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Elk City mining news. (Elk City, Idaho) 1903-1913, May 27, 1905, Image 2

Image and text provided by Idaho State Historical Society

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88087183/1905-05-27/ed-1/seq-2/

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When pallid Dawn comes up the sky.
And Day and Night for moments brief
Touch hands and lips, the waking Sea
Bethinks her of some ancient grief.
Haggard and wrinkled, gray and grim.
She moans the burden of her care,
The ghost of that wild thing that leapt
By day the wind's wild sport to share.
Belike the voices of the dead,
Tossed in her boundless charnel caves
Since man's first ship was drawn to
Haunt her above her beating waves.
Or else there presses on her heart
The weight of immemorial age.
Before the sun brings back to mind
Her youth's eternal heritage.
•—New York Tribune.
Her Second Self.
ItS. ST. GEORGE sat alone
before her low tire, in her own
cozy sitting-room.
To-night, for the first time in her
two years of w'idowhood, Mrs. St
George daid down the widow's cap
which had for so long served to
ceal the thick auburn braids so artis
tically colled about the small head.
Eighteen years had passed since she
and Leonard Grover had met. They
had been lovers in that far-off time;
but he was poor then, with no whis
per In the air of the rich Inheritance
to which he afterward fell heir, just
too late for it to bring happiness to
She had married very young. She
Would Leonard
find her changed, she wondered—he
whose coming she waited here to
Simultaneously with the thought
came the sound of carriage wheels
and horses' hoofs on the graveled
She started to her feet; pressing
both hands upon her fast-boating
She w r as glad—oh, so glad!—that
the room was dark, when she heard
the quick, firm tread; so glad that
he could not see the quick blush,
which put her matronhood to shame,
when the door was thrown hastily
open, and three or four swift strides
brought him to her side.
Oh, how his voice thrilled hep—
half with pleasure, half with pain!
"Are you glad to see me?" he ques
She strove to answer; but her Ups
quivered, and no words cam-».
"Florence," he then said again, and
he bowed his handsome head lower.
Is It too soon to speak?"
"Oh, Leonard," she answered, "can
I yet atone?"
And then the bridge of years was
swept away, and she sobbed out her
happiness upon his shoulder.
"Let me see you," he said at last.
"I have not yet seen the face for
which I have hungered all these
He struck a light, then turned and
loked at lier.
"My darling!" he said. "It Is still
my beautiful Florence. What have I
done to deserve tills hour?"
"Mamma, where are you?" called
out a fresh, girlish voice at this in
The next moment a girl of scarcely
seventeen summers sprang into the
"This is my daughter, Leonard—my
only child. Maude, let me present
you to one of your mother's oldest
was but 35 now.
The gentleman indicated looked
from one to the other—from the moth
er to the daughter—then back again.
Now he could realize the lapse of time
—now he could appreciate the
changes years had wrought
The daughter was a fair counter
part of the mother's beauty.
An uncomfortable sensation rose up
In his breast—a dumb warring against
the Inevitable—an unacknowledged
desire to retrace life's pathway and
conquer time.
Meanwhile the girl pouted the full
red lips, as she thought her mother's
friend strangely absent; and when he
at last forced himself Into a few
words of greeting, they fell upon dull,
unheeding ears.
Then she had gone.
were alone again; but he no longer
opened wide his arms, but Instead
drew a chair to her side, that they
might discuss more rationally.
'You must teach Maude to love
she said to him next morning.
"I want first to reconcile her to my
second marriage before startling her
with its probability. Tell me—do you
think her like me?"
"Your second self."
"Ah, I am so glad!
her, then, for my sake!"
To love, and to be loved! O'er easy
task set by frail woman In her bllnd
It was Mr. Grover who must
You will love
b« Maude> »mpanlon in her dally
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rides—Mr. Grover who must teach
her to manage the boat—in these first
early splnrg days.
Maude looked upon her guest as her
property. She had long ago laughing
ly told him how unceremonious had
been his welcome to her, and he had
wooed and won absolution.
Sometimes Florence sighed as she
watched them together, while she sat
alone; but she gave to the sigh no
name, and thought the tribute to be
vanished years.
One day came her awakening.
Maude and Mr. Grover had gone for
their afternoon ride, but It had ex
tended beyond Its wont, and she had
grown anxious and ventured forth to
meet them, striking into the forest
path which was their favorite way.
A half-mile from her home she met
Maude's hors*, riderless. Pale with
terror, she hastened on, when sudden
ly she stopped, rooted to the spot.
Almost at her feet knelt the man
her heart had loved always, and in his
arme in© held Maude's unconscious
"My love! my life!" he
word being borne distinctly to
"Speak to me once—just once!
Maude, are you hurt? My darling! ray
darling* Would that I might have
given my life for yours!"
Then he stopped and pressed his
lips to hers. A long, fluttering sigh
escaper them.
"Leonard!" she whispered! "Leon
ard!" •
"I am here, dear," he said.
And then he laid her down out of
his arms, as though, w'lth returning
life, he remembered the duty it brought
with it.
The mother sprang forward.
"Do not be alarmed," Mr. Grover
said, gently, on seeing her. "Her
horse threw her. I think there is no
serious injury."
When a few hours later they knew
that there was no need for anxiety on
Maude's account, Florence shut her
self up within her own room to fight
her battle.
"I cannot give him up," she moaned,
"He does not know his own mind.
He will forget this child, and she—
she cannot love him."
And, for the first time In her life,
there came a feeling of bitter resent
ment, even against her daughter.
They were sitting together In the
library as she entered.
"Leonard," she said, "I think It Is
time we told Maude the truth."
The man's face paled.
She could almost see him gird his
soul for the conflict, and crush out his
heart behind his honor.
Even Maude looked up, with a sus
picion of coming trouble.
"It Is only this, dear," she said, turn
ing to hdr daughter. "Has not Mr.
Grover told you that he is an engaged
Then she saw that the steel had
struck home. The girl answered noth
ing as she turned two wet, reproach
ful eyes to him, who dare not meet
their gaze.
"I must congratulate Mr. Grover,"
she said, calling up all her woman's
pride to her aid.
Then she hastened from the room to
hide the burst of tears.
The two were left alone.
"Does she suspect, do you think?"
Florence asked, gloating over his tor
said, each
"She mus* know," he answered. "I
am ready, Florence, to fulfill my
"Release me. Leonard. I find I can
not marry you."
Five minutes ago she would have
thought herself incapable of the sac
rifice; yet there she stood quiet and
calm, giving no outward sign of the in
word whirlpool, nor the torture that
wrung her as she watched the weight
lift from his soul at her words.
A little later he came to her, Maude
blushing, radiant with happiness, by
"Will you give her to me?" he asked.
"I loved her, Florence, because she
was your second self!"—New York
Dally News
-—.......... —
his side.
Canonization of St. Seraphim Called
Together Over 100,000.
The act of canonization of SL Sera
phim on Aug. 1, 1903, was treated by
the Russian authorities as a purely do
mestic concern. Diplomatic representa
tives were not invited. Few foreigners
knew of the matter beforehand, and
those who asked for permission to at
tend were informed that all the accom
modations of the monastery had been
assigned. Even the leading British ad
vocate of union between the Anglican
and Orthodox churches fared no better.
An Englishman and myself were, as
far as I know, the only foreigners that
went, and we were made to feel tha
our presence was undesired. Notwith
standing this, and the discomforts we
shared with peasants wearing sheep
skin coats and birch bark footgear, we
wex-e richly repaid by the opportunity
to study Russia at close range, and to
witness a marvelous manifestation of
the faith that expects and creates mir
The function of canonization called
together a camp meeting of more than
one hundred thousand people, a verita
ble nation assembled in faith, a theo
cratic witenagemot. Besides at least
ten myriads of peasants, artisans and
small tradesmen—Russian accounts
say 350,000—the ceremonies demanded
the presence of the Imperial family,
mobilized an army corps and no incon
slderable number of police, and at
tracted a host of civil and military dig
nltaries and clergymen of all grades.
The complicated action and Interaction
of the autocratic, bureaucratic and
hierarchic machinery of church and
state were laid bare to an unusual ex
tent. The Emperor and the court vis
ited the haunts of the hermit, and
dtank and laved themselves with wa
ter from the miraculous spring beside
which his hut was built His uncor
rupted remains were placed in a costly
casket beneath a massive silver canopy
of monumental proportions, both the
gifts of his Majesty, and the monastery
was proclaimed a seat of miracles, a
Russian Lourdes—Century.
A Snob,» Grievance.
"Young man," said Mr. Dustin Stax,
"I had to work for my money."
"W r ell, father," was the chilly re
ply, "enough people In our set are
Irreconcilable Difference.
Mally—What makes you so haughty
when you meet George? Why don't
you make up. with him? ,
Polly—Because I should have to de
mand an explanation and I can't re
member what It Is I'm supposed to be
offended about.—Detroit Free Press.
throwing that up to me without your
taijiAwg about it."—Washington Star.
i ; ' ■
I \ I
In recent rears the growing frequency and persistence of strikes as
a means of clarifying the industrial atmosphere have forced themselves upon
the attention of those who. although not active participants In such expo
all the results of industrial agitation. The magnitude of
has done much to emphasize the damage done to busi
dients, share in
some recent strikes , .
ness and the Interest which the general public really has in the sense of
In the last few years conciliation and
In the United States
being a third and impartial party,
arbitration have come forward as remedies for strikes.
been illegal unless accompanied by violence, but In Europe
strikes have never
they were until recent years prohibited by law'.
Among the great labor upheavals In this country one of the most historic
the Pennsylvania Railroad, In which much damage
In 1883 the telegraph operators were
Is the strike In 1877 on
was done and troops were called out.
called out, and the entire American telegraphic system was tied up.
Homestead strike at the Carnegie works in 1892 was the most bitter
Industrial conflict in American history and Involved a sanguinary battle be
tween private detectives and unionists, in which nmnj were killed and
wounded. The memorable Chicago strike of 1894 originated in an effort of
the newly-organized American Railway Union to obtain favorable terms for
There were street railway
the striking employes of the Pullman car works,
strikes in several large cities in 1900, and in the following jear a great steel
In 1902 the anthracite coal strike came nearer to producing a famine
In that commodity than any previous event.
The causes of strikes are manifold.
The most frequent cause, however,
In prosperous times strikes are likely to occur on ne
in times of business depression there
is the wage question,
count of demands for higher wages,
has been much industrial trouble on account of attempts to decrease wages.
The regulation of working hours has also furnished frequent cause for lalnw
upheavals. Many of the recent strikes have had their origin In a determina
tion of the members of trades unions to affiliate only with fellow mem
Quite as frequently a resolution on the part of the employer to avoid
discrimination between union and non-union labor has been productive of In
dustrial trouble. Of still later origin is the sympathetic strike. In which the
workmen of one trade, convinced of the righteousness of the cause of a body
of striking workmen of another trade, decline to labor at their usual avo
cation until justice prevails.
over and under the part A, and draw
First, make a plain overhand knot
as in Fig. 1. Take the end B, place it
the ends tightly; then it will appear as
j n Fig. 2. If you place the ends in the
other direction they will make what
sailors call a "granny knot," a term of
ridicule used of one who ties the knot
thus through mistake. The square
knot can be easily undone. It you
want a knot that will not slip In doing
Tus a.
<] 01

'j i
i ;
*Eîô. ä
hiç -V
up bundles with twine, take another
turn, as in Fig. 3.
Lay the parts together as In Fig. 4.
Then curl the part A over B, bringing
the end up through the loop as In Fig.
5. Now carry B around and under A,
passing it down through the loop as In
Fig. 6. This knot will not slip. A man
can sit ln C and be hoisted to any
height in safety. This is the kind of a
I knot to make if yon want to lead an
j ox or n horse by a halter, as it will not
slip and choke the animal. This is
really the most important knot that is
■ made. It is handy in making fast a
boat's painter and In tying fish lines
' and sinkers,
How Near that Nation Came to Bnild
ing the lethmian Waterway.
The work at Panama which the
United States government has Just un
dertaken narrowly escaped being fin
ished under the auspices of the Czar
of Russia, as a sort of complement to
«( Trans-Siberian Railway.
Philippe Bunau-Varllla, In a history of
I the canal project which he contributes
to La Nouvelle Revue, narrates the clr
cttmatances, which are certainly not
gntxe-ully known.
iu 1139 K not long after Russia be
gan, the Trans-Siberian, he says, it
cuvred to me that the Panama canal
was in some way a complement to that
undertaking, as the Suez had been to
the American transcontinental
1 ways. It seemed to me that then
a proper time for Russia to manifest
her friendship for France in a tangi
ble way by helping to re-establish the
work at the isthmus. So i applied to
Monsieur De Witte with that In view.
"What Is the opinion of the French
j government In the matter?" he asked.
^ hen, in a way to suggest that he
conve y e< l the wishes of Czar Alexan
der, he added:
"If it «onforms to
yours, without
engaging the word of the Czar, I can
say to yon that any solution which will
aid the Interests of France in that
question will be received In a most
favorable manner by the government
of his majesty."
I then returned to France and con
sulted Monsieur Oaslmir-Perier, who
was then president of the council and
minister of foreign affairs, and
Monsieur Burdeau, minister of finance.
Monsieur Burdeau soon called me
to the ministry of finance. "I have
studied the question with Monsieur
Cisunir Perler," he said, "who will
call you in a few days to tell you that
the French government Is favorable to
joint action with Russia, and that con
sequently there is a basis on which
to re-establish the Panama work. To
day It Is the friend who speaks. In
a few days you will be officially in
Unfortunately for Monsieur Bunau
Varilla's plana, however, the ministry
fell before Monsieur Casimir-Perier
had called him to receive his reply.
By a singular fatality, within a year
Czar Alexander was dead, President
Carnot was dead, Burdeau was dead,
and Casimir-Perier was out of politics.
The Dreaded Artist.
The thought of possible cartoons
cannot well be absent from the minds
of men whom all the world knows.
A. Tollemache, the author of
"Talks with Mr. Gladstone," tells—
not In the book—a story which pre
sents the statesman In an attitude not
familiar in ordinary representations of
the great man.
One stormy day during one of Mr.
Gladstone's visits to Biarritz he
walked from his hotel to call on Mr.
Tollemache, who was amazed to see
that Mt. Gladstone came without an
Mr. Gladstone laughingly explained
that If the high wind had happened
to turn his umbrella Inside out, a pic
ture of him In that forlorn plight
would have found its way Into half
the comic papers of Europe.
At the Concert.
Ida—How did your Uncle Hiram en
joy the classical program?
May—Not at all. Why, I wore out
a shoe prompting him whpn to ap'
All the world's a stage—and all the
women Insist on having speaking

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