Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 30 June 1889 — Page 3

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.. .. THIS HTMH9 THAT XOTHKK HUNG. ^Through the dunging scenes of life, The shadowed vale of imlle and tears,

Where all isloct within the mist That hides the bygone jean, Borne strain* there are that linger still,

And roan/ heart* no longer young Are thrilled with Joy again to hear The hymns that mother nine. We used to gather at the hearth

When darkness overcame the day. And dreamily, a* children will. We'd watch the shadow* play And tilting by the glowing fire,

As to and fro the kettle swung, We learned the songs we've always loved, The hymns that mother sung. We seem to bear again her voice,

So long remembered, clear and sweet. As when, In days of long ago, We sat at mother's feet, And gazing upward on the wall,

Where dearest father's picture hung. We thought he smiled, tor be, too, loved -1 The hymns that mother sung. On many snowy wintry nights,

When all without was cold and drear We've clustered clone around her chair In happiness and cheer. No more for us the glowing lire.

No more the cricket's chirping tong ue, And never more on earth we'll near The hymns that mother sung.

To them we owe our happy homes, Praises be to (iod who reigns above, Kor keeping ever bright and clear

The lessons learned In love. Outliving sorrows, bearing hope, The dear old songs have always clung, And never can the heart forget

The hymns that mother sung. 1 Newark Journal.

PILGRIMAGE OF LOVE.

When Olivier and Mariette first Joved their united ages did not make 40 years. He had just carried off the grand prize in sculpture. She was a governess in a wealthy family. Mariette went with the family to Italy, and Olivier decided to follow her. There, for three years, which seemed to pass almost as swiftly as hours, they led together, as comrades and lovers, a happy life of work and careless gayety. Then they parted, because the love of youth—that love which embalms the memory of life's morning—is subject to the same law of quick decay as the most delicate flowers and the most luscious fruit. They parted without recriminations, without a bitter word, just as they recognized the fact that their love was failing. Instead of emptying the flngon filled with delicious essence and then costing it aside, they preferred to preserve carefully the last drop in order that they might iind later something of that perfume which -\aeejued so Bweet to them before. *"pme celebrated and rich.

He Whir by men and loved by women, rdtx livers but equally •A:

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11 ottering ways, i)»"» Bex, after its own mab&. ing reputations.

Mariette had an adventure inttTwhie she was led by the nomadic instinct of her heart, that was little inclined to entertain the same sentiment for any length of time. She had many lovers. 4 She married one of them, who, wishing 'r to do everything in his power to please her, soon left her a widow with a fortune and the title of marquise. rt $ $ $ $ $ $

Fifteen years passed, and they did not

BAA Afir.h oibor n(Ur tbtflt 5 til chance, the irony of which is pleased by these re-encounters, brought them toft* gether at a ball. "Who is that pretty woman?" said

Olivier to himself. He did not recognize—under the jewels with which she was almost covered— his little sweetheart of other days she

,ho

then never wore a richer ornament ,6an a white camelia in her hair OT a _ch of roses at her waist. '''Who is that handsome man?" thought

Mariette, who vaguely remembered having seen somewhere a pointed beard and turned up mustaches which resembled his, though they were then black, now ." shot with white as snow.

Their eyes met they recognized each other, and from one end of the room to the other, aoross the crowd of indifferent people who separated them, Mariette and Olivier Bmiled sweetly on each other as in that former time when, having but one thing to say, always the same, they often remained for a long time without speaking, hand clasped in hand. 'V Suddenly their eyes were bathed with moisture as came to them quickly, like a

Hash of lightning, the memory of those happy bygone duyo. Two tender thoughts passed each other, invisible messengers of the heart bearing greetings. Then as if some mysterious lodeBtone still attracted these two beings whose tlesh and spirit had formerly mingled in kisses without number. At the Belf-same moment the artist Btarted toward the marquise and she rose to go to him. "Ah! it is you!" said Marietta, extending her hand to him. "What an unexpec ted meeting!"

They drew away from the throng and seated themselves in a little deserted salon, instinctively seeking retirement and silence. A large lamp, having a shade ot rose-colored paper, discreetly lighted the room to which the lively strainB of the waltz sifted through the velvet portieres and mufiled by the Oriental carpet, came like a distant melody, which lulled the timidity of their oonvereation and inclined them to tender confidences. They told each other how happv this meeting had made them, what" emotion they had experienced when they recognized each other, and related the events of their lives during the past fifteen years. Their convereation was charmingly frank but through the badinage in which they indulged, ran keen regret that they were no longer all in all to each other, like the timid avowal of the fault both had committed in seeking elsewhere the happiness which was in their hands. At trie moment when the orchestra struck up one of thoee gypsy airs whose heady music intoxicates one like the perfume of a tropical flower,

Mariette notioed in Olivier's earnest look the tire of his former passion, which had been suddenly revived and Uis look, which fell upon her like a caress— this look^at onoe imperious and suppliant, made her throat palpitate and a maiden-like blush mount to her cheeks. He leaned toward her, and, in a voice which trembled a little, murmured some words in her ear. "Vnu wish, then," she said, "to add a chapter to our romance? Be it so—but on one condition. That we take it up at the page where we left off. I start to-morrow for Rom®. Join me there in three days. Speak to me no more of your grand passion until we have made this pilgrimage of love."

The night is clear and cold. To make

1

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herself mora beautiful she had taken all her gems from her celestial jewel box. The milky ways unfolds itself on high like a river of stars here and there solitary planets shoot their multi-colored fires, seeming like precious stones— rubies, emeralds and diamonds—sown on night's dark mantle. On the win dows of the railway carriage the hoar frost designs its delicate embroideries in arabesques. Now and then the traveller catches a glimpse of the skeleton of some high tree wrapped ill bictd of snow.

As the train speeds toward Modena, Olivier, bis eyes half closed, dreams of his fair friend who awaits him yonder in that land where the heaven is al blue, and where the winters have the mildness of our springs. At last he revisits this dear Italy. It is for this man wearied with the feverish life of Paris, with its struggles, its jealousies, its vulgar passions—it is for Olivier, who thinks he is going to rejuvenate himself in communion with art and nature and in the experience of true love, a delightful sensation of restfulneep, as if he were already granted a foretaste of the happi nees he is seeking.

Turin, Florence, Orvieto. The fields are still green and flowery the breeze is freighted with delicate odors the atmosphere is transparent the vine, climbing to the branches of the young elms, weaves from tree to tree the purple gar lands which delighted the eyes of Virgil.

Olivier dreamB continually of Mariette. One does not meet, still young and beautiful, a sweetheart loved in former days without being convinced that the sensee have their memory, sometimes more ten acious and more prompt to awaken than the memory of the heart. The remembrance of old caresses—a remembrance so keen that one is unable to say whether it is pleasure or pain—enters our flesh like an arrow and arouses suddenly an imperious desire to know again the sweetness of kisses which it WSB thought had been forgotten forever. That is why Olivier, on again meeting Mariette, felt through all his being that thrill which is the harbinger of the spring-time of passion that is why he went to their rendezvous in Rome doubly infatuated, since he had found in her two women, the girlish sweetheart of his youth,whom he was about to regain, and the charm ing women of the world whose acquaintance he had still to make.

As he descended in the morning from the railway carriage in Rome he saw Mariette awaiting him at the station. She was clad in a simple brown dress, she wore a hat with a narrow brim flanked with two gray wings of a ringdove, such as, Olivier remembered that she had worn when she had started for Italy fifteen years before, and which gave to the blooming marquise, Buperb in the opulent beauty of her thirty-three yeare, something of the air of modesty which characterized the little governess of other days. "Ah, my dear Mariette," says Olivier, "'I find you the same sweet girl as of old.

It was yesterday, was it not, when we tw oparted?" "Come," she says, with a 6mile of ineffable tenderness, am going to take you with me—"

They took a carriage, which left them, in the via San Claudio, at the door of a house which the artist at once recognized. They ascended to the third floor she opened a door, saying: "Here, we are at home."

It was the reception-room of the apartment in which she had formerly dwelt, and in which he had so often visited her. Every piece of furniture was in its old place: the table, with its red uutoi ovuiucu nivu wuw ouuucuufvl all inkstand he had overturned the arm chair, in which he had sat upon his knees like a cajoling child the sofa upholstered in flowered stuff. He cast a tender glance over the furniture, commonplace to others but not to him, for there was not in the room an object which did not possess for him a poetic reminiscence* of their love. He saw that Mariette had placed flowere everywhere, camelias white and red, damask roses, Parma violets—those violets which they used to gather together in the gardens of the Villa Ludovisi, and some ot which Bhe always slipped into her bosom in order that her lover, when he kissed her in the evening, might find her neck as fragrant as a bouquet. "Ah, my darling," he exclaimed, "how happy we are going to be!"

He tried to take her in his arms, but Bhe nimbly disengaged herself from his embrace, and with mutinous grace replied: '•Mo, no, my dear Olivier! This is only the first stage of our pilgrimage." And as he importuned her, she added: "Ah! you are like all other men! You always yield to the impulse of the moment Do you not understand that exquisite refinement which can make one delay happiness, in order to enjoy it the most? Ah! in love you area gourmand, not an epicure." "Ah! jny dear," said Olivier, "it seems to me that you are versed in the philosophy of love."

Thereupon they gayly left the apart ment. Mariette proposed that they should go to the banks of the Tiber and breakfast at a trattoria, where they had often gone before to eat spaghetti, sauced with the white wine of Orvieto. Olivier thought the idea charming, and they were soon seated in the open air on the terrace of a restaurant, in the Bhade of a large orange tree, before a table on which they found, cut in the wood with a knife, their intertwined initials. "Ah!" Baid Olivier, "Look! Those letters were cut seventeen years ago. Do you remember how happy we were that day?" "Yes," said Mariette, "you had just finished your 'Diana.' We drank to your success, but with the clear water of the Aqua Marcia in our champagne glasses, for there remained only 3 francs to carry you through the month. And then we went to see the 'Moses' of Michael Angelo. And then you accompanied me home. Ah, how well I remember it all! Ah, what a delightful day! What a happy time that was, was it not?"

They were silent for a few miuutes, eaoh lost in a dream throug hwhichpaased now half effaoed the old photographs faded by the sun, now clearly defined, the memories of other days. Above their heads bended the great blue dome of the Italian skies insects hummed among the dark foliage ot the orange tree, whose flowers impregnated the air with an exquisite, enervating perfume. At their feet the Tiber rolled with the sound of a torrent, its rapid and turbid waters, which whirled in great yellow eddiee near the piers of the Poute Rotto. On the opposite bank they saw the sewer of Maximus, the graceful temple of Vesta, the old buildings whose foundations go down into the river, theJaniculum and the ruins of monuments which gave an air of sad grandeur to this corner of Rome, and formerly made it more dear to them than any other. "What is passing in this hold?" suddenly cried Mametta, lightly touching Olivier's forehead with her finger. "Have I had the misfortune W displease you that you regard me with such a sour look?"

He hesitated a moment, then said brusquely "Marietta, I want to know if yon have ever loved anyone more than me?" "Oh, how can you ask me such a question, and above all, in this place!" she exclaimed. "Tell me, I pray of you! I wish to know." "You wish to know if others besides you have loved me?" "Yes." "If it pleases me now to forget, what right have you, I pray, to remember?"

Impelled by mortal curiosity, which sometimes takes possession of a nan's heart, Olivier insisted that she Bhould answer his question. Something more powerful than his will forced him to think of her other lovers and to find on the lips of hia former sweetheart the traces, not of hie kissf s, but of thein. lie knew that he had been the first to awaken love in her heart, and he could not suppress the desire to know in how many hearts she had inspired love, and to hear from her own lips to what extent that love had been returned. "Olivier! Olivier!" exclaimed Mariette, "if you were not insane it would be odious for you to speak in this way—at this time."

He had the courage to tell her that it was not jealousy that made him ask. "Ob, then it is for your amusement that you catechise me? What delicacy!"

A suddenchangte came over him. He was ashamed of the ignoble instinct which he had been unable to restrain, and of the cowardice which had led him to offend this woman who had been BO dear to him. "Pardon me, Mariette?" he said. "I was indeed insane. I know it is a sacrilege to speak here, in this place where we have been so happy, of other love that* ours."

She extended to him her hand, which he kissed, and they began to talk of other things, the theaters, music, novels, in the light tone of small talk. But at the same time they observed each other with that perspioacity which had given them such experience as they acquired he, of woman, she, of men and they began to see each Other, not as they seemed at their recent reunion, but as life had made them at the time of their separation. It Beemed to Mariette that Olivier had become sceptical, ironical and blase, that the spirit of criticism and mockery had dried up in him the source of his generous enthusiasms. Olivier, on his side, thought that he perceived that the little governess, since she had been metamorphoeed into a woman of the world, had lost her naturalness, that she no longer possessed that modest reserve, that charm ot innocence and naivete, which had given such a sweet, child-like manner to the sweetheart of his youth. It was a deception for them to try to estimate how much the years had changed each other from the ideas both had preserved.

Their breakfast finished, Olivier and Mariette went to walk in the city. They entered the Vatican, and were surprised because they did not feel the religious

emotion which they used to experience penetrating the sanctuary of Raphael and Michael Angelo. Then they visited the Sistine chapel. "Ah, well, you have nothing to say?" remarked Mariette. "What would you have me say I would scandalize you if I should confess that I no longer find this as beautiful—" "Why, that is strange," she said, "I also have had the same impression. You see, my dear, we were simple-hearted in the dayB when we were here before, and we are so no longer."

Mariette sighed' softly? ancl then, after a moment's silence, added: "It is too bad! It is well to be enthusiastic."

The disappointment they had found in art, added to the deception they had imposed upon themselves, augmented the vague uneasiness which they had begun to experience.

They took a carriage and were driven over to the Appian Way at the hour when the sun, declining on the horizon, colored with warm tones the marble of the antique tombs and elongated the shadows of the aqueduots.

When in Rome before Olivier used often to come, after a day of work, to join Mariette, who awaited him on the Pincian hill, and they wandered together from the city, seeking through the fields some comer of a meadow so sown with asphodels, where they seated themselves near each other and contemplated in mute ecstasy this spect acle, the greatest they thought, which the world could offer. Then, when the sun had disappeared in the West by the sea, they returned, walking Bide by side, serious, meditative, filled with the sovereign beauty of the place and the scene. Olivier, as he went, recited some verses, which Mariette repeated in a low tone, or they talked about the gods in Rome, whose presence they felt everywhere I around them—the radiant Apollo, whose flaming chariot they had just Beep disappear, and the chaste Diana, whose crescent, thin and pale, began to ehine above the Sabine I mountains. Their BOUIS,intoxicated by the splendor of form and the magic of color, were paganized in the midst of this great store house of antiquity and slowly, hand in hand, their eyes turned toward the heaven, where the stars began to show themselvee here and there, they returned through the avenue lined with sepulchres, where their steps sounded on the great flagstones which had been trodden, 2,000 years before, by the Bandais of the Romans.

But now, as they approach the tomb of Cecelia Metella, Mariette suddenly exclaims: "Ah, my poor Olivier, it is useless! I expected to be so happy to-day, and now —I no longer love the Roman Campagna! It is all over!" "The fact is," replies Olivier, "that the environs ot Paris are more attractive, though in another way."

Presently they come upon a group of young people speaking French, three or four handsome dark girls, tall and straight as cariatidee, accompany the party. They are young painters, students of the Villa Medici, who are out for a walk with their models. They laugh, make love to the sleepy-eyed girls, Biag their student songs and make absurd puns. Then the exuberant gayety of youth is suddenly checked, frolicking gives place to reflection on art they become serious and, pointing out to one another the distant hills Albano and Frascati, exclaim: "How beautiful! how beautiful!" Then again they begin to laugh noisily and to exchange jokes, as they plague their companions. Mariette and Olivier follow them with their eyes until they disappear at a tarn in the avenue then, without speaking, they exchange a long look. And this look signifies: "We were like them in the old days! What haa changed us?"

In the evening they went to a restaurant, which they reached soon after passing the Ponte Molla. There of old they used to go with their friends, a merry company, to make holiday, and the asti spumante made their hearts -aa gay as ever did the winea of France.

Olivier and Marietta dined together in a little room, old and faded, tha chintz

TOE TERRE HAUTE E^it»Sw3tJNDAY-MORNING, JUNE 3r$88l|

OF

.-ad and white bou

haaginaa qnetaooa reoognieed Olivier asked bered a certain song, a great favorite with him, which she used to sing. She began toeingitforhini,butitseeaiedto both that the gayety of tha words and music waa artificial. "You weep," said he, seeing large lean fall from her eyss. "It is nothing," she replied "I thinking of poor Henri."

bloegound. They at tha place. During d—art Marietto if ah*

Henri waa the author of the aong he waa ona of their beet friends, and had died of consumption at the age of

20.

"You also weep," said Mariette, per ceiving that Olivier's eyes were moist. "What is the matter?" "Ob, nothing, nothing! JT was thinking of Henri."

They were deceiving each other it wi for' themselvee they wept, not for their dead friend. Then they roee and left the restaurant. "Shall we return?" said Olivier. Mariette assented,

They traversed in ailenee the distance which seperated them from Marietta's rooms, the little rooma fall of flowers, where they had onoe been so happy, and where bat a few hoare before they had contemplated again being as happy as of yore. But this last stages in their pilgrimage of love was made with tbe alow step with which one followa the dead to the grave. A aubtle melancholy in sinuated itself through all their being the effort they had made to revive their youth and to make their old love bloom sgain had ended in gloomy and complete disenchantment. I«ove, art, nture, they themselves, during this dismal day bad successively given them cause tor diaappoinment, regret or sorrow. When the reached the door they looked at eacl other, hoping to find some cheering light in the other's eyes, but it waa night in their eyes as well as in the depths of their soule, and they stood there motionlesp, knowing that with each second an insurmountable barrier was rising between to separate them forever. "To-morrow, my friend," said the marquise at last, as she extended her hand. "I am tired." "As you wish," he replied. "I too, am tired. Good night, Mariette." "Adieu, Olivier."

And that was all. The next day Olivier arose late. A servant brought him a letter. It waa from Mariette, and read as follows: "When you receive this I Bhall have departed. We have deceived ourselves, my friend, in expecting of our former love something more or better than a memory. Let us preserve sacredly this faded roee, and seek not to make it rebloom. I am no longer the Mariette whom you loved, and you are no longer the Olivier who was so dear to me. I call you to witness that we have sought our former selves and have not found them. We seek something of which naught else can replace—the ingenuousness of youth. That is why we have made a futile effort to be happy again with each other, as in the days when we were artlees and young. Love does not renew itself."—[Translated for the Baltimore American.

M'ORATH'3 PIG.

The 3l§t of Mar, Near tbe break of day The flood was wild and as big

As old settlers e'er knew, Yet but few Have heard the fate of McGrath's pig.

Is It wonderful? Some, And ere I am done You will sdmlt I'm no poker.

In his pen this pig slept,7

WKJUTKO On the banks of stream, Sweet was his dream. Swiftly his pen on the billows did float,

Lurching here, then there, Now high in the air, Was the wonderful ride of tbe shoat

When morn came creeping. The pig while peeping Discovered a sill ot an oil well rig

Had hoisted him high, Safe, sound and dir. And from a watery grave saved McGrath' pig. —[Exchange.

MONT DROP YOUR PKN

If You Should Too Might Lose $100,000, as In This Instance. "The dropping of a pen arout to be used for euch a purpose aa thia," Baid a Philadelphia lawyer after the paper had been signed, "always makes me nervous and uncomfortable, for a case where a delay of not more than fifteen seconds, caused by the dropping of a pen with which a man was to sign his name to a will, lost to a worthy purpose a legacy of $100,000, always cornea to m.v mind. That was the cast of H. R. Bouse, one of the pioneer oil operators on Oil»creek, who made a large fortune early in tbe business. He was a native of Warren county, and in 1861 his wells were yielding him a daily income above tha average mans annual income. "He fell a victim to the first great oil well fire, when the famous Hawley & Merrick well began to suddenly spout oil and gas in Buch quantities that the oil ran to waste and flowed over the ground in all directions, and gas filled the air for quarter of a mile aroucd. A terrible explosion and conflagration followed. The score or more people who bad collected to witneea the then novel sight of a flowing well were enveloped in.flamee, among them H. R. Rouse. He was rescued from death in the aea of flamee by a man named Uriah Smith, of Mercer, at the risk of his own life and at the cost of permanent and awful disfigurement. "Rouse was so horribly burned that his recovery waa impoaaible, and, after being carried to a house near by, he insisted on making his will. Hia ayea were burned to a crisp in their sockets, and he waa one solid blister from head to foot, but he lay, without uttering a moan or a complaint, dictating hia will, a task that required several hours. When the will had been reduoed to writing and read to him he waa ao weak that he could no longer apeak, and ha mo tioned for the pen to Bign the document. When the person who had done tha writing dipped the pen in the ink bottle and waa about to place it in Rrasa'a hand, he dropped it and it rolled under the bed. "Not more than a quarter of a minute elapsed before he had recovered it, but when it waa placed in Rooae'e hand the hand waa powerlaea to use it The brave oil prince waa deM. Tha will ha thua left unaigned beueathed $100,000 to the poor fund of barren county. It also remembered the man who had born the testator from the burning maas of oil, who was left a handsome legacy. Rouae's heira, not be ing legally bound to carry oat hia wiahea, repudiated tha moral claims and Warren county loat her legacy, aa did the man who, at the riak ot hia own life, aaved the oil prince to hia family at leaat for whriitian buriaL And that ia why tha dropping ot a pan givaa me a moat uncomfortable and narvooa feeling?"

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Total

received June 1, 1889.

lunel,'89. $153,567 73 13,666 39 13.621 57 6,285 87 51 010 57 1.686 50 43,752 06 2) 00 684 91 1,721 21 49 30 911 00 5 00 107 on 20,100 00 1,401 27 3.645 00 4,038 34 1.460 96 2,248 91

$218,193 94 13.666 99 13.621 57 6,296 87 61,010 57 1.686 50 43,752 06 20 00 753 17 1,763 38 49 90 90 00 5 00 189 00 28,100 00 2,799 76 4,471 36 4.038 34 1,460 96 2.248 91 5.521 19 42.843 49 18,977 59 72 00 75 100 00 1,340 00 634 69 783 04 2,300 00 653 80 327 77 100 00 78 35

68 26 4» 17

82 bo

8,000 00 1,398 49 826 86

6.521 19 17.6T0 23 6,160 98 75 100 00 .19I (10 534119 183 01 460 00 403 80

25,243 26 12,816 61 72 00

1,145 00

11. 11, 11. 12, 12, 13. 13. 13, 10, 10, 10, 10, It. 11, 11. 12, 12, 12, 13. 13. 13, 13,

600(10

1,840 00 260 00 327 77 100 00 78 35 66 41 87 80 29 80 99 36 1,499 10 66 91 423 22 1,616 53 289 42 16 84 389 17 162 61 42(18 31,113 37 66 30 66,343 90 1.262 25 1.625 45

42 08

$108,214 07.$465,853 13

31,113 37jState tax. 65 30 state house tax.... 66.343 90!state school tax....

I,2fi2 25 1,625 45

Poor Specific Roads and bridges—

Ice Boxes

^^Commissioners of Vigo County, Indiana:

FUNDS.

County revenue Township revenue Road revenue Bridge revenue Special school revenue Dog tax Common school Eitray. Sine* and forfeitures Land redemptions Inquest Docket fees, circuit court Kerry license Show license Liquor license County dog fund Common school principal Common school Interest St. Mary's road Hatvllle and 8t Mary's road New court house New court house Interest County bridge Jury fees Township 10, range 8, principal

8, 9,

10. 8, 9. 8, 9, 10. 8, 9. 10. 11. 8, 9. 10. 8, 9, 10, 7, 8. 9. 10,

S 66 41 87 80 29 80 99 36 1,499 10 66 91 423 22 1,646 53 289 42 15 8I| 389 17 162 61

Interest

State university tax County school fund Interest.

$572,067 20

Total

EXHIBIT.

Disbursements of 18!

bounty Revenue From June 1, to May 31,1889." $ 13,705 05 7,594 80

Books and stationery Fooruiylum Insane. County officers. Public'buildings. Criminal. C. C. jurors C. C. bailiff Superior court Inqueet Grand jary Ass's revenue Special judge Court reporter County advertising Public printing Elections Benevolent institutions Fori, light and water. Janitor Oonntjr loan Interest Drainage Transfer to oounty revenue, unpaid interest, etc

Total W0a^40 74

16,488 68 3,802 64 10,060 54 4,542 70 20,830 80 7,161 53 8,996 19 4,561 35 1.769 95 6,130 10 1,259 10 1,878 75 2,949 75 1,070 00 444 00 492 32 836 00 2,051 10 3,120 70 3£32 28 3316 36

60,000 00

2£81 15 4.960 60 9,604 60

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I Grocers ^Druggists CHIC CHICA0Q

BEST IN THE MARKET

Convenient. All tbe Latest Improvements. Easiest Operated.

'26,765 SOLD IN 1888! Also a Full Line of Hardwood

c. c.

AUDITOR'S ANNUAL REPORT.

of receipts and expenditures of said couiit^ ror-mtKnwu* .M»ert May 31, 1889, as per vouchers on file in my office. Respectfully, FRANK ARMSTRONG,

BALANCE SHEET.

T^efri^erator©!

S I Cor. Third and Main Streets.

Auditor Vigo County.

Disbursed from June 1. 1888, to June 1, '89

Examined and approved this

W'M.

I N

OVER HOT FIRE.

GET THE POPULAR

Overdrawn ,7une 1. 1889.

Total

disbursed to June 1, 1889.

Balances June 1, 1889.

$203,740 74 13.666 39 13,621 57 5,285 87 51,010 57 1.686 50 43,752 06

$203,740 74 13,666 39 13,621 57 5,285 87 51,010 57 1.686 50 43,762 06

$14,453 20

20 00 753 17

1,770 79

1,770 79

49 30

90 00

7 41

90 00

5 00 6 00

184 00

184 00

19,500 00 1,472 49 3,438 00 6,790 28 2.844 00 2,273 67 6.621 19 19,047 50 12,580 50

8,100 00 1,327 27 1,083 36

19.600 00 1,472 49 3,438 00 5.790 28 2.844 00 2,273 67 6,621 19 19,047 50 12,680 60

1,148 43 534 59 770 41 1.950 00 663 80 327 77 100 00 64 00 77 05 88 00 41 60 77 60 1,296 79 70 86 659 36 1,422 19 352 06 16 85 268 37 167 02 95 00 31,113 37 65 30 66,343 90 1,263 25

1,761 94 1,383 04 24 76

23,795 99 6,397 09 72 00 75

loom

100 00

1,148 43 634 69 770 41 1,950 00 663 80 327 77 100 00 64 00 77 05 88 CO 41 60 77 60 1,296 79 70 86 559 35 1.422 19 352 06 15 86 268 37 167 oe 96 00 31,113 37 66 30 66.343 90 1,282 25

191 57

12 63 350 00

14 35

10 64 20

21 76

11 80

202 31

S.

that

true

a*

3 92

224 34

136 13

62 64 01

120 80

01

4 41

52 92

1,625 45

$516,241 68U- irk otK. r.) Balance In Treasury. $56^25 52

$616,241 68 $59,276 34 $3,449 82

ASA

*M.

BLACK,

S. HENDERSON,

Board of Commissioners of Vigo Couuty. STATE OP INDIANA, COUNTY OP VIGO, SS.

I, Frank Armstrong Auditor ofVigo county, Indiana, do solemnly swear

the foregoing and within statement is

I verily believe this 5th ^^^R^TRONQ, Auditor Vigo County. S.tacriW tnd .worn to b.fo» m.

President of Board.