A 1918 flu poster. \u00a0I’d love a framed version…<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Here’s another old newspaper excerpt. \u00a0Oh, such DRAMA!<\/p>\n DIED. –\u00a0Far away from home, relatives and friends among strangers, with no one to shed a parting tear, with strangers to smooth his dying pillow, another unfortunate Californian passed on to the silent land, the land of forgetfulness, the land of the departed.\u00a0 Joseph Coburn, a private in Company II, Ninth U.S. Regular Infantry, on the march to Summit Lake, was taken sick, was left at the Chico Hotel in this place, being unable to proceed farther; received all the care and attention that could be bestowed; lingered until Friday night, the 18th inst., when he died.\u00a0 He was about 22 year old, enlisted in San Francisco about one year ago; not being in his right mind the most of the time, his native place could not be learned, but from expressions made use of in his wandering moods, it is supposed he was a native of New York, residing in the vicinity of Niagara Falls.\u00a0 An anxious waiting mother, there may be, who for years will listen for the returning footsteps of the absent boy, little dreaming that he sleeps the long sleep of death in the Valley of the Sacramento.\u00a0 There may be sisters and brothers who will gather around the old hearthstone at home, and when the storm beats without, and the tempest howls around the old homestead, wonder where the absent one is, and why he does not return.\u00a0 the storms may beat around his dwelling and he heeds them not; heat and cold, summer and winter are all the same to him now.\u00a0 When one dies thus alone in a strange land and among strangers, we think of the many notices which appear almost daily of “INFORMATION WANTED,” some friend inquiring for the lost one.\u00a0 How many have laid down to die on hill and plain, mountain and valley, gulch and ravine, all over the Pacific Coast with nothing to mark the spot where they sleep, and not a word concerning their fate ever transmitted to relatives or friends.\u00a0 What waifs we are, floating on the ocean of time, engulfed to-day and forgotten to-morrow.<\/span><\/p>\n From the collection of The Comtesse DeSpair<\/em><\/p>\n More Pestilent Death<\/a> can be perused at Garretdom<\/a>!<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Planning a party? \u00a0Then why not cover your table with a bloody mess of a table cloth<\/a>? \u00a0If I had any friends for which I could throw a party, I would!<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.decidedlygrim.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/12\/flu-175x300-1.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\nGarretdom!<\/h2>\n
Chico Courant (Chico, California)
\nSaturday, November 25, 1865<\/span><\/h3>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.decidedlygrim.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/12\/died0151-300x271.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\nMorbid Trinket Du Jour!<\/h2>\n
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