expected it was anything more than the
wind or the frost, or the cat, but almost
every night brought a repitition. ,
The other night ushered in an entire
change of programme, j Just before mid
night the wife elbowed his spine and
whispered:
"Mercy on me! but I feel a draught of
cold air!" 1
"Nonsense!" growled the sleepy hus
band. "And I hear some one walkin"
arouud." j
'It's the cat." j
"Get out of bed this Jminute, or I will
yell murder and arouse the neighbor
hood!" !
John obeyed. He felt the cold air
on his legs as he tramped through the
upper hall, and when he was half way
dowli stairs a dark figure skipped out
of the open front door. When he
reached the threshold he saw a man run
ning across the street. He called out to
him: j
"Hello there hold on!"
The man halted. !
"Come back here.j you burglar!
Come back and I'll give you the run of
the house. I've been waiting for and
expecting vou over twenty years, and
now I don't want to
manner!"
"You go to South
be shook in this
America!" shouted
the man. j
"Well, I'll leave the j door open for
you and you can enter and burglar
around for a whole hour, if you want
to, and I won't lift a finger. I'm glad
you got iu powerful glad, and I'm
sorry I drove you out before you had
loaded up."
He left the door open: and walked up
stairs and jumped into bed, but his wife
threw up a window and whistled for the
Xolice and raised buch a racket that the
neighbors were roused. It vas found
that the robber had opened the front
door with a false key but had been
driven away before he had time to se
cure any plunder. I
"I've just got tired of poking around
for bnrglars," as he waived the crowd
out of the hall, "and if this chap had
only stopped long enough to fire at me
a couple of times, hanged if I wouldn't
have bought him a new; overcoat."
I
.-1
Finding a Father.
About 30 years ago there resided upon
a farm, a few miles northeast of the city
of Oakland, a man named Thomas A.
Fairbanks, who, if not in affluent circuni
stances was, as the saying is, "comfort
ably fixed," with a good home, a happy
family, consisting of a wife and two chil
dron. He was proud in the strength of
! his manhood, and had a panorama of his
life for the twenty years to come been
spread out before him he would have
scoffed at the picture. Sickness came,
and after years of unavailing care, in
1857 he laid tho mother of. his children
away in the grave. The long illness in
his family and consequent expenses
made it advisable for him to dispose of
his homestead, and his children, then
quite smallf were taken in charge by a
a 1 m' ?. il. .
sister oi nis ueeeaseu wne, wuo, says me
San Jose Mercury, shortly returned with
them to her homo in Massachusetts.
Fairbanks camo to this valley soon after
to make a new home, fully expecting in
a little time to again be able to gather
his children under his own roof. But
man proposes and God disposes. Soon
after his arrival here, while engaged ia
his vocation as a farmer, his team ran
awav and he was thrown under a wagon
and had one of his sides literally
crushed. His wounds wero very pain
ful, and trouble him even yet. During
his long illness physicians sought to
alleviate his agonies by the use of opium
and with the usual result. He became
an opium fiend. At times he struggled
against the habit, which he knew was
deadening both body and mind. He
might still have recovered had he not
again been the victim of misfortune.
But again he was crushed and his limbs
were mangled this time by the caving of.
a well which he was digging. Then his
courage left him, and he abandoned him
self to the use of the baleful weed, and
for the past twelve or fifteen years he
has been most of the time an inmato of
the county infirmary, and constantly so
for the past six years, until ten months
ago, when Dr. Kelly, one of the visiting
physicians, became interested in the
quiet, patient old man, and determined
to give him a better hoine. Since then,
Fairbanks, now upward of seventy years
of age, has been thoroughly content, and
has striven earnestly to make all possi
ble returns in tho way of light chores,
for the kindness of the doctor, whom he
regards in the light of a benefacior. A
week ago he received a letter. An event
in itself, as he had not received a letter
from any one in a half a score of years,
and did not suppose that outside of this
valley there was a friend anywhere who
remembered him. His memory was
weakened by the drug which had been
his solo luxury for years, and he scarce
ly remembered that he had children
somewhere in the world. The letter was
opened with trembling hands. It was
signed fwith a name that he had never
heard, but it contained queries which
agitated him greatly, although it was
very brief. It merely asked if he had
ever lived at Fruitvale, in Alameda coun
ty, and if he was the father of a daugh
ter named Albertina.
He recognized the name of his daugh
ter, of whom he had not heard for many
years, but Fruitvale ho knew nothing of.
He showed his letter to his best friend,
and described to him the location of his
former home, which is where Fruitvale
Station now is. By tho advice of the
doctor he answered the letter, giving as
fall account of his own and the history
of his family as he could recall. A few
days ago he received a letter from tho
same inan, stating that he was the hus-
band of Albertina Fairbanks, for whose
father they had spent ten years in un
availing search, and that they believed
him to be the man. He will be sent to
Oakland in a few days for an interview,
but the circumstances are such as to
leave no room to doubt that the old man
has found a home for his declining years
and that the few years remaining to him
will be made as happy as possible. Dr.
Kelly speaks of him as honest, indus
trious and faithful, having but the one
vice, and that tho result of his injuries.
IT a lie-ins With Vim io It.
Let us present ourselves at a genuine
country dance in Vermont. The musi
cians have just come in and taken the
seats provided for them on a slightly
raised platform at one end of the long
hall. About fifty or sixty "couples" of
young people are scattered about through
the hall, some in merry groups, talking;
others, more bashful, clinging to each
other's arms and waiting in silence for
the music to strike up. After the usual
pielude of shrilling and tooting the
leader of the little orchestra nods to the
floor manager, who promptly steps for
ward and shouts: "Gentlemen, please
take partners for ," as the dance may
bo. If it is a waltz, the expectant swain
awkwardly and blushingly encircles the
fair one with his arm and begins to
swing, with a sort of rhythmic apology
for the prematureness of the embrace.
She timidly places her hand in his and
undulates slightly in sympathy with his
impatience.
At last the leader of the orchestra
looks significantly around his little band
of artists, nods his head upon his violin,
draws his bow with an emphatic gesture,
and the music strikes up. Abouc half
the couples in the room have caught the
rythm of the music; the ethers swing
hopelessly round, changing step and
bumping into each other, till something
like a conglomerated dead -lock ensues in
one part of the room, and the dancers
composing it disengage themselves, and
wander away with many blushes to a
more open space, where they try it again.
Nobody seems to notice the little by-play.
All are dancing or trying to dance, and
have enough to do to attend to their own
motions. Here is a couple, neither of
whom knows how to waltz or has tbe
sugiiie! iaea oi uie magic power o
rhythm; but that docs not seem to dis
turb them in the least. Bound and round
they swing, executing the simplest kind
of a circle with endless repetition. Pres
ently they both grow so dizzy that they
stagger against the wall, and stand there
panting and perspiring, till their equi-
librium ana tneir breath are recovered
f when they launch upon a new series o:
revolution.
But there are plenty of good dancers
on the floor whom it is a pleasure to
watch. They do not adopt the limp,
estnetic attitude ana lazy lope of the
fashionable city waltzer, but go whirling
down the floor at a good lively pace, and
even where the crowd is thickest carrom
from couple to couple like billiard balls.
Tihft young lady does not lay her cheek
affectionately on the young gentleman's
shoulder, nor stretch out her lilv white
arm and feathered fan in the directron
of the Polar star, where it meets her
partner's at an equally inconvenient and
nuieuious attitude, put sue dances in a
natural position, slightly inclined for
ward and supported by her partner's
arm, while one hand rests firmlv on his
shoulder and the other is clasped by
his disengaged hand. There is a
spring and spirit, an endurance and
evident enjoyment about these country
dances which you will look for in vain in
the enervating and perfumed air of the
fashionable salon. These young people
will dance all night long, and be ready
for another ball the next night. Bur
lington, Yt., Letter.
A Strange Coincidence.
The oft-told story of the painter who
painted an ideal picture c4 "Innocence"
from the face of a pretty child, who sat
as his model, and in his old age had a
villainous-looking criminal sit to him for
tho model of a picture of "Guilt" as a
companion piece to the other, and dis
covered that the child and the criminal
were tho same person, has received some
startling illustrations in real life. A
convict discharged from old Ch -rlestown
State prison told the following remark
able story of himself to the warden of
that prison:
Some years ago a gentleman, his wife
and their only child, visited a prison.
They were shown through the workshops
and prison by an officer, who pointed
out the different objects of interest as
they passed along. Tho gentleman
was inquiring about a man who had re
cently been sent to prison for life for
murder.
"By the way, this is his room," said
the officer, stopping before one of the
cells the door of whicli stood open.
The little boy, with a child's curiosity
stepped up and looked in. His father
Vauie up behind the child, and playfully
pushed him in and closed the door.
The little fellow shrieked to be let out.
The door was immediately opened, and
the child ran sobbing into his mother's
arms. She, brushing back the light
curls from his forehead add kissing him,
said ftoothinglj':
"No, no; they shan't shut up my little
boy in prison."
The little boy was terribly frightened.
He turned his eyes once more toward
tho dreaded cell, and for the first time
noted on the door the "No. ."
The incident made a deep impression
upon his mind.
Time passed. He grew to manhood.
His father and mother were both dead.
He became a sailor, and a good one,
rising step by step until he be
came second in command of one of the
California steamers sailing from New
York.
But, like many others, in consequence
of that vice which has dragged down so
many even from high positions, he lost
his situation, came back to Boston, sank
lower and lower, and was finally arrested
for breaking into a store. He was sen
tenced to State prison for four years.
When received at the prison ho was
taken to the bath-room the usual cus
tom bathed shaved and clipped;
clothed in the prison dress and conducted
to the room he was to occupy.
Judge of his horror and consternation
when he fonnd himself standing before,
and the officer unlocking the door of the
same cell, "No. ," into which he,
when a lad, had been thrust by his
father.
In relating this storv to me (says
Warden Haynes) he said no one could
imagine his feelings when he found him
self an inmate of that cell. Every inci
dent and scene from childhood rushed
upon his mind; the exclamation of his
mother, "Noio; they shan't shut up my
little son in prison," rang in his ears, and
he threw himself upon a stool, weeping,
in utter despair and wretchedness.
It is pleasant to see shining through
this strange story of circumstantial retri
bution the truth of the famous line,
"There is a divinity that shapes our
ends." The convict became a religious
man while in prison, and years after his
discharge, rose to bean officer in the navy.
Beer and Railhoad Building. The
consumption of beer in the camps of
railway builders is enormous, observes
E. V. Smalley, in The Century. At Bis
marck I saw an entire freight train of
thirty cars laden with bottled beer from
a Chicago brewery, bound for the towa
nearest the end of the track. The chief
engineer of the construction force said
that an average of one bottlo for every
tie laid is consumed, and that the ties
and the beer cost tho same fifty cents.
Thna the workmen pay as much for their
drink as the company for one of the im
portant elements of railway construction
English hotel proprietors write to the
London Daily News that their efforts to
prevent guests thinking it necessary to
give fees to servants prove utterly unavailing.
A Strange Case.
On Sunday, January 14tb, the Rev.
John Kruell.for the last fire months cas
tor of the German Catholic church of
this city resigned his charge, and re
ceived a letter of good character from the
trustees of the parish. On Friday of
last week Father Kruell and Sister An
gela, the teacher in the parish school,
came to the Commercial hotel and en
gaged rooms, Sister Angela being ac
companied by a young woman, said to
be tne priest's housekeeper. On Satur
day the Rev. Mr. Phillips, rector of St.
Paul's Episcopal church, of Kankakee,
received a call from Father Kruell. The
visitor informed him that he wished the
latter to marry him and Sister Angela
that day. In all his clerical experience
Mr. Phillips had never been confronted
with such a situation, and he begged for
time in which to consider the matter.
He then held a long conversation with
Father Kruell, who gave his reasons for
leaving the church of Rome (prominent
among which was his love Jor the wo
man), and expressed a desire to unite
with the Episcopal church. On Sundav
Father Kruell and Sister Angela were
both at St.. Paul's, the former attending
the morning and evening services. In
considering the practical question how
he was to support himself and wife,
Father Kruell was advised to advertise
himself as a teacher of languages.
In pursuance of that idea,
the reverend gentleman sent word to
the local editor of the Gazette, request
ing the latter to visit him at his room
and receive a full statement of the case.
In response to the invitation, the writer
called at room 25, Commercial Hotel, and
interviewed the apostate priest. The im
pression gained in the interview was that
Father Kruell was weakening. He
manifested a singular reluctance in talk
ing about tho matters concerning which
he had sent for a reporter to interview
him. He seemed anxious that nothing
should bo I published at uresent: he
wished to wait for further developments
in his case, j As the writer was about
to leave j Father Beandoin, Presi
dent of the college at Bourbonnais, came
into the room. In a few minutes
Fathers Beandoin and Kruell passed out
of the hotel together. Between six and
seven o'clock in the evening Father
Beaudoin returned and paid the bills of
Father Kruell and Sister Angela and
asked for the former's bag
gage. This the landlord re
fused to surrender except on Father
Kruell's written order. About 11 a
man brought a written order from Father
Kruell, but the baggage was then in pos
session of Sister Angela, who had moved
into Father Kruell's room, and who re
fused to give up the property unless
Father Kruell himself came after it.
During the evening she was visited by a
leading inembjer of the German Catholic
Church, who gave her 10 with which to
buv a ticket to Quincv, 111., where her
brother lives. At about one'
o'clock 'in the morning. Father
Kruell appeared at tho hotel and held an
hour's interview with his fiancee. On
the following morning she was called
upon by Mr. Phillips. She was quite
reticent, but said it was all over between
herself and lover; that they would never
see each other again. Ho was to go out
of the country and she had decided to go
to the bishop of Milwaukee. She was
greatly broken down and gave vent
to her grief iu the most unmistakable
way. Later in the day she again changed
her mind, and declared her intention to
leave on the night train for Quincy.
ouortiy before supper sua and a young
woman friend who had been her com
panion throughout all these proceedings,
left the hotel, and not long afterward
came a written order from the leading
church member above alluded to. to
hold her baggage until further orders.
Up to this writing (Wednesday noon)
he lady had not returned to the hotel,
nor has her trunk been called for. Sis
ter Angela is about thirty years of age,
a C comely, wholesome-looking German
ady. She has been a nun for fourteen
years and teacher in the German Catho-
ic school of this city for four years. It
was evident that she possessed a deep af-
ection for 1- ather Ivruell, and wa3 will
ing to desert the church in which she
had been born and raised, in order to
marry him. ; It is said that Archbishop
Feehan, of Chicago, came down on Mon
day noon's train and was at Bourbon
nais during the day. How much this
had to do with the change in . the situa
tion is only a matter of coujecture.
Kanakee Gazette, Jan. 25th.
lYomen's Waists.
j
Women, especially those of the upper
classes, who are not obliged to keep
hemselves in condition by work, lose
after middle aca ( sometimes earlier) a
considerable amount of their height, not
by stoopincrj as men do, but by actual
collapse, sinking down, mainly to be at-
nbuted to the perishing of the muscles
that support the frame, in consequence
of habitual j and constant pressure of
stays, and dependence upon the artificial
support by them afforded. Every girl
who wears i stays that press upon these
muscles, and restrict the free develop
ment of the fibres that form them, re
lieving them from their natural duties
of supporting tho spine, indeed, in
capacitating! them from so doing, may
feel sure she is preparing herself to be a
dumpy woman. A great pity! Failure
of health among women when the vigor
of youth passes away is but too patent,
and bat too commonly caused by this
practice. Let the man who admires the
piece of pipe that does duty for a human
body picturo to himself the wasted form
and seamed skin. Most women from long
custom of wearing these stays, are really
unaware how much they are hampered
and restricted. A girl of twenty, in
7.
tended by nature to be one of her finest
specimens, gravely assures one that her
stays are not tight, being exactly the '
same size as those she was first put into,
not perceiviug her condemnation in the
fact that she has since grown five inches
in height and two in shoulder-breadth.
Her stays are not too tight, because the '
constant pressure has prevented the nat
ural development of heart and lung -space.
The dainty waists of the poets is
precisely that flexible slimness that ia
destroyed by stays. The form resulting
from them is not slim, but a piece of
pipe, and as flexible. But while endeav
oring to make clear the ou trace upon
good sense and sense of beauty, it. is nec
essary to understand and admit the
whole state of the case. A reason, if not
a necessity, for some sort of corset, may
be found when the form is very redun
dant. This, liowevar. cannot; 1m urith
the very young and slight; but all that
necessity could demand, and that nracti-
Cal ?OOil flflnflfl ATlrl fifnpnn vnnlil inn.
cede, could be found in a strong, elastic'
kind of jersey, sufficiently strong, and
even Stiff, under tho bnsfc in Rnnnnrf it
and sufficiently elastic at the sides and
oacK to injure no organs and impede no
functions. Even in tho caa nf tha
young and slight, an elastic band under
9 1 t m mm m m
iue iaise rius would not be injurious, but
peruaps tne contrary, serying as a con
stant hint to keep the chest well forward
and the shoulders back; but every fttiff,
unyielding machine, crushing the ribs
and destroying the fiber of muscle, will
ba fatal to health, to freedom of move
ment and to beauty. It is scarcely too
much to say that the wearing of such
amounts to stupidity in those who do
not know the consequences (for over
and over again warning has been given) ,
and to wickedness in those who do.
The Nineteenth Century.
A True Story ol
a Trinity County Hear
Fight.
The Trinity Journal of last week tells
the following: "Charley Noble and two
of John Post's boys, of Junction City,
had quite an adventure last week with a
huge brown bear. They were out in the
mountains for a hunt when they discov
ered a bear's den in the mountain side.
The brush around the entrance to the
cave was worn and bent down quite close
to the ground, which assured them that
there was a bear in the cave. Thev came
fto the conclusion that they wonld cap-
ture brum, tne only practical way being
to smoke the animal out. Accordingly
wood was collected and piled up in the
mouth of the cave and set on fire. It
had hardly got under a good headway
before it was pushed away. The hunt
ers were surprised. Again the wood was
collected and another fire built, and
again it was pushed away. The truth of
the whole matter was that bruin was do
ing the work himself with his paws, re
treating to a safe distance within the
cavo after destroying the fire. And so
the struggle continued for two days and
two nights, the hunters building fires,
and the bear destroying them. The
hunters were bound to capturo their
game, and finally changed the order of
fuel. They gathered a large quantity of
dry brush, and piled that up in the en
trance. This last mode was a success.
For no sooner had the fire began to send
out volumes of smoke and to crack, than
a terrible growl was heard inside, and
immediately after came the bear, 'with a
bound through the fire, like a dog jump
ing through a fiery banner at a circus,
growling savagely, and bounding toward
the hunters. They were courageous and
stood their ground, for they were not to
be foiled after waiting impatiently and
working vigorously for the 'varmint.'
Charley Noble blazed away at him.which
felled the bear to the ground and pre
cipitated him down tho steep mountain
side. Charley started in pursuit, but
had not gone a great distance when he
slipped and was going after bruin at a
speed and in a manner which was not at
all agreeable, for his bearship was not
fatally wounded, as supposed, and was
savagely waiting the coming of the foe
at the foot of the hill where Charley
landed, gun in hand, within ten feet of
the bear, who was coming for him with
all the savageness that it could muster.
He waited until the bear got within a
few more feet of him and then sent a
bullet through his brain. The bear
weighed 450 pounds .which is considered
a little above the average weight of that
species. The boys procured some
torches and entered the cave, where they
found the bed of the bear, upon a shelf,
which was made of sticks about the
thickness of a man's wrist."
How to Tell Diphtheria.
"I was called out of bed past midnight
to go four miles in the country to at
tend what the messenger stated was a
bad case of diphtheria."
"And you went?"
"Had to. When I arrived I found a
ten-year-old girl crying with a sore
throat. 1 looked into it, asked the girl
a few questions and found that she had
done a big washing that day. Had a lit
tle cold nothing else."
"How can you telrthe difference?"
"I'll give you a rule by which you can
always determine," was the response.
"If the throat is red and smaller, no fear
of diphtheria; but if it looks like some
one had thrown a handful of ashes into
the throat a dull gray color look out.
It's diphtheria's danger signal."
Lincoln, Neb., Journal.
On December 27th Dr. Maron, a lead
ing Berlin journalist and eminent polit
ical economist, shot his wife and then
himself. It is supposed that they had
agreed to die together. She had, from
various causes, baen in a desponding
plight, while he suffered from an incura
ble malady.
r