Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 February 1891 — In Mortal Peril. [ARTICLE]

In Mortal Peril.

Dr. C. C. Abbott, in “Outings at Odd Time-i,” tells a tragic tale of an adventure which once befell an old lady, “long, long ago.” The spot where she lived was almost a wilderness, and was beset with the perils of a new and scantily settled land. The now almost forgotten Camden and Amboy Railroad was in operation, but though scarcely a mile distant, it was as nothing to her. She knew neither what nor where it was. But where the best whortleberries grew, ip the back swamp, that was knowledge worth her possessing. Although her Cousin Abijah had killed a Lear there, during the winter, she did not stop to think of that, but one day started for berries where few men would care to follow. With a light heart she gathered and gathered, until at length au ominous shrieking fell upon her ears. “Could it be another bear?” thought she, and turned her face homeward. Her big basket was not quite full, and there were such loads of fruit within easy reach I This was tantalizing, but all her doubt vanished with the second shriller, more unearthly scream. The path was no longer plain, nor was she sure-footed. As she pitched recklessly forward, the berries were bounced by handfuls from her basket, and finally, in despair, she threw aside the basket itself. And still sounded through the swamp the . terrible screeching of that angry bear. At last, she could see her cottage through the thickly-set trees, but not so plainly the tortuous path. One misstep, and she sank, waist-deep, in the yielding mud of an old well, and there she stood screaming, until her husband eame to the rescue. “Do be still, Hannah,” was his first remark, after she had chokingly called his attention to the still audible cries of the bear, “that’s only the new-fangled ateam-ingine whistlin’!” “And to thinK,” the old lady was ■wont to remark, on concluding this story, “to think I lost all them beautiful berries!” He (rapturously)—l love the very ground which is trod by your fairy feet. She (innocently)—Are you aware that this land does ndt belong to my father? Dog Days—The winer-w-irst season.