Demoorai atc
Bellefonte, Pa., Sept. 28, 1900.
THE PLODDER’S PETITION.
Lord, let me not be too content
With life in trifling service spent—
Make me aspire!
When days with petty cares are filed,
Let me with fleeting thoughts be thrilled
Of something higher !
Help me to long for mental grace
To struggle with the commonplace
I daily find ;
May little deeds not bring to fruit
A crop of little thoughts to suit
A shriveled mind.
1 do not ask for place among
Great thinkers who have taught and snug
And scorned to bend
Under the trifles of the hour—
1 only would not lose the power
To comprehend.
— Helen Gilbert, in the Independent.
THE QUALITY OF MERCY.
1
“And if he is guilty, what then ?”’
‘Well, who cares about his guilt? You
mean, if the jury find him guilty.”
‘Yes, of course, the verdict.” McClune
of the First Ward was slightly embarrassed
by the railroad attorney’s severe tone.
“Why, tbat’s what we're here for.
There’s just one thing to do—work on the
Judge to get him off easy.”
The third man was the Sheriff—taciturn,
calenlating, anxious to be re-elected—a
power in the county’s politics. “It won’t
do to send him up,” he remarked, with
unwonted eagerness. ‘‘He can do more
with the French vote along the creek than
anyone in the county—and you know we
hev’ just got to get that vote.”
In a little room back of the Sheriff’s of-
fice the trio were considering ways and
means. An important local politician was
on trial for the most heinous offence of the
plains—cattle-stealing. To be sure, only
one cow had been traced in such a manner
as to lead to his arrest, but hundreds of
head had been missing in the community,
and the existence of an organized band of
cattle thieves was suspected. .
For days the trial had dragged along in
the stuffy prairie court room. The space
within ‘the railing, where the lawyers,
witnesses and prominent (or self-impor-
tant) citizens sat, was filled session after
session, but the benches for the common
public were mostly vacant.
From a corner, the prisoner—a gaunt
pallid settler—faced the jury. He was ac-
companied by a veiled woman — his
wife.
The best criminal lawyers in the county,
Merton & Hammond, were fighting for
Johu Warden’s liberty. At last it ended,
and all awaited the verdict. Attorney’s
and court officers discussed the case while
the jury was deliberating—the group in
he Sheriff's’ apartments most earnestly of
all, ..;.
“I don’t believe he is guilty,’”’ spoke up
Merton, ‘‘and yet there is something
mighty queer about how that animal got
in his yard.”’
‘‘Mayhe,’’ suggested the Sheriff, looking
through the unwashed windows across
miles of dun western Kansas prairie,
“‘maybe there wa’'n’t no stealin’—th’ erit-
ters may hev’ broke into his corral.’
“No, that couldn’t be’’—Merton took
the remark seriously. ‘‘The cattle inside
the fence were put there, but I don’t be-
lieve John Worden did it.
‘Of course not, or you would not have
taken the case,’’ laughed his rival, the
railroad attorney.
Merton reddened a little, then arose as
the twelve men in whose hands was his
client’s fate came into the court-room in
charge of a bailiff.
The jury did not agree with Merton.
After much discussion and wrangling in
their shabby room, the august body re-
turned a verdict of guilty.
The local papers applauded or criticised
as ran the personal prejudices of the edit-
ors ; the jurymen were serene in the con-
sciousness of duty, done and the prisoner,
his face more wan than ever went back to
the stone dungeon that served the county-
seat for a jail.
The session of the court went on, and di-
vorees, mortgage foreclosures, quarrels and
damage cases took their turn on the
docket.
But Merton still worked for his client.
Another meeting of the local leaders of his
party was called, and again in the little
room back of the Sheriff’s office the gather-
ing came to order.
‘“‘He’ll be sentenced to-morrow,’’ Mer-
ton explained,” and if we're to do any-
thing, now is our chance. The judge has
refused us a new trial—we must get him
off with a light sentence.”’
“It would be a mighty good thing to
handle the creek townships with,’’ drawled
the Sheriff. ‘‘This next election’s goin’
ter be mighty close.” '
“Afraid you won’t pull through, are
you ?’’ sneered the editor of the county pa-
per. He had praised the jury’s verdict,
and his real sentiments were against War-
den, but he had been called vigorously to
time by his leading supporters and told
to get on the other side for the party’s
sake. It made him cross and pessimis-
tic.
“Well, . Jim,” replied the Sheriff, “‘a
good majority along the creek will be about
the only thing that will allow you ter
keep yer grip on the county printin’ at
robber rates,” and the langh was on the
newspaper man.
McClune was clearly the leader to whom
they looked for counsel, and when he
spoke there was close attention.
‘I take it,’’ he announced, after awhile,
‘‘that the Judge wants to do what’s right,
but he ain’t anxious to cut his own politic-
al head off to spite somebody. He's got
to be elected next November, too, or he
might as well leave the State—an’ to be
elected, he’s got to pull every rope.”
“Just what I was tellin’th’ boys,’’ put
in the Sheriff.
-*“The district’s close,”’ went on McClune,
and if there’s any doubt about Warden’s
guilt as Merton says there is, it’s all right
for the Judge to give him the benefit of it
and make his sentence light--say a couple
months in jail. He can stand that and
get out in time to round things up hy
election day.”
The others nodded approvingly.
*‘Of course you know the penalty ruus to
ten years,’ added Merton, quietly.
“Yes, an’ in some communities that
ain’ civilized as well as we are, it’s hang-
in,’’ remarked the Sheriil.
The editor voiced the feeling of his com-
rades : ‘Somebody must go to the Judge,
and make a talk—and McClune is the one
to do it.”’
The First Ward politician denied his fit-
ness. ‘I don’t want to,”’ he said, depre-
catingly, ‘but, of course, someone will
have to do it.”
“‘Well, you’re the man. You nominat-
ed Holland, and he’ll listen to you when
he would show us the door.”
“I suppose that’s so. Well, we'll try
it,”’ and McClune went out into the biting
winter afternoon.
Judge Holland was surprised to see Me-
Clune that evening. The Judge's home
was with a sister on the edge of the strag-
gling prairie town. He was compelled to
ask his visitor into the sitting room where
the children were studying school lessons
by the shaded lamp.
“J came to see you very particular,”
blurted out the First Ward leader, embar-
rassed by the family circle.
“Oh yes, you wish to see me alone—
come upstairs.” .
In the little bed-room, warmed by the
stove-pipe from the apartment below, they
faced each other.
The Judge was slender, clean-shaven,
nervous, with deep-set eyes and high
student’s forehead ; his visitor, big
brusque, and whiskered. was much the
older, and considered the young lawyer
whom he had assisted in the political race
as his protege.
“Now, Holland,”’ began McClune, seat-
ing himself carelessly on the bed. “I’ve
come to see you about Warden—the cattle-
thief, you know.”
“Well, what's the matter ?’’
«Youn’ll have to sentence him at the end
of the term—to-morrow.’’
“Yes.” Involuntary the judge glanced
towards a table wheregn lay a bundle of
legal papers.
“T's a pretty serious job, I know, but
we want you to be easy on him.”’
“The jury found him guilty.”
“J know—hut Merton thinks there is
some doubt about the jury just being right.
And I want to say to you'’—it was a fa-
vorite expression of McClune’s-‘‘that Mer-
ton’s opinion’s worth something.’’
“Mr. Merton is perhaps prejudiced.”
The Judge smiled quizzically. Merton
had been his rival for the judgeship, and
neither had quite forgiven the other for
the part taken in the campaign. ‘‘For my
self. I think the jury was correct.”
‘Well, I reckon it was—but we don’t
want him in jail more than two months.”’
“The Judge's face darkened, but his
visitor went on : ‘‘Youn’ve got to run for
office again next fall. You pulled through
last time by less than a hundred. and you
wouldn’t have done it at all if it hadn’t
been for me and John Warden. Do you
know what would bave happened then ?”’
The young Judge knew too well. The.
burden of debt, the meagre law practice
still more diminished when the bursting
of the boom sent people out of the county
by the hundreds, the expense of the cam-
paign—his hair had whitened while he
waited for the returns from the back pre-
cinets, one of which was John Warden's.
“You haven’t got your debts paid yet ;
you don’t see any great opening for a law
business here, do you ?”’
McClune laughed harshly. Both knew
that the town was in worse financial condi-
tions than ever in its history.
“You have just got to be elected, now
ain’t you ?’’
The Judge did not reply
“Jf you send Warden to the ‘pen’ for
five or six years, you'll lose all three of
the creek townships. The French are his
friends and swear by him—not another
man in the county can handle them for us.
That’s one hnndred and fifty votes. It'll
beat you. Give him a month or two in
jail and he can stand it ; he’ll get out in
time to swing things and we’ll be all
right. See? I want to tell you that it is
the thing to do.”
Holland’s features grew hard and for-
bidding. ‘‘In other words you want me
to sacrifice justice to politics—to sell my
soul for place?’ The Judge looked his
visitor square in the eyes.
McClune refused to meet the gaze, but
thrned away with, ‘Oh, don’t be a fool
and try to work off an oration on me.”
“Bad as I want this office, bad as I need
it,” went on Holland sternly, ‘do you
think it my duty—between man and man,
honor bright—to do this ?”’
McClune did not answer. He was lying
back on the bed and apparently not listen-
ing closely.
“If the man is guilty, he deserves pun-
ishment ; if he is innocent, he ought to go
free—there is no middle ground—’’
“_but what of good politics,” inter-
rapted the First-Warder. ‘‘Maybe the
man’s innocent. You want to hold your
job on the bench four years more, don’t
yon? And you know I want to run on
the ticket with you for Clerk of the
Court."’
“God knows I do—but this is a mon-
strons thing you ask. McClane, and I’m
tempted to tell you to leave the house.
You've been my friend. When I was a
poor boy, taking care of horses in this old
town to buy my clothes, you were good to
me. I don’t forget that. and I don’t for-
get how you helped me to attend school,
to get a start, and then to secure the nomi-
nation for Judge—you pulled me through
the campaign. Of course I'd have been
beaten but for you—"'
“And John Warden.”
“Yes, and John Warden. But this
thing you ask is another matter—Ilet me
think over it?”
McClune rose to go. At the door he
turned and, with the finesse of a born dip-
lomat, played what he knew was his
strongest card. ‘‘Remember I'm to be on
the ticket with you,’’ and was gone.
Holland sat a long, long time in the
chilly bed room. Once he went over to
the table and took from the bundle of pa-
pers a slip on which were written some
memoranda. Slowly he read them :
“Titus James, arson, eight years.”’
“Richard Roe, larceny, two years.’
“John Warden, larceny, six years.””
“And McClune wants me to make it two
months or less !’’ he mused.
A studious, conscientious youth, an ear-
nest, hard-working lawyer,a man who look-
ed for truth in his fellows—the thought of
prostituting his high office, even to serve a
friend to whom he owed so much, un-
nerved him. It haunted him through a
sleepless night, it sat beside him on the
bench in the stuffy court-room the next
morning, it went with him to the Judge’s
chamber at the noon recess. He wanted no
lunch. With the slip of paper in his
hands he sat pondering, as he firmly be-
lieved, the question of his duty and of his
political and business future.
1
The door opened. ‘‘A lady to see yer
Honor,’ and the bailiff brought in a veiled
woman. Holland recognized her as the
one who had, day after day, been sitting
‘beside John Warden.
, “What can Ido for you, madam ?’? his
air was courteous.
. “Once you did not call me ‘madam.’ ”’
She threw aside her veil, and he saw in
her sweet but worn face familiar lines.
a #L thought—I thought it was Mrs. War-
en.
“It is. I have been John Warden's
wife for four years, but you did not know
se IT in ap
—and probably you did not care.”
eee eet eee eer
Holland could not speak. The one ro-
mance of his life—the days when he had
admired Mary Heather's pretty face and
form—ecame back to him.
“Yes—I cared—but I did not know,”’
he stammered, at last.
“Youn loved me once!’ exclaimed the
woman, impetuously, as if determined to
present her strongest forces first. “You
said you loved me—and then you left
me—"’
“No, you left me Mary—beg pardon.’’
“Well, we won’t go over that,”’ she had
not noticed his familiarity with her first
name. “It is too late now. I married
John Warden a month after, and we went
to Texas. We nearly starved there’’—the
woman shuddered at the remembrance—
“and came back to settle on Sand Creek.
Our home is there.”’
“I never knew,’ repeated the Judge.
“And we nearly starved again,”’ went
on the woman. ‘‘I never realized before
on how little people could keep up life if
it was necessary. 1 cared for the horses
while John was sick. I drove to the store
with eggs. and I followed the plough and
harrow. I read in the Herald every week
that you were rising in your profession,
and how you became Judge—but I never
saw a notice of your marriage.”
Holland shook his head. She was play-
ing her game well, and had him at a disad-
vantage.
“T have come here to tell you something
—something terrible. There came a time
when we had nothing to eat, when the
cupboard was bare of potatoes even, and it
seemed that we must go on the town—or
sell our horsss,if we could get anything for
them above the mortgages they carried.
You don’t understand what that means. I
thought of you that terrible day—thought
of how different life would have been with
vou, Mark—and I cried for the first time
since my marriage.’ r
The Judge’s eyes were moist and they
avoided the woman’s.
“On the plain, near our house, was a
great herd of cattle belonging to some rich
company. Who would know or care if one
was missing ? I begged John to help me,
and together—yes, together, hut at my
suggestion—John Warden and the woman
you once loved, and around whom you
once put your arm tenderly, went out in
the dusk of evening and drove a cow into
their corral. They killed her, and the
meat made their first meal for thirty
hours.”
“Somehow, after that, things went bet-
ter. No one knew how desperately poor
we had become, and John’s influence with
the foreign-born settlers on the creek
brought him work. He was above them
in intelligence, and had a tender heart.
He nursed their sick and helped bary
their dead—and they worship him.”’
“Bat a lawyer, working for this great
cattle company that had robbed us of pas-
ture, and whose herds have trampled down
our crops, traced a missing cow to our cor-
ral, and my husband is in jail—for how
long you are to say this afternoon.”
A pause followed, and Judge Holland,
rising, went to the window.
“Mark !”? The old familiar title of
youth caused him to turn quickly. The
prisoner’s wife stood close beside him.
“Mark, be merciful—for my sake! Iam
as guilty as he, and will suffer more than
he.”
The settler’s wife threw herself into an
easy-chair and sobbed.
“Qyez, Oyez, Oyez!”’ the Sheriff was
calling at the front door downstairs. The
bailiff rapped.
“Time for court to commence, yer Hon-
or,”’ he announced.
The prisoner’s wife, her face again hid-
den, went out. ‘Ina moment the Judge
followed.
The town knew that sentences were to
be pronounced, and the room was filled.
The prisoners stood in a dejected row,
awaiting their fate.
Occasionally the Judge glanced at a piece
of paper in his hand. Titus James re-
ceived his eight years behind the bars.
Richard Roe was ordered to the peniten-
tiary for one-fourth as long. Several
short terms were distributed as a teacher
might give out prizes on the last day of
school—only these were not received with
joy.
“John Warden, stand up! In accord-
ance with the verdict found by the jury,”
the Judge’s voice was far from firm,and he
nervously tore into fine pieces the slip of
paper he held in his bands—‘‘you are sen-
tenced to one hour’s imprisonment in the
county jail, to commence at one o’clock
to-day.”’
Everybody looked up at the big clock
above the Judge’shead. Itshands showed
that nearly one-half of the sentence had
expired.
No, not ‘‘everybody’’—McClune, as the,
sentence was pronounced, slid quickly
through the green doors at the rear of the
room into the deserted hall without.
Softly he chuckled to himself, ‘The
Judge wants to be re-elected a mighty
sight worse than I thought he did,”’ ran
his meditations. *‘I didn’t know I had so
much power over him.”
And thinking so, his surprise was all the
greater when, two days after, Judge Hol-
land gave an interview to the Herald in
which be said that, owing to the need of
rest and a contemplated trip to the Pacific
coast, he would under no circumstances be
a candidate for a second term.—C. M.
Harger, in Harper's Weekly.
Easy When You Have To.
This new story of Abraham Lincoln is
from Eben Holden :
“My son,’’ he said, taking my hand in
his, ‘Why didn’t you run ?”’
“Didn’t dare,” I answered. ‘‘I knew
it was more dangerous to run away than
to go forward,” ‘‘reminds me of a story,”
said he, smiling. ‘‘Years ago there was a
bully in Sangamon county, Ill., that bad
the reputation of running faster and fight-
ing barder than any man there. Every-
body thought he was a terrible fighter.
He'd always get a man on the run ; then
he’d ketch up and give him a licking.
One day he tackled a lame man. The
lame man licked him in a minute.
“Why didn’t ye run ?’’ somebody asked
the victor.
“Didn’t dast,’”’ said he. ‘‘Run once
when he tackled me an’ I've been lame
ever since.”’
“How did ye manage to lick him ?’
said the other.
“Wall,” said he, “I hed to an’ I done it
‘“That’s the way it goes,’’ said the im-
mortal President, ‘‘ye do it easy if ye have
to.
He reminded me in and out of Horace
Greeley, although they looked no more
alike than a hawk and a handsaw. But
they had a like habit of forgetting them-
selves and of saying neither more nor less
than they meant. They both had the
strength of an ox and as little vanity. Mr.
Greeley used to say that no man could
amount to anything who worried much
over the Lit of his trousers ; neither of them
pe.
ever encountered that obstacle.
in A A
isi
Price of Powder Caused Strike.
Chief @rievance of Miners in Present Troubles in 4n-
thracite Region. No Special Arbitration. Mitchell
Insists on Broad Base of Settlement. Amounts
Earned by the Men Greatly Vary in Different Colli-
eries. Sliding Seale at Some Places.
The list of grievances prepared at the
Hazleton convention last month, and upon
which the present strike is based, does not
apply toall the mines in the anthracite
district, nor can it be said that all the
grievances apply toany one mine. The in-
dictment was intended to- cover all the
grievances that exist in all the mines, and
it is upon that basis only that President
Mitehell and his associate - officers of the
Mine Workers’ association are willing to
arbitrate. They refuse to arbitrate special
grievances or with individual operators,
but insist upon an omnibus proceeding,
which makes agreement the more difficult,
because an operator will naturally refuse to
arbitrate grievances that do not exist in
his own mines, but do exist in the mines of
his neighbors. He may be exempt from
one and his neighbors exempt from others,
but the union officials place all operators
in the same class and insist upon dealing
with them as a class and not as individuals.
In the Jeddo mines, where the operators
and the miners have agreed to arbitrate,
there is probably less cause for complaint
than in any other mines in the entire an-
thracite region, and Mr. Mitchell argues
that they should not be used as an example.
If Archbishop Ryan as arbitrator, should
decide in favor of the miners, the grievance
that exist in other mines would not be re-
moved, but if he should decide against
them, the public would infer that the com-
plaints of the men in other mines were not
well founded and their moral support would
be lost.
POWDER A STRONG GRIEVANCE.
The greatest source of trouble is the
price of powder, and it does seem queer
that men cf such experience and intelli-
gence as the owners and operators of mines
should permit it to remain as a continual
cause of friction and complaint. As I ex-
plained the system of management in the
anthracite mines is awkward and antiquated
and has not been changed for nearly 30
years. After the troubles in the '70’s the
present scale of wages and methods was
adopted. Owing to the disturbances which
occurred in that strike. It was not consid-
ered prudent to place powder and other ex-
plosives on sale to the public, and there-
fore the operators agreed to provide the min-
ers with whatever powder they needed for
blasting purposes as fast as they required
it, at the rate $2.75 a keg, which was the
ruling price at that date. In the meantime
power has become cheaper year after year,
until now it can be bought for $1.10 to
$1.25, and I am informed that it has been
as low as 90 cents a keg.
Some of the operators furnish powder to
their men at cost price. Others at a slight
advance, $1.50 a keg, others will charge
$1.75 and $2. In all these cases the excess
over the cost is a profit to which the opera-
tor is not fairly entitled, from ‘he stand-
point of his employes. The operator on
the other hand, argues that the money
from the sale of powder is a part o! the re-
turn he should receive from his employes,
and that if the price is to be reduced he
should not be compelled to pay as much
per ton as he is now paying for the mining
of his coal. This is an individual matter,
and no two operators look at it alike. Lib-
eral employers give their men the benefit
of the reduced cost of powder. Those who
work close and try to make as much as pos-
sible do not.
CHANCE TO INCREASE EARNINGS.
The powder grievance is the most serious
of all the matters involved in the present
troubles, and if the operators would all
agree to let the miners buy their powder in
the open market or furnish it to them at
cost price. the bottom would fall out of
the strike A keg of powder will last two
or two and a half days under ordinary cir-
cumstances, hence the miners’ earnings
would be increased about fifty cents a
day.
The method of estimating earnings is as
complicated as a metaphysical problem to
the ignorant miner, and the great majority
of them are ignorant. Furthermore, it is
an inheritance from the past generation,
and like the price of powder, is a continual
source of misunderstanding and friction,
when it might be made so simple that
everybody could understand it. The min-
er is not paid by the ton, but by the carload
but the word ‘‘ton”’ is generally used to
describe a carload, although a full car will
contain from 2,600 to 3,000 pounds of coal.
Hence, in the indictment of the Hazleton
convention, the operators are accused of
swindling their employes by compelling
them to furnish 3,000 pound to the ton,
when the same coal is sold to the public at
the rate of 2,240 pounds to the ton. The
explanation is as follows :
Every car is supposed to contain a net
ton of coal after all the stone, slate and
other foreign substances have been remov-
ed. The miner works in the dark, under-
ground and although a man of experience
can distinguish a chunk of coal from a stone
or piece of slate by the weight and feeling,
nevertheless it is almost impossible to
avoid getting a certain ‘amount of foreign
substance in every car, and 24,000 boys are
employed in the anthracite regions to pick
over the coal and remove the foreign parti-
cles. Some miners are honest and some are
dishonest. They will grade up on the
matter of morals about the same as other
laborers of equal intelligence, and dishon-
est miners will throw in stone and slack
their coal in the cars so as to cheat their | Rock
employer whenever it is possible to do so.
HONEST SUFFER FOR DISHONEST.
Hence, they are required to send up sev-
eral hundred extra pounds to cover defi-
ciencies. ‘This isrequired of honest as well
as of dishonest miners.
When the car gets to the mouth of the
mine the coal is inspected, and if an un-
reasonable amount of slate is found in it,
the miner is fined or docked 25 cents, in-
stead of being discharged for dishonesty.
It would seem that some simpler way
might be devised, for the ignorant Pole or
Hungarian cannot be made to understand
why he should be compelled to produced
3,000 pounds for a ton, when he is honest,
then have his wages reduced 30 per cent
when he is caught cheating.
The coal is inspected by a ‘‘weighmaster’’
who keeps the accounts of the miners, and
reports to the office what each has sent out
from the shaft during the day. He is usu-
ally a faithful, intelligent man, selected
from the force of miners because of these
qualities, but as soon as he 1s placed in a
Josition of authority his former chums and
llow workmen regard him as their enemy
and complain of his actions. Iam told as
a rule, men who have been employed as
miners are much more exacting and arbi-
trary when they are prometel to weigh-
masters or foremen than men who have
never worked underground, and do not un-
derstand the tricks of the trade. At any
rate a friend becomes a foe when he is plac-
ed in authority over you, and the miners
‘the companies do not empl
object to having their fellow workmen ap-
pointed to serve as weighmasters. They
demand, too, the privilege of having what
is termed a ‘‘check weighmaster’’ of their
own selection at the month of the mine to
represent their interests and protect them
from the exactions and dishonesty of the
weighmaster.
TWO MEN CAUSED QUARREL.
At a few mines this has heen permitted
but the operators say that the experiment
was a failure hecause the two men were al-
ways quarreling and sometimes fighting,
and kept the entire mine stirred up with
controversies. They say also that the only
reason why the men object to an examiner
as weighmaster is that they are unable to
deceive him if he is honest, and if dishonest
he levies blackmail.
Another complaint is the lack of regular
work in some of the mines. As a rule,
miners work about 18 days in the month,
and from six to seven hours a day. That
is believed to be as much as any ordinary
man can do without over-taxing hisstrength
The number of days is determined by the
superintendent. The number of hours is
optional with the miner, and men of great
endurance oftener work 10 and 12 hours a
day and increase their income accordingly.
Eight or ten cars of coal are the result of an
ordinary day’s work, for which the miner
is paid from 70 cents a car and upward, ac-
cording to the character of the vein of coal
in which he is working.. This isdetermin-
ed by the superintendent. Thus a first
class miner, who produces 10 cars of coal
gets $7 a day. From this he pays his as-
sistant $1.60 a day, and his powder bill
which is a dollar or so, and finds himself
with $4.40 or thereabouts as the net earn-
ings of the day, which figures up about $79
a month. The great majority of miners do
not produce more than eight cars a day, so
that their earning are not more that $54 a
month. I have made an average of four
ordinary miners where I was permitted to
see the, pay rolls, and find that 2,730 min-
ers employed in them earned an average of
$52.53 during the month of August.
The question of pay is also involved in
the strike, and is, in fact, the fundamental
reason for it. The mines demanded an in-
crease of 5 per cent, for those making the
highest wages, and 10 per cent increase for
all earnings between $1.50 and $2 a day,
and 15 per cent increase for all earnings
less than $1.50.
PAID ON A SLIDING SCALE.
In some of the mines, particularly those
belonging to the Philadelphia & Reading
railroad, and Cox Brothers, which market
their own coal, including perhaps 42 colli-
ers and 25,000 men, the miners and labor-
ers are paid by the week on a sliding scale,
according to the fluctuations in the price of
coal. Their pay is regulated on a basis of
$5 a ton retail at tide water, and the fol-
lowing statement shows the actual wages
paid per week to laborers and miners dur-
ing the last eight months :
Price Miners Laborers
of wages wages
coal pr. wk. pr. wk.
December, 1899 $4.40 $11.84 $10.15
January, 1900 4.60 12.10 10.37
February, 1900 4.80 12.35 10.58
May, 1900 4.70 12.22 10.47
August, 1900 4.80 12.35 10.58
Involved in the strike are about 59,000
laborers and general workmen, who assist
the miners in the shafts and do whatever is
necessary on the outside. They are paid
an average of $10.50 a week ; there are 5,000
engineers whose pay averages $60 a month,
and the same number of firemen who re-
ceive an average of $45 a month; 2,000
blacksmiths ‘and earpenters from $45 to $75
a month; 10,000 men who drive the mules
and horses and attend the stables, from 75
cents to $1.25 a day; 24,000 boys from 12 |
to 18 years of age, who are engaged in the
picking of slate and other foreign substances
from the coal. They receive from 35 cents
to $1 a day, according to their age and effi-
ciency, averaging perhaps 65 cents. There
are perhaps 5,000 boys engaged about the
mines in various capacities who receive
similar compensation.
At one of the small mines near Scranton
employing 56 men only, when I was allow-
ed to examine the pay roll for August, the
average earnings of the miners working
beneath the ground were $50.57 for an
average of 18 days. The largest earnings
of any one miner for that month were $81.-
49 and the smallest were $35.89.
EARNINGS OF MINERS GREATLY VARY.
I was shown the pay roll for August in
one of the collieries in the Hazleton district
and the amounts earned by the men range
from $38 to $152. The man who earned
$38 1aid off nearly half the time. The man
who earned $152 went into the mine every
day and remained long hours. The others
ran about as follows : Two miners $81.57
each, one miner $89.37, one miner $93.67,
one miner $75.54, 16 miners $61 each, two
miners $83 each, four miners $68 each, two
miners $76 each, one miner $65, one miner
$6225, one miner $57.
The average number of days worked dur-
ing the month was 18. )
A neighboring mine worked 136 men,
whose average earnings for the month were
$52.45, the maximum being $91.48, and the
maximum $36.52, the average number of
days worked being 19.
Tn another mine employing 192 miners,
the average earnings of the men were $52.-
60 for the month, the maximum being
$61.90, and the minimum $53.81 for an
average of 17 days work. |
The following is an exact copy of the
rate of wages paid to other employes than
underground miners in the colliery last re-
ferred to:
Tracklayers, per day......cceee cue
Track helpers, per day.
Masons ........eeeeene
Yt
<
Door boys........
Outside laborers.
Headmen and ft
Loaders........
Plane engine
Headmen.
Loaders....
Drjvers
arpenters...
Carpenters h
Blacksmith.......
Blacksmith helpe .
Engineers at shaft and breaker...
Engineers at supply shafts per
ea]
@
&
g
=
z
B
He
oie +
SER
ed ed pd pd od pd eo
peoazbnrokanabanbaoqiys
2.00
1.95
SPI 1 1S
Bi pn eessessensasenninmee
eT promke
iremen...
Platemen.
Bi Hela 5
Slate Ging DOSSeB..c.uerveriasass weer 1.35 "
The company’s doctor, who is complain-
ed of, is employed at the isplated mines to
attend the miners and their families.
When the mines are situated in or near
large towns like Scranton and Wilkesbarre
pani te Seetors, The
miners employ an ysician they please.
At the isolated is to gu toe the ‘doo-
tor a living and makesure that his services
are paid for, each miner is ti<ed one dollar
a month, each laborer 50 cents a month,
and other employes accordirgly, except the
boys whose fathers are employed in the
mines. They pay nothing. None of this
money goes to the company. It all goesto
8
°
=
-
=
ee E8
ENsR2283
1.10
90
the doctor, and in consideration therefore
he is required to answer all calls from that
company night and day and farnish all
medicines and surgical supplies that are
necessary for the proper treatment of his
patients. These mine doctors make from
$1,500 to $4,000 a year, according to the
number of employes. Smaller mines in
the same neighborhood usually combiue in
the support of the some doctor.
OUTGROWTH OF MANY YEARS,
This system is the outgrowth of many
years’ experience. It is explained that,
before it was adopted, miners who were ill
or injured took little care of themselves
and lives and limbs were frequently sacri-
ficed to avoid the payment ot doctor bills.
Often miners would refuse to pay and tell
the doetor to .collect from the company.
Uader the laws of Pennsylvania these as-
sessments for medical services are optional,
and the miners cannot be compelled to pay
them, but it is asserted that those who re-
fuse to pay the doctors’ assessment are dis-
charged as soon as their service can be dis-
pensed with although other reasons are as-
signed.
Another ground of complaint is the com-
pany stores. Formerly it was the custom
here as elsewhere to pay all employes in
orders on their store, so that the company
madea profit coming and going, but such
establishments are now regulated by law,
and it is optional with the employe
whether he receive his pay in store orders
or cash.
Here enters a delicate question. The
women in the mining districts are general-
ly in favor of payment by store orders for
that allows them to control the expendi-
ture of the family income, whereas the men
generally prefer to be paid in cash, and it
is often a matter of serious dispute between
husbands and wives. In such affairs the
paymasters of the mining companies have
some amusing experiences. The women
claim that when their husbands are paid
in cash they speedily seek the saloons and
generally come home drunk with empty
pockets on pay day, whereas if they are
paid in store orders such misfortunes can-
not ocenr. The dissolute miners are said
to be behind the demand for the abolition
of the company stores.
Although the trading at the company
stores under the law is optional with the
miner, it is complained that many compan-
ies will not employ men who trade else-
where, although, of course, when men are
discharged for this cause other reasons are
assigned.
It is said to be the almost universal rule
that the poorest miners are the most active
agitators and make the most trouble and
the men who are temperate industrious
and skillful and are making good incomes
are contented and make no complaint.— W.
E. Curtin in Pittsburg Post.
Cane Rush May Cost Life.
Rutgers Callege Student Probably Fatally Trampled.
Unnoticed in the Struggle.
In the fierce cane rush at Rutgers College
Saturday night 18-year-old Fritz Wittig. a
member of the freshman class, was knock-
ed down in the scrimmage, trampled on
and, it is feared, fatally hurt. The rush
was won by the sophomore class, but
doubtless at fearful cost.
The contestants gathered on the field
shortly after midnight, and it was freely
stated that the struggle would be a fierce
one. And it was the hardest fought rush
in years. The sophomores, smarting un-
der their defeat on Wednesday, were de:
termined to win the victory at all haz-
ards.
Dressed in football togs and old clothes
the collegians were in readiness for a hard
fight. The members of each class were on
the ground, and those who did not take
part in the contest cheered the others on.
Young Wittig was in the thickest of the
scrimmage, and did good work for the
freshman class. In some manner he lost
his footing and disappeared in the midst
of the struggling mass. In the darkness
and excitement his absence was not noted,
and for several minutes the rush continued
over his prostrate body. When time was
called he was discovered on the ground .
unconscious. Willing hands carried him
to a fraternity house near by and Dr.
Nicholas Williamson found that he was
soffering from concussion of the brain and
had heen badly bruised about the body.
All efforts to restore him to consciousness
being futile. Dr. Williamson asked that
‘the young man’s parents be notified. Since
the rush the physician has repeatedly
tried to revive the young man,but without
avail. ;
The contestants in the cane rush are very
-much grieved over the affair, and are eager
and willing to do what they can for their
suffering comrade.
Peppermint Oil Crop.
Beet Sugar is now Being Largely Raised in New
York instead of the Mint.
The beet sugar industry is attaining
wonderful proportions in various sections
of this country. A few years ago in some
sections of central New York the pepper-
mint oil crop was the leading feature, and
brought more money into the hands of the
farmers than did the apple crop. But now
the peppermint crop is mostly a thing of
the past in that section and the mint stills
are kept in operation by the crop of a few
acres near them. :
The beet sugar crop has driven the mint
crop westward, for the farmers find it more
profitable to raise sugar beets. Ten years
ago every community in central New York
had a resident who was getting rich by
stilling mint, but these same mills are now
falling into disuse. Lyons, N. Y., was the
centre of the mint market of the world,
but that honor is now among the claims of
distant western cities. The fame of the
Wayne county oils was known near and
far and took the world’s prize at the Col-
umbian exposition in 1893. The Pan-
American exposition wiil bring a new lo-
cality into similar prominence in all proba-
bility. Thus, the peppermint crop, like
the march of civilization has gone west-
ward.
——
NEBULAE OF SONG.
Dim nebulz of song!
Pirst, a cold star dust in the spirit’s void,
Whirling with measured sweep the
through, in
Then more compact, centripetal and strong,
Swifter and surer and of warmer hue!
Thy brothers wait thee in the blue above,
Far through the silences their songs descend;
Thou, too, shalt join their ancient choir of love
And send thy light across the paths of men.
Now the faint music of the early dawn,
Feeling its way with broken chords and slow,
Then the C major, resolute and strong,
Surer in conscious strength the measures go.
But thou, dim dust, that trailest through the
night,
Lceasting the waves of that unsounded sea,
Swift be the course of thy triumphant flight
And sweet thy music in the years to be!
—Herbert Muller Hopkins in Bookman.
-ddpBfr