Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 October 1891 — MILLIONS AT HIS FEET. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

MILLIONS AT HIS FEET.

MR. SEARLEfS SUCCESSFULLY WOOED THE WIDOW. He Then Proceeded to Lavlih Her Wealth In the Most Romantic and Luxurious Fashion—The Great Will Contest—Timothy. the Adopted Son. Reads Like a Romance. The history behind the great Hop-kins-Searles will case is a romance of itself. The wealthy Widow Hopkins met Searles, a poor frescoer who had been employed to do work in her

home, became infatuated with him to such an extent that before the end of the year she implored the apparently reluctant suitor to mar- ■ ry her, and, as an inducement, laid her millions at his feet. Searles w a s e v idently awake to the op-

portunity thus given to gain sudden and immense riches, and the marriage ties had scarcely been solemnized before he began to display his newly acquired wealth in the most lavish manner. This was entirely satisfactory to Timothy, the adopted eon, until Mrs. Hopkins-Searles in her will at her death bequeathed the whole fortune to Searles. Then Timothy Nolan-Hopkins-Searles arose to enter an objection, and persons to whom thirty millions of dollars is a fairy tale have since watched this grabble for gold with a good deal of interest. Men and women marvel that a woman of so much sense as Mrs. Hopkins could consent to deed away her property so lavishly unless for the very highest of reasons. It is a plot flt for Wilkie Collins to have traced.

Years ago Searles was a poor boy in Methuen, and he wasn't liked by the other boys in the town. He was surly and self-opinionated, so the boys thought, and they made things unpleasant for him. In consequence, Searles. was always despised by the townspeople of Methuen, and has endeavored at every opportunity to show his contempt for the inhabitants. Terry, Nevins and other townspeople gave costly monuments and buildings, but Searles wouldn't mend the town pump if his neighbors were dying of thirst. However, he “showed off," as children say, and erected a gorgeous mansion with fifty acres about it to make the Methuen crowd jealous. Of course he took nride in

dazzling other Massachusetts towns with the fabulous riches of his doting wife; but into the Methuen spite he put an amount of style that shows a spark of genius. High walls were set to gird the place and guards kept out intruders. The main entrance is flanked with Corinthian columns imported from Italy, but it has never been used save on one occasion. This gorgeous marble affair was intended for an entrance to the town, just because Mr. Searles is a decorator and has romantic ideas. His notion was to make an approach to the town through a park -with a grand archway, something like the style in which a mediaeval town would indulge. But Methuen is a plain, every-day Massachusetts community that has hardly lost any of its Puritanical notions. The townspeople decided that they did not want to masquerade in this gaudy archway. Searles, in a huff, put it at the entrance to his own domain. Mrs. Searles drove under it Once on her return from Europe the last time, and since then it has been closed. A description of Searles’ luxury reads like a chapter in the “Arabian Nights.” The Methhen place of fifty acres is a network of paths leading through miniature lakes and everplaying fountains. Trees and shrubs from every clime are arranged in such a manner as to render the landscape a Garden of Eden. The splendid house, built in the style of a French chateau—Searles’ favorite pattern—stands on an elevation, and, strange to say, surrounds the very cottage in which Searles was born. As if to complete the illusion, the man’s aged mother still resides there, surrounded by every attention that wealth can provide. Yet her simplicity of life and carelessness of luxury fills her ancient townspeople with wonder. Searles is fond of surprises, and his endeavors to divert his aged wife were unique. For instance, he planned a grand Fourth of July celebration in her honor, when thousands j

of incandescent electric lights crowded the trees in the park. A huge tower had been erected in the park, and to disguise its object a windmill had been set at the top. An elaborate orchestra had been imported from Boston, consisting of a hundred musicians. On the evening of Independence Day last Mrs. HopkinsSearles stepped out upon a balcony overlooking the park, and then and

there the lofty tower turned out to be a magnificent chime of bells that rung out upon the air song after song in honor of the old lady’s presence. Then fireworks shot up into the starlit sky and the electric lights blazed forth. The old lady stood on the platform a few minutes, and then, with a sad smile upon her lips, was assisted back to her sick bed. She never rose from it again.

MRS. PATICK NOLAN, MOTHER OF TIMOTHY HOPKINS.

TOMB WHERE MRS. SEARLES’ REMAINS NOW LIE.

GATE OF THE METHUEN HOUSE.

TIMOTHY HOPKINS.