The Daily Morning Astorian

DIED IN THEIR MOTHER'S ARMS.

In the course of his daily rounds a newspaper reporter meets with many different phases of life, some ludicrous, others pathetic, occasionally tragic, some of great importance, more, the veriest trifles.

One of the saddest circumstances that has of late come to the writer's knowledge transpired yesterday afternoon. Two neighbors, Mrs. Ecklund and Mrs. Anderson, whose husbands are fishing for the White Star Packing company, came down on the steamer Favorite yesterday morning, each carrying a sick infant, the one a girl aged nine months, the other a boy aged twelve months. Full of apprehension for the condition of their little ones, who appeared to be suffering from cholera infantum, they hastened to a physician, but it was too late. One of the children breathed its last in the doctor's office, and the other a few minutes after being conveyed to the hospital.

Two tiny coffins were procured, and the grief-stricken parents mingled their tears over the graves of their loved ones who, doubtless, were as dear to them as any little household darling of any one who reads this brief chronicle.