Deer Creek, Oregon, Nov. 17, 1894

Another pioneer has gone to swell the silent train that moves so swiftly to that undiscovered country.

James F. M. Bailey died at Bieber, Lassen County California, November 6, 1894. He was born at Frankfort, Ky., Nov 19, 1837.

His mother dying while he was an infant, and he being an only child, his father could not part from him, so he was allowed to accompany him wherever he went, which was principally up and down the Mississippi river, his father being captain of the steamboat in which he traveled. But it was not many years ere his father was taken from him too. Then, though left among indulgent friends, he was an orphan wandering where he would. He finally drifted to the western coast, it is not known when, but at an early day. Nor is it known how widely he traversed the wilderness that stretched between the eastern states and the Pacific ocean, nor with what leaders, but at times with that bold mountaineer Kit Carson, among dangers and distresses such as those know only to well who have crossed burning desert sands, and traveled without food for many days.

Some time during these early years he revisited the eastern states, but returned again and finally settled on Myrtle Creek, in Douglas County, Oregon. Here in 1858 he became acquainted with Ellen Burt, while she was teaching school in that town, whom he married January 9, 1859. For more than twenty years he felt the blessing of her sweet and gentle life, and then the grave closed over her. She died May 24, 1881. They laid her down to rest beside the little darling already sleeping there. And soon again he stood beside another open grave, and saw the lovely form of their first born child, in all the beauty of early womanhood wrapped in that strange sleep that wakes not to our pleading cry. It was on the 4th of July 1882 that her bright young spirit took its flight.

There was a little space left between the mother and the maiden for his last resting place, but the change of years found him too far away to be laid by kindred dust, and when the final summons came only one of that bright circle of gleeful children who once (here it did not copy, went off the page) to soothe his pain and close his dying eyes, though five remain, who with hushed breath and tearful eyes, dwell on his memory. And many an old friend, with a sigh, recalls the pleasant hours spent in his company, remembering his kindly eye and ready sympathy. Also the homeless wanderer will remember kindness at his hand, often the welcomed to his board and glowing hearth.

He may have fought in one or more of our Indian wars. But this we know that in the dark days of our civil strife, he left his home for the toil and dangers of the soldier's camp. He enlisted in 1865 and served under L. L. Williams till the close of the war.

But the long day's march of life is ended now, and we sit and watch the western sky, gazing on those golden gleams whose radiance portend a glorious tomorrow, when life's bewildered wanderers hope to meet again.