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The Lane in Seattle has no turn claims
Mayor Hanson. It at least has no turn in
Hanson's direction.
The daily papers did not quite make a
heroine of Uuth (iarrison, but they did
their "damdest."
March may not bo going out like a lion,
but she has much the appearance of a polar
bear.
Germany says she will fight again be
fore she will cede a foot of territory to
Prance. Germany has shot off her mouth
before.
All Europe is shot to pieces just now and
it occui's to us that the fighting has just be
tniii. Another thought also occurs to us in
this connection and it is Uncle Sam is
bringing the boys home entirely too soon.
If Tom Murphine does not build for him
self a political machine in Seattle that will
make the shades of the lamented Leigh
llmil set up and take notice then we miss
our guess.
Down South the Democrats pull off some
paw political stunts to get their men in,
but none quite so raw as the one pulled off
by the Standard Oil bunch at Butte one
day this week.
Either W. E. Mitchell of Seattle has been
handed a bunch or Seattle was not inclined
to pay patriotic homage to the Colored Sol
diers returning from "over there," as the
most of the boys are now at Camp Lewis.
With the Standard Oil Bolsheviks operat
ing in the North and the Democratic Bol
sheviks operating in the South, Gen. An
archy should not be long in taking pos
session of this land of the free and home
of the brave.
That specie of the genus homo known as
"colored miners" are rapidly disappearing
from the Northwest. The migration has
been made without fuss or feathers and so
the tribe was about extinct before it *oe
came generally known.
"Government officials considering coal
prices," comes the report and we suspect
they are devising ways and means to pro
tect the coal barons from loss during the
summer, when not very much coal is con
sumed.
LINCOLN WALKS AT NIGHT
It is portentous, and a thing of state,
That here, at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court house pacing up and
down.
Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
lie lingers where his children used to play,
Or through the market, on the well-worn
stones
lie stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.
A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient
black,
A famous high top-hat and plain worn
shawl
Make his the quaint great figure that men
love,
The prairie lawyer, master of us all.
His head is bowed. He thinks of men and
kings.
Yea, when the sick world cries, how can
he sleep?
Too many peasants fight, they know not
why.
Too many homesteads in black terror
weep.
Tie cannot rest until a spirit-dawn
Shall come—the shining hope of Europe
free;
The league of sober folks, the Workers'
Earth
Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp and
Sea.
Tt breaks his heart that kings must murder
still.
That all his hours of travail here for men
Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white
peace
That he may sleep upon his hill again?
—Vachel Lindsay.
Two furnished rooms with priviledge of
kitchen and other home accommodations.
Rates reasonable. 1914 East Fir Street.
THE PASSING THRONG
It has been said, "one half of the world
does not know what the other half is do
ing," which is more or less true, but if
each side would but stir about and meet
each other at home and on the highway!
both would know more about the other,
than to remain at home and wonder about
it. Having convinced myself that theory
as advanced above is absolutely correct,
I set out last Sunday morning to meet v
few persons and hear from them how things
with them were. The sun shone bright
and the ''idle rich" were out by the thou
sands in their expensive limousines and I
really enjoyed to see them fly by. At Rai
nier Beach I called at the home of Mrs.
Ilyram Moore. I was a bit in doubt of
being at the right place, but the number
on the door answered to the number on
my book and I was on the right street so
I ventured in. Mrs. Moore owns an in
viting home in a more or less select com
munity and its surroundings show much
care and cultivation. Despite the fact she
has been a resident of Seattle some eight
years or more I had never before met her
and was agreeably surprised to find in hei
one of the most cultured ladies in the
Northwest. Mrs. Moore has spent much
time with the brush and easel and she has
paintings that would make an expert eon
noiseur set up and take notice. After
viewing her numerous productions, I won
dered why she did not have them all on
exhibition somewhere as an advertisement
of what she could do and in connection
therewith a school of art, at which she
would be at the head. I was glad that a
small matter of business called me to her
home as I saw things I had not the remot
est idea were to be found in the home of a
colored family and that too the production
of the lady of the house.
Once upon a time a man owned a farm
and he had worked very hard to fashion it
to his liking, but somehow or another he
never quite succeeded, and so he decided to
sell it and buy one somewhere else in the
wide world more to his liking, and to that
end he called on a real estate agent and
placed it in his hands for sale. He de
scribed the place to the agent, who jotted
down what he had to say about the farm.
The next day the advertisement appeared
in the paper and after the farmer had read
and reread the advertisement he called on
the agent and said, "Is that my place you
have advertised," and having received an
affirmative answer the farmer replied, "well
that farm is not for sale as it's the very
kind of a farm I was about to set out to
find," and so the deal was off. Last Sun
day I visited a farm of a colored man near
Kennydale and I had been in his presence
but a short time before he said, "I want
to sell my place and get one that suits
me better." His place was on a public
highway on which hundreds of automobiles
passed every day. The place has a com
fortable home on it and a vast variety of
fruit trees and berry bushes and a fine
spring of water. The land is in a high state
of cultivation and, to a city chap, it ap
peared to be an ideal country home, and
near enough to Seattle to go to and from
the city in a couple of hours. The owner
had money in his pocket and knew nothing
of the want for the necessities of life and
in spite of all these he wanted to sell be
cause he believed there was something bet
ter somewhere. When his place is ad
vertised he may conclude that that place,
after all, is his ideal.
I often meet IT. Harding in Seattle, who
works at the steel plant, on his way to and
from work, and of course I always supposed
he depended upon his job for the support
of himself and family. Yes I knew he lived
at Kennydale, but I thought he did that to
dodge the expenses of the city. I was in
Kennydale last Sunday and called at Mr.
Harding's home, which is on a two-acre
plot of ground, which is in a high state of
cultivation. In addition to the fruit and
vegetables he raises on the ground he has
a bunch of hogs and a covey of chickens
which between himself and wife he cares
for at night after returning from work in
the city. Now much he will make on the
chickens is more or less problematical, but
I feel absolutely certain he will lose nothing
on them. On his hogs, unless they get the
cholera, he will realize as much as he will
from his daily labors, as hogs are hogs
just now. He can sell a six weeks' olft.
pig for $10 and a six months' old hog for
nearly $40. He has more than twenty pigs
and so you can see what he practically has
in his hands. When you see a person you
cannot always tell what's under the hat.
There is a small church just beyond Ken
nydale and services were being held therein
last Sunday and being acquainted with the
most of those who worship therein, I hung
about in the warm sun shine until after the
services and the first person I met was
Johnny Mathews, whom I had known for
many years. In Seattle Johnny is a jack
of all trades and I was rather surprised to
learn that he was the pastor of this church.
The old adage "you may be entertaining an
angel unawares" was quite applicable in
this case as I had from time to time done
business with Mathews and little suspected
that he was a preacher and held a regular
pastorate—another case of one half of the
world not knowing what the other half is
doing. Get out and stir around and the
wisest ones will learn something new.
A stranger in a country communty in
quired of an Irishman the direction to a
certain home. "Take that road and go
down through the timber a half a mile, then
the road will fork and you take the left
hand fork; go another half mile, when that
road will fork and you take the center fork;
then go one mile until you reach a heavy
undergrowth where the road stops." The
Irishman had no further description for the
man and in despair he exclaimed, "and
then which way do you go?" "In faith
and be jasus if you are not lost you are
dam close to it." I inquired the way to
reach the home of S. S. Mounday and after
receiving the desired information I set out
to find it from the description I had reecived,
and after getting lost a half dozen or more
times, finally reached my destination, and
was immediately convinced that I was fully
repaid for all my worries. In the deep re
cesses of a valley the Mounday home is
located and its a true case of living at
home arid boarding at the same place. A
comfortable home sits on an acre tract of
land that's so rich that potatoes, turnips
and beets grow so large that you have to
split them open to get them into the bin.
In other words, the Mounday family raises
more fruit and vegetables on that plot of
ground than the family can consume and
though in Seattle they know nothing of
want. But few colored families would have
gotten a home so far from the thoroughfare
as did the Moundays, and, believe me, but
few colored families in Seattle live as inde
pendent as do the Moundays. Its worth a
whole lot to get acquainted.
Last Monday evening John F. Cragwell,
who has seen Seattle grow from thirty thou
sand to four hundred thousand, invited a
few of his friends, who like himself, had
watched her grow, to a stag dinner at
which the delicacies of the season were
served. In the midst of the festivities it
was announced that the occasion was the
celebration of Mr. Gragwell's fifty-eighth
birthday, which made it doubly enjoyable.
When the birthday cake was brought in as
a surprise to Mr. Cragwell his little grand
son rose and delivered the following brief
eulogy:
It is great to live in times like these when
thought and action are moulding the des
tinies of men; when from the hilltops of
time one is permitted to look backward, and
take note of events that have taken place
within the remembrance of fifty years.
During this period, electricity has largely
supplanted steam, the automobile has taken
