Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, August 16, 1879
    Among the baggage coming down on a Flint & Pere Marquette train, the other day, was a full-grown black bear. Bruin had been in captivity for two or three years, and was on his way East for a Zoological garden. His owner was allowed to ride with him in the baggagecar, and he seemed to think his bear was the greatest animal on earth. He was ready to bet that Bruin could out-hug and out-bite anything human, and was rather disappionted when the railroad men refused to dispute this point with him. He was indulging in his brag when an old man came into the car to see about his trunk. He saw the bear, of course, but the glance of contempt he bestowed on the animal instantly kindled the indignation of the owner, who called out:
    “Mebbe you think I’m toting an old hyena around the country!”
    “I guess it’s a bear,” slowly replied the other, “but I see nothing remarkable about him.”
    “You don’t eh? Well I do! Mebbe you’d like to see him hug that trunk of yours? What he can’t sliver when he gets his paws around it has got to have roots forty feet under ground.”
    “I’ve got a son back in the car-,” reflectively observed the old man, and then he stopped and looked at the bear.
    “Your son? Egad! Will you match your son agin my bear!” chuckled the owner, as he danced with delight.
    “I guess so.”
    “You do! Bring him in! Trot him out! I’ll give him all the show he wants and bet five to one on the bear!”
    The old man slowly took in a chew of tobacco, left the car, and when he returned he had his son Martin with him. Martin seemed to be about twenty-seven years of age and a little taller than a hitching post. He was built on the ground with a back like a writingdesk and arms which seemed to have been sawed from railroad ties.
    “Martin, this ‘ere man wants to bet five to one that his bear can out-hug you,” quietly explained the father, as the son sat down on a trunk.
    “Yes, that’s it-that’s just it!’ cackled the owner, “I’ll muzzle him so he can’t bite, and I’ll bet five to one he’ll make you holler in two minutes.
    “Muzzle your b’ar!” was all that Martin said, as he pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to the baggageman. The bear-man put twenty-five dollars with it, grinning like a boy in a cherrytree, and in a minute he had the bear ready. Martin removed his coat and paper collar and carelessly inquired:
    “Is this to be squar hug, with no gouging?”
“Jess so-jess so!” replied the bear man. “You hug the bear and he will hug you, and the one who squeals first loses his cash. “Now, then, all ready.”
    As Martin approached, the bear rose up with a sinful glare in his eye, and the two embraced. It was sort of back-hold, with no sell out on the crowd.
    “Go for him, Hunyado!” yelled the bear man, as they closed, and the bear responded. One could see by the set of his eyes that he meant to make jelly of that young man in a New York minute, but he failed to do it. Some little trifles stood in the way. For instance, it wasn’t ten seconds before he realized that two could play at hugging. Martin’s hand sank down in the bear’s coat, the shoulder muscles were called on for duty, and at the first hug the bear rolled his eyes in astonishment.
    “Go in, Hunyado-go in- go in!” screamed the bear man, and the bruin laid himself out as if he meant to pull a railway water tank down.
    “You might squeeze a little bit harder, my son,” carelessly suggested the father, as he spit from the open door, and Martin called out his reserve muscle.
    Each had his best grip. There was no tumbling around to waste breath, but it was a stand-up, stand-still hugging match. Little by little the bear’s eyes began to bulge and his mouth to open, and Martin’s face grew to the color of red paint.
    “Hang to him, Hunyado-I’ve got my last dollar on your head!” shrieked the bear-man, as he saw further bulge to his pet’s eyes.
    But it was no use. All of a sudden the bear began to yell and cough and strangle. He was a goner. Martin knew it, but he wanted no dispute, and so he gave Hunyado a lift from the floor, a hug which rolled his eyes around like a pin-wheel, and then dropped him in a heap on the floor.
    “Well, may I be shot!” gasped the bear-man, as he stood over the halflifeless heap of hair and claws.
    “Martin,” said the father, as he handed him the thirty dollars, “you’d better go back thar and watch our satchels!
    “Yes, I guess so,” replied the son, as soon as he shoved the bills in his vest pocket, and he retired without another word or look at the bear.
    That is the bear they were feeding gruel in a saloon on Randolph street two evenings ago- one man was feeding him gruel and another feeling along his spine to find the fracture.-Detroit Free Press.