The Salt Lake herald-Republican. [volume] (Salt Lake City, Utah) 1909-1918, 1910-03-28
EUGENE DAY DIES
BY HIS OWN HAND.
Pennington NeWSpaperman Is
Successful in the Second At
tempt to Kill Himself.

Eugene Day, newspaperman, 46 years
old, who was employed on the Farming
ton Reflex, committed suicide yesterday,
after a former attempt earlier in the
week had failed. Mr.. Day, on last Mon
day took big dose of morphine, but
his groans aroused the people close by and
doctors soon resuscitated him. He was
so Respondent at that time that he told
the physician be had better have left
him 10 die, as he intended to take his
own life as soon as possible In a day
or two. however, he seemed TO become
more cheerful, and performed mis- duties
with his usual skill.
Friday night he came TO Salt Lake and
took ais revolver out of a pawn shop
and Went back TO Pennington. He Oc-
cupied room in the printing office and
early this morning he shot himself in
the head, inflicting a wound from which
he died few hours later. 1t is under
stood that he has wealthy relatives in
Los Angeles, and they have been notified.
For number OF years Mr.. Day had
worked on country newspapers in Cali
fornia and other states. He often wrote
poetry, and among the best of his verses
is the following, recently published in
the Pennington Reflex:
MY BLESSED MOTHER.
CTo my dear old mother Mrs. NJ. ].
Benefiel, these heartfelt. though wofully
inadequate, lines are affectonately ad-
dressed. Would that 1 could. for this
occasion, make captive the muse of a
Shakespeare or the eloquence of an Inger-
solL)
The summers and winters you've seen,
mother dear
Days bringing you joy or keen woe,
Have each left their trace, on form or in
Have tinted your hair like the snow.
But to me there's no face with such heav-
emily light,
No eyes such true beauty can show;
1 can see in their depths naught but Holt
est love
Purer gift none on earth can bestow.
When I think of the days that are gone,
mother, dear
Many days of the long, long ago
My heart beats quick, and a great, tender
tear
From each of mine eyes doth flow.
And why, do you ask, doth memory wake
Recollections which move me SO?
It's because of your uDtiring patience
The dearest I ever shall know;
And because L remember, with pain and
regret,
That in heyday of yOuth-careless,
There may have been times Gm afraid it
is sO),
When 1 should have been kinder To
thee.
Perhaps there wers times when, though
loving you true.
Had I not been so thoughtiess-been
wise
1 might have prevented some pain in your
I might have kept tears from your
eyes.
A mothers devotion to one she has
bOrnei-
Where else such affection sublime?
1t is broader than space, and It's truer
than steel,
It's endurance as lasting as time.
Should I and all others most earnestly
strive
To repay. full, the debts which we owe
To the sweet, gentle mothers-man's one
truest friend
We never could 90 it, 1 know.
The dear, loving mothers-God bless them
and grant
Them sweet peace in the autumn of life.
May the reverence of children efface from
their hearts
All memory of sorrow and strife.
Remember. dear mother, If my letters are
few
When I'm in some place far away,
1 think of you always with reverence ana
I'm W Your true, loving son. Eugene Day.