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ure because the bank had too many resources back of it. The Philipsburg Mail in an article published in the issue of June 1, 1893, says: "A malicious report started a small run on a Granite and Philipsburg bank this week, but it didn't last long because it soon transpired that the men behind the bank were worth in the aggregate of five million dollars, while the depositors were something like $100,000. Besides the bank insisted on keeping open until 7 p. m., while the run lasted and the cheerfulness of the paying teller was so disgusting to the depositors that they all put their money back and went home to pleasant dreams." The following year the depression of 1893 struck Montana and, with it, Granite. The town was wiped out. Charles F. Scheers, an editor in Granite during its days of prosperity. describes the situation in an article in the Montana Standard, May 1, 1938. He says: "Montana, the Treasure state, was hard hit in 1893-94 when the price of silver dropped from around $1.40 to 90 cents an ounce-and then slid down below the cost of production (which in the straight silver-lead mines was said to be 75 cents an ounce.) "The city of Granite, which is located about 1,500 feet above Philipsburg and which had a population of about 5,000 souls, was completely wiped out. Two of Montana's leading silver mines of that day, the Bi-Metallic and the Granite Mountain, which employed about 3,000 miners and which were working levels as low as 1,500 feet, closed down without even a day's notice to employes. Whole Population Moves "The closing of the mines caused the entire population of Granite to seek new homes. They each packed up a few articles of personal property and trudged down the hill-to Philipsburg, Anaconda, Butte, Helena and other nearby towns; less than a score of families were left to tell the tale of the old mining town that had been founded amid the rocks on Mount Granite. In Granite there was left no possible chance to make a living except through mining-and the two outstanding silver mines of Montana were closed down tight. Picture the situation of the few optimists who remained. "Philipsburg, the county seat of Granite county, has grown to be a nice little town, at the head of a fertile valley, during the past 40 odd years, but Granite is only a ghost city. The writer of this article conducted the Granite Mountain Star, a weekly newspaper for several years in Granite. When the panic hit the district in 1894, he was compelled to follow the example of the miners who were his subscribers. He left all his earthly possessions behind him and, packing a suitcase with his clothes, he went 'down the hill' to Butte where he was so fortunate as to obtain employment as a reporter on the Butte Miner. "This week the writer went 'up the hill' to the scene of his early day editorial activities; back to the camp that was so sorely stricken when the panic of 1893-94 swept over the land. "The scene that met his eyes was heart-wringing. With moist eyes and a lump in his throat he viewed a country he had known in his young manhood, the field of his youthful ambitions, of hopes and his joys. He had toiled up the hill to renew his ac-