"Nay, nay my dear, he is not old,
    That is, at least, in years I mean;
But still, if half the truth be told,
    An aged cuss he is--in sin.

Alas, and am I left alone?
    Am I the only stay
Of the once-proud Democracy
    Of Poker Bar, today?
   
Where is the gallant patriot band
    Which once so proudly trod,
With eager steps up to the bar
    At Bennet Cook's B------ B------.
   
Where are the Stillwell brothers now?
    Where Charley Quigler's crowd?
Patrick and Schaffer answer not.
    Another fills a shroud.
   
The Walter boys are missing, too;
    And absent staunch old Joe;
And Archy Murphy, traitor-like
    Says he will vote for Lowe.
   
But though I thus do stand alone,
    I will contrive a plan;
Point Bar MUST have a Delegate
    And I shall be the man.
   
There's me, myself and Spiegelberg
    And that of course, makes three;
A Chairman, Clerk and Candidate
    Long live Democracy.

And now, I understand of late
    His worship has a great desire
    To raise himself a little higher,
    The better for to serve the State.
In short, if rumor be no liar
    His Honor is a candidate;
The office which he hopes to get
Has twice been filled by Personette.
   
I therefore feel in duty bound
    By all the means at my command
    To give the "Com" a helping hand;
And trust all right he will be found
    Upon the tally list to stand
When next election day comes 'round
    And that he'll vanquish helter skelter,
    That self-conceited granny Felter.

I knew the diggings were worked out,
    And that no money could be made;
But while the children ran about
    I did not feel the least dismayed.
        But going, going, going, gone,
            The children all do go away;
        I think I'd better go along,
            There's no inducement now to stay.
   
My comrades of the early day,
    A sturdy, hardy, fearless race;
Have grown decrepit, limp and gray
    And who, alas, shall fill their place?
        For going, going, going, gone;
            The children all do go away;
        No more with joy I'll gaze upon
            The little innocents at play.
   
All sporting rolling on the sand,
    Mine eyes have seen in days gone by;
Children whose sires possessed this land.
    Here their dead generations lie.
        But going, going, going, gone;
            Their fated race fast disappears,
        Oh, Isaac Cox--Historian,
            Preserve their memory--and these tears.
   
Thus shall the White supplant the Red,
    And now, transplanted, is the White;
Shall Sambo (with the woolly head),
    Be introduced to set things right?
        For going, going, going, gone;
            The children all do go away,
        But I, Old Mc, and China John,
            Despite our will will have to stay.

T.T.

After the manner of the Pharisee,
    I lift mine eyes to Heaven in thankfulness
And do rejoice in all sincerity
    That God hath granted my unworthiness
To run my race upon this mundane sphere,
In later times than are recorded here.

TOM TAILINGS.

Seeking for hidden treasure I did trip
    My Mother Earth, who crushed me in her fall.
Here, in her bosom, quietly I rest
    Awaiting the last trumpet's final call.
The breath of Life which God breathed in my clay,
    Again to God hath sped its flight away.

TOM TAILINGS.

And all in all, since Adam's fall
    Thy peer was never seen;
Quite ordinary compared to thee
    Was Egypt's famous Queen.
So Love, go sleep; while Angels keep
    Guard o'er you while you snore;
Thus ends, fair maid, the serenade,
    Of loyal Commodore.

T. T.

He who will not skin a louse--
    Skin a louse for its hide and tallow;
Will die in a cold and empty house
    For want of a bit of bread to swallow.

TOM TAILINGS.

    When the Siskiyou Mountains shall have been pierced, and the last spike driven at the Cottonwood Junction of the Oregon & California and the California & Oregon railroads, then will there be opened up a new country of varied promise along the southern base of the mountains, which has hitherto yielded to the world of commerce aught but its little mite of gold. The adjacent mountains and hills on either side of the Klamath River are rich in minerals; the valleys and the river and creek bottoms are fertile, while the extensive timber resources of pine and oak will, ere long, invite capital to their development. The tourist will find ample and majestic scenery down the rapid river to satisfy his mind, be it ever so craving for that which is majestic and weird. But a short distance below Cottonwood Junction the river enters something like a canyon, through which it continues till past its confluence with Shasta River, when the hills on the south become lower and rolling, of a conspicuous granite formation, and covered with pine and white oak. This general aspect continues for a little over twenty miles when the hills on the south rise higher and granite gives place, in a great degree, to slate, which is thickly seamed with quartz. Below Scott River and to its mouth the river is in a canyon, through numerous and extensive bottoms are found along its course. Its channel is from eighty to 100 yards wide. Fifty miles from its source it strikes the southern base of the Siskiyou Mountains and sweeps often in angry turbulent rapids, as often in calm, deep volume, or smiling ripples, close under the shadows of their rugged summit and forest-clad sides, in nearly a westerly course till, piercing the rocky range of the coast, it winds grandly among timbered heights and grass-clothed hills till lost in the foaming sea. The timber around Cottonwood Junction is of fine growth, and grows better as the miles decrease toward the ocean. Much of the pine is of the large cone-bearing species (Pinus lambertiana of Douglas), though the cones are not so large as they are on the Klamath marsh, or in Josephine County, Oregon. The white oak (Quercus densiflora) [actually Quercus garryana] is found in profusion; it is tough, and equal in all respects to that imported from the East. The black or red oak is not met with till below the mouth of Scott River, thence it continues on to near the coast. The madrone (Arbutus menziesii), or, as Bret Harte terms it, "the harlequin of the woods," is met with. It has a fine grain, but is not susceptible of high polish, nor is it noted for its lasting qualities, so it has not yet been introduced into any kind of work with marked satisfaction. The country south of the junction, for about eight miles, ought properly to be termed the Klamath Valley, but beyond that the long, fertile valley of Shasta River takes control. During our rambles down the Klamath's tortuous course we will glance at its past history, as rich in materials for romance as in stubborn facts for sober recitation. From Cottonwood Junction to the sea its channel, bars and beaches have yielded bountifully in gold to the patient miner; to the farmer its rich alluvial bottoms have not withheld their bounties, while its hillsides and bars yield immense
which will, ere long, find its way into the Portland market and the East. For near 100 miles from Cottonwood Junction it flows close to the Oregon line, and has been in the past, as it will continue to be in the future, closely allied in history and interests to our state of Oregon. Early in 1850 miners from the south came upon its waters near Cottonwood and prospected down the river for gold. Oregonians en route to the lower mines followed the first explorers, but no gold was found in paying quantities, and the first prospectors left it to its solitude as a nonproductive stream. Several creeks coming into it from the north and south were also prospected and with like results. One of these small streams, of considerable length, coming into the river from the south, attracted sufficient attention to be christened, in the bluff parlance of the day, "Humbug" Creek. This creek eventually proved immensely rich and drew to the Klamath another rush of sturdy miners in 1852. Down the river, over a hundred miles away, prospectors came over the Siskiyou Mountains from the Shasta mines late in 1849, and built their cabins on the yet pure stream. In 1850 the miners below were fully content with their prospects, and but few of them ventured to go above. From the advent of the miners upon the stream below the natives became morose; the first half-year passed by and many had been killed and two villages burned. With the white man came death to the tribes, and today you can ride a hundred miles on the middle river and an Indian cannot be seen. Instead of the miner's tent and Indian's camp of sticks and mats today the painted house
have softened the early harshness, and relieve the eyes and gladdens the heart of the thrifty owner--perhaps of some old and bent and shattered miner, who remembers the sufferings of the past and rejoices that comfort and plenty now rule the hour.
    Buckeye Bar, twenty miles below Cottonwood, was located in 1852, and was worked with indifferent success until, two years later, it became of importance as a mining camp, and worked up a little history of its own in August, 1855. Prior to the above date, many of the bars and upper benches of the river had been brought into cultivation, upon which all of the necessary vegetables of garden culture were produced in abundance, and the miners' habitual meal of beef, bread and tea or coffee was supplemented by potatoes, turnips and cabbage; the luxury of tomatoes and melons were enjoyed at the same time, and a few garden flowers added to the homelike beauty of budding civilization. Keeping pace--but slowly--with the march of progress on the banks of the beautiful mountain stream, the church and the school house rose up in bold relief on the river flat, on the elevated bench, on the lovely hillside. Back of all this mountain beauty and wealth and enlightenment, in the years when the Indian roamed at will through the oak openings and pine-clad hills, and the bear and the deer had first learned to fear the thunder of the white man's gun, and the limpid streams were changing to red by the wash from the mines, the flaming torch, and treachery and murder were at work to bring about the changes that we see today. At Buckeye Bar, on the south side of the river, twenty men were living and mining on the flats. Opposite their cabins, on the other side of the stream, was a farm house, with a few acres of cultivated ground around it. Three miles below, another small farm and a few mining claims. About the same distance below this was another farm of larger size, at which was a ferry across the river. At several places in the vicinity were Indian camps. Thus matters stood early in the month of August, 1855. It was but a few miles from this vicinity to the Oregon line up on the Siskiyou Mountain. Over the mountain, in the close neighborhood of Buckeye Bar, passed a trail which entered Rogue River Valley near the middle Applegate. Six miles below another trail crossed the mountains to the bend of a creek, which entered Applegate lower down. For several months prior to this time a number of strange Indians, presumably from Rogue River, had resided up the Klamath in the vicinity of these farms and mines, and a change as soon noted in the deportment of the Klamaths, and the apparent institution among them of a new order of officers; or, which would probably be better to say, an order of supervisors, whose duty it was to particularly note and hedge the intercourse of the other Indians with the whites. A suspicion of this was aroused in the minds of the settlers by the fact that after the departure of the strange Indians from the vicinity there were four of the native and well-known Indians who seemed to be invested with a delegated authority to supervise the others of the tribe. Often and in the hearing of white men did these supervisors repeat a few words at a time of something, which the Indian to whom it was applied repeated after them, something like the administration of
in which the expression "Boston cad-e-quitay"--which means bad white men--was frequent and prominent. Whenever an Indian was found in the company of the whites by one of these supervisors he was sure to be immediately required to repeat this oath of allegiance to the great combination of the tribes of the North Pacific Coast, which broke out into an open war a little later known as the Indian war of 1855-6. Sometime in the preceding month of July a few of the river Indians went over the ridge a distance of six miles to a little mining town on Humbug Creek, where they obtained a sufficient amount of whiskey to get them up to a raving spree. One of them, who had for a number of years previous been a "bell boy" (rider of the bell horse which led a pack train) for "Coyote" Evans--who was at that time a noted packer--and rejoiced in the not euphonious name of "Saltpeter," and considered himself fully up in knowledge and importance to any white man who would enter into conversation with him, became so inflamed that he declared that he must whip some white man on general principles. This resulted, later in the day, in the death of the Indian, and the throwing of his dead body into a deep "shaft" or prospect hole. The other Indians returned to their homes on the Klamath. The next day they repaired to the house of a miner who had, a few months previously, entered into an agreement with the tribe that, for a certain consideration which he had received, he would at all future times act as their attorney in any and all difficulties or disputes which they might in the future have with the whites. This was the first time that they had called upon him to act, and were much disappointed and angered when he stubbornly refused to fulfill his engagements. So they went away and plotted death to this man, and to all other whites on the river. The man left his house in the evening and was shot while on his way to a neighbor's cabin. At the moment of his death, a canoe containing five white men was crossing the river several hundred yards above. In front of their landing a number of Indians were concealed in the bushes. As the canoe reached the shore the Indians fired and killed three of the five, and wounded fatally the other two. Swimming out to the canoe, they towed it to the shore and dispatched the wounded men. All this had occurred before the people on Buckeye Bar were aware of what was being done, though the murders were committed only a few hundred yards from their homes, but on the opposite side of the river. The canoe which was captured by the Indians was the only one belonging to the little settlement, and the miners could not cross the river and attack the Indians, who danced a greater part of the night over their victims, in plain view of the people on the bar. These murders were committed after sunset and the miners on the bar did not care to traverse the lonely and rocky trail to the settlements below until the next morning. Then it was too late. The Indians divided their forces into three squads. One small force remained to threaten the miners on the bar; another party went down the river six miles to Pickens' place, another still remained concealed at the place midway between Buckeye Bar and Pickens'. At the latter place a man went out at daylight to feed the stock. As he entered the yards a rifle ball put
and he did not return to the house. All men went armed in those days, and the report of the shot did not arouse suspicion, and another man went out to help him in his morning work. Anther shot and he did not return. Again another man went out to call them to the morning meal, but he quickly returned severely wounded. Some horses and mules were taken from the stables and the Indians decamped and went along an unfrequented trail to aid in the attack on the place above, where a small company of Frenchmen were camped near the house, and who were just over from Illinois Valley on a prospecting tour. It was only fairly light when three Indians went to their camp in a friendly manner. Soon four more came from below, and the Frenchmen, with their usual considerations, offered the savages food as they sat down to enjoy their morning meal. The offered food was accepted by the savages, but eaten in a hurried manner. While the kindhearted men were yet seated around their humble board upon the ground the savages fell upon them suddenly, killing seven and wounding severely the remaining four. The wounded men escaped, but left all their stores and the arms of eight of their number to the Indians. From this place the savages started up the mountains, firing the dry grass as they fled, and by noon of that day the whole side of the mountain for six miles of its length was enveloped in smoke. They were pursued the next day, but to no purpose. They went over the mountains, down to the Applegate, and applied the torch to the long-smoldering Indian hostility to the whites, the flames of which were not subdued till the summer months of the following year. Fifteen miles below Buckeye Bar, Scott River comes in from the southeast. Rich in gold, it was long the
of the Oregon drover and packer. With three trails from the Oregon side over the Siskiyous, the interests of the two sections were so linked together that they were as one people, so long as prejudices inimical to one another were not allowed to rule, for at that time there was a strong line of demarcation between the Webfeet [Willamette Valley residents] and the Tarheads [Southern Oregonians]. Three miles below Scott River we come to Hamburg Bar, which yielded much gold in early days and is now a thriving place in new industries, and may yet contribute to the Oregon markets quantities of fine fruit and nuts, for the raising of which no place in the two states is better adapted. There is a bit of early history attached to the place that might properly attract our attention. A month after the perpetration, by the upper Indians, of the murders just mentioned, the citizens of this bar collected all the friendly Indians in the vicinity, and many from up Scott River, with the avowed purpose of taking them below and there placing them in a safe place during the war on the Oregon border, for the Oregonians were liable at any time to step across the line and destroy all Indians coming under their observation. All the males, eleven in number, were collected at the bar and started down the river under the lead of a white man in whom they had implicit confidence. A mile below this bar, as they were passing a narrow defile, a volley of rifles was fired into the moving line, and before the smoke rose up from the awful scene all lay dead in the dust and rocks save two, who were severely wounded, but made their escape and were subsequently found dead in the willows on the bank of the river several miles below.
    As we descend the river, the country bordering the stream maintains its general aspect until we reach Happy Camp, thirty miles below Scott River. Here a creek of considerable size comes down from the Siskiyou and empties into the Klamath through a wide bottom, on which, even in those early days, large crops of vegetables were grown to feed the thousand miners who rambled from camp to camp or sought new diggings in the neighboring hills. In the summer of 1850, miners from the lower river slowly made their way up along the stream, prospecting every creek and bar on their route with fair results. On reaching the spot where now stands the mining town of Happy Camp, their efforts were rewarded with more than usual success, and a stop was made for further search. Little by little, their numbers increased, till a hundred or more were camped on the picturesque bar. At first, their supplies came from Shasta City, by the way of Salmon River, then down that stream to the Klamath, then up to the miners above. The goods were packed on horses and mules, and the prices of all things were high. The advent of a train into these mountains was like the coming of a ship from a foreign sea. The winter months came slowly on; the mountaintops began to whiten with snow. Many of the miners returned to the source of the food supply below, intending to return the following year. Trains had met with much difficulty in getting up the river, for the mountainsides were rough and passable trails there were none. Many large creeks came down the mountains, which were difficult and dangerous to cross, and often the Indians barred their way. When winter came on, the tall, rugged mountains all around them were
    They were constrained to be content, though against their will, to remain in their beautiful mountain home, until the snows should melt on the mountaintops. They built a large house of rough pine logs; their bunks were placed in there along the sides. In one end was their fire, in the other their door, while the roof was covered with bark and boards. By the middle of winter their food supply was exhausted, but the snow on the mountains was deep and frozen hard and the deer came down to the flats and were easily caught for food. A jolly set were these miners of early days; they took hard times as they came, with the good, without complaint. For three long, dreary months, while the ground was hard so that they could not mine, and the mountains were covered with snow so that they could not get away, they sang and danced and told their yarns and began to think that they were really the happiest lot of men on earth. And thus it was that the name of "Happy Camp" came into vogue, but it has held it own from that day to this. The Indians were numerous when the whites came among them, but they quickly began to decrease, and before five years had passed by, but few remained to mourn for those who were gone. Their houses were burned and their trails along the river were dug away. Today but a score of men are left of all those numerous bands who dwelt near that--to them--unhappy camp. The men who founded the camp were English sailors, and convicts, and all of their quality were known in those days as "Sydney ducks," who had found their way to the mines among the first of the pilgrims to the land of gold. The creek upon which the present town now stands was known then, as now, as Indian Creek. Along this creek from Happy Camp a trail runs up to the summit of the low divide, then down another of equal size into Illinois Valley. This was then an old Indian trail, but has now been developed into something like a road. Up this trail in the following spring some of the sailors went in search of gold. They prospected the flats and gulches and streams, but found no prospects worthy of note until in a wide, flat gulch on the Oregon side they found enough pay to make them stop and go to work in earnest. In a few months the fame of their camp as "Sailor Diggings" became widely spread. The camp is yet a place of note. It is frequently called Waldo, and is the depot of supplies for the miners and farmers for miles around. It is in Josephine County, Oregon, and on the most direct and only line of travel from Crescent City to Happy Camp.
    The winter passed away, and the spring of 1851 was open and bright. The miners from below came up to the camp, and miners from above came down in droves, and in the space of a month the benches and bars resounded with the din of a mining camp of unusual size. Stores and saloons and miners' cabins went rapidly up, and its fame as a camp of note spread quickly abroad. As years went by its fame declined as a rich mining camp, yet business went on, but at a slower gait. When Crescent City was built up in 1859 Happy Camp again came up as a favorite place, for it was on the road from the city to the mines above and below. The rich
were brought into cultivation, and today what was once a silent wilderness is smiling in plenty. The pine and the oak have given place to fruit-bearing trees, and where the Indian roamed without control and chanted his uncanny song the feet of enlightened youth now press the green, and their joyous shouts echo in the surrounding hills. The ancient haunts of the bear and the deer in the valleys and timbered hills are now occupied by lowing herds, while the nightly howls of the growling wolves are stilled by the watchful dogs.
    But a few days after the murder of the miners at Buckeye Bar, as before stated, a pack train from Sailor Diggings, on the Oregon side, was crossing the mountains to Happy Camp. The train had reached the summit, twelve miles from the camp, and was quietly winding along the level trail on the top. The large pine trees stand close together on the ridge, and patches of brush are woven between. The train was conducted by three men; one was riding the bell horse, two were driving behind. All was still, and the gentle and regular tinkle of the little bell sounded sweetly, and much like home, through the open woods. Suddenly a crash of rifle shots from flanks and rear disturbed the silent scene. One of the drivers fell dead in the trail; the other one turned and fled to the woods. The rider of the bell horse, severely hurt, made his way to the miners on the head of Indian Creek, a few miles below, and spread the alarm; from thence he went to Happy Camp. That afternoon a small company of men was raised at the camp, and went up to the miners on the creek. Before daylight they began the ascent of the mountains, and in two hours [they] had reached the top. Some mules were found dead on the side of the trail, while others were wounded, but still in sight. They searched for the wounded man till noon, and found him dead by the side of a tree to which he had crawled a short distance from the spot where he fell from his horse. The greater number of the mules were gone, and all the goods that the Indians liked. The sacks of salt and some picks and shovels which comprised a part of the load were left on the ground. The company was increased that day, and then set out on the Indians' trail along the "backbone" of the mountain. The Siskiyou Mountains are usually quite destitute of brush, so much so that to travel their sides or summit is not a work of great difficulty, except in some particular localities, and the Indians made good time in getting away with their prize. From the point where the trail from Buckeye Bar crosses the mountains to Applegate, to the summit where the train was attacked, is about twenty miles by way of the mountain ridge. As soon as the Indians reached the summit on their retreat from Buckeye Bar, they sent their women and goods ahead to the valley beyond, while the men went down to the Happy Camp trail and watched for the coming train. When they had secured their prize they turned back on their trail half way, then descended to Applegate Creek. The company from Buckeye Bar followed them to the summit, then down south in the direction of the Happy Camp trail. They obtained a distant view of the Indians on their way back from the scene of the murder below, but from some cause did not attack them and recover the train. The Happy Camp company followed the trail of the Indians till it descended the mountain to the west, when from lack of supplies they returned, and the search was over. Sailor Diggings are at the upper or southern end of Illinois Valley, and looking south from the town the Siskiyou Mountains are seen to circle around to the right like a horseshoe, and gradually merge
which is but a few miles west of the village. The trail from this place over the mountain is the last line of travel in the south that connects Oregon and California by land. Below Happy Camp the timber gradually increases in volume and variety. The crabapple and dogwood appear, and with more vigorous growth as we descend the stream; the hills are covered with larger oaks, and the bottoms with taller trees. The bottoms are wide and the creeks are large, and seldom the mountains approach the stream too closely to admit of free passage between them. On all these bottoms in pioneer days the native villages were many and large, and today the marks of the past are seen in blackened posts or rounded holes where once the houses stood. Many miles below, a large river comes in from the south, at the mouth of which the Indians formerly resided in great numbers and annually fished for salmon, which left the Klamath and went up this river in great quantities. It received the name of Salmon River from that fact. Still lower down we come to Orleans Bar, once a noted mining camp and formerly the county seat of the late Klamath County. From this place to the coast other varieties of timber are to be seen, besides all that grow on the stream above. The natives are more worthy of study, and the climate is the most equable that we yet have found. The rain falls here in the summer months much as it does on the neighboring coast. The natives on the lower river have never used or understood the Chinook jargon, but instead taught their own language to the whites, which served all purposes very well. Below the mouth of Trinity River, which comes into Klamath from the south, about fifty miles above the coast, but little mining has been done, and for many years after the settlement of the upper river this long stretch remained a terra incognita, and was shunned by all miners as a too-dangerous locality in which to prospect. All along this stretch of river grows an assortment of the finest timber in great profusion, which will, ere long, be utilized. The most notable and valuable variety, and which here grows to its greatest size, is the laurel, (Oreodaphne californica), or as it is more commonly called, "myrtle." The writer has seen groves of it on the Klamath, five miles above the coast, and nearer, growing so thickly and to such large size that not the slightest ray of sunshine could penetrate the dark shade of the groves. The groves of this peculiar and valuable tree on the Coquille are next in value to those of the Klamath, but far inferior in size and length of trunk. It was customary in early days for miners to travel on foot over the mountains and along the rivers in small companies of four or five. Wishing to cross the river, usually at or near a village, a bargain would be made with some Indian to ferry them across in his canoe. Sitting in the canoe on their packs and guns, one savage in the bow, another in the stern, they would start for the opposite side. When out in the stream where the water was deep the Indians would rock the canoe from side to side till it went clear over, and the miners went out. The Indians, being good swimmers, would soon right the canoe and gather the packs that were floating off. The white men in the water would soon be filled with arrows, and in twenty minutes the job would be done. This mode of disposing of travelers was soon understood by the whites, and
which, though not wholly successful at first, eventually put a stop to it, but not until the Indians had been reduced in numbers and their villages reduced to ashes. But still they continued to carry it on whenever a stranger should pass along and ask to be ferried over the stream. A man without friends they knew would never be missed, and the chances of detection were very few. They generally succeeded in escaping detection ,but when found out an Indian or two would be killed, and that would be the end for a time.
    The mania for mining was then strong with the many, but that for making new counties was equally strong with the few, and as soon as the mines on the Klamath and its tributaries had been established the county of Klamath was carved out, and extended north to the Oregon line. The contest between the seaport town of Crescent City in the north, and Orleans Bar, up the Klamath, waxed warm, for the conformation of the country was such that the people of one section of the country must necessarily suffer much inconvenience in getting to the seat of justice and the county records. A compromise was at last effected, and the new county of Del Norte was born; so each section at last had a court of its own. Years rolled on, and the golden harvest on that lower Klamath and its tributary streams was gathered in, and the busy miners left for other fields. And the county was left without support. The officials held on to the cherished cribs, but the county credit was gone, and so was the cash. The county of Klamath was then quietly disrupted and added to Siskiyou and Del Norte. And now the county of Del Norte is a near neighbor to the county of Curry, in Oregon. Their interests are not inimical, and all the business of trade of the lower part of Curry is done in Crescent City. Curry County, neglected, almost unknown, will yet came to the front with her inherent resources of gold, coal, timber and extensive grazing fields. Her coastline is rich in ancient deposits for extensive and successful ethnological research. In succeeding articles, in connection with local history, the lower Klamath tribes and those of the coast from Gold Bluff to Rogue River, together with a sketch of the aboriginal Kjokken-moddings, or ancient shell heaps, will be dwelt upon. Nor will it be forgotten to notice the different species of valuable timber along the coastline, the edible native fruits and the deposits of gold in the sand on the beach.
Sunday Oregonian, Portland, November 29, 1885, page 3