Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 October 1898 — Page 7

CHAPTER Xll—Continued.) And the beajitiful, flower-like face drooped over the fair, sad young wife. The lips that hhd here* sighed—had known naught but smiled—touched the lips to whom smiles were rare. Then the radiant lady, whose life: had no care, went away, leaving Lady Selwyn once more alone under the gladiolus, with those words of caution and advice ringing in her ears. , ” » Had it really come to Qfis, that strangers noted and commented upon the state of things in their household? Could it really be that strangers saw that Beatrice Leigh had more influence over her husband than she had? It was her own fault. In those early days, when Vivian’s lore was untouched by doubt, if she had complied more with his wishes, things would never have come to this pass. Better to have made a few blunders—to have committed a few faults— to have made mistakes; better that a thousand times than for Miss Leigh to have grown accustimed to taking her place. “Was it too late to change?” she asked herself, wearily. “If she could summon up courage now, and try, step by step, to regain all she bad lost, would it be of any use?” She was young, and held life dear. It seemed hard that hope and happiness should gradually fade from her. The sunshine and the flowers seemed to smile upon her. Bending over the golden gladiolus—in whose fragrant bells the bees were humming—she said to herself that she would try. An opportunity came that very day. During dinner Vivian spoke of the evening, and laughed at the eouutess' piquant notion of a committee, “It is some distance to her house,” Violante said. “How shall we go?” ■** As usual. Miss Leigh, who considered the formation of all plans her own particular province, spoke. , , “It will be a fine evening,” she said, “and a walk by the Arno will be delightful” "How fond you are of that river, Beatrice,” said Vivian. No one appealed to Lady Selwyn, or seemed to think she had any wish in the matter. Now was the timb to try. “If you have no objection,” she said, turning her fair, flushed face to Miss Leigh, “I should like to drive. The walk is rather long for mqj’ They looked at her with some surprise —it was the first time she had dissented from any wish. It was Lady Selwyn's first triumph. She had not time to feel pleased over it before seeing the expression on Miss Leigh’s face. It startled her; for it said that she should suffer for the contradiction, and she considered the victory dearly bought.

CHAPTER XUI. The Villa Pjsani was brillantly illuminated. The rooms were filled with guests; the queen of the fete was Beatrice Leigh. It had been given in her honor, and she was the most beautiful and brilliant woman present at it. A little group stood together near one of the numerous fountains that played among the flowers—Beatrice, looking superbly beautiful; Countess Sittni; an English lady, Mrs; Rochester; Lady Selwyn, and Prince Cesare; they had been admiring a rare Indian 'pQmt; whose flowers resembled a errmsod bell. Prince Cesare thought, as he looked at the group of fair women, that he had never seen Lady Violante look to so little advantage. The chief attraebon in her beauty had always been its brightness, the light of her violet eyes, the sheen of her golden hair, the exquisite coloring of her face; but to-night aim looked £im and faded—it was as though had washed away all radiance— had quenched the light of the starry eyes. She looked pale and wearied; there was no animation in her manner; 6be was abstracted, indifferent and dull, differing far as the moon from the sun,to the bright, queenly woman by her side. Lord Vivian joined the group, and he was struck as he had never been before by the superb beauty of Beatrice LeighShining down k rival was an occupation so agreeable to her that her face glowed with trumph— the diamonds on her white breast were not brighter than her dark eyes. Lord Vivian looked at her, then at his wife, who stood by her side “eclipsed.” He wondered what Violante could have done to herself—even her dress seemed either ill-fitting or ill-chosen. “I came in search of a runaway partner,” said Ixtrd Vivan to Miss Leigh—“are you ready, Beatrice Y” Her face waa good to as she raised it to his. “This will be our last dance for many long months,” she said, as they walked away together; “and, Vivian, when it is ended I shall not care to dance again.” “Why not?” he said simply. It never entered his head to imagine that Miss Leigh was what would be called “flirting” with him. “Because,” she said promptly, “I never find another partner like you; every one else scorns awkward and stupid; too tali or too short.” “You flatter me, Beatrice,” he said. “I had no idea you valued my dancing so highly.” “I value all you do and all you say,” she replied,- and he touched the white jeweled hand that lay upon his arm. Then they passed out of sight Prince Cesar* 'went away with the countess, Mrs. Rochester was joined by her husband, and Lady Selwyn, in a few minutes, found herself alone. “No one will miss me,” thought the poor child; “here, in my husband’s own house, no one cares for me: lam only In the way; no one will miss roe!” She passed out into the moonlit grounds, where the fragrant night air whispered to the trees, gnawing jealousy and injured love burning the child like, tender heart away. She went where the sound of the music could not reach her—, down to the banka of the river, where a thick cluster of orange trees ntsed; she eat down there behind one tree larger j than the rest, end turned her weary young!

WOMAN'S ERRORS

By Marion V. Hollis.

Old memories came rushing over her of the young brother, who had died like a hero; of the kind, generous father who had njver uttered an angry word; of the “old home” as it stood embowered with trees. Her heart went lack to those childish, happy days, so different from the dreary present. Then the wait* ended, and the dancers sought the cool, lighted grounds. She was only disturbed from her reverie by the rustle of a woman's dress, and the sound of s msn’s voice, speaking in a subdued tone. Raising her head, she saw that on the other side of the orange tree there was a garden chair —on it sat her husband and Beatrice Leigh. “Ton will still be one of us.” Lord Vivian was saying, “although you are going from I shall miss you sorely, Beatrice.” “Not SS 1 shall miss you.” she cried, passionately; “I am nothing to you, while yon—you are ” “What?” he asked, for the words had died upon her false lips. “Ton are everything to me.” she said. “When I leav* your roof, I leave my world behind me.** Do him justice. He riever dreamed of the guilty loTe that had mastered her. He a Selwyn, of Selwyn Castle—the descendant of “stainless women and brave men”—could not even imagine a woman capable of seeking to undermine his faith. He believed that she was specking of the calm brotherly and sisterly affection that he thought had always existed between them. “Poor Beatrice,” be said, taking the white hand in his. “I am sorry you must go.” He did not see the suppressed passion in her face—the eager Sight of her eyes as. bent upon mischief, she continued: “I wish—forgive me if I speak too freely—l wish that I left you happier. Vivian. The world begins to talk of you as n disappointed man.” He sighed deeply, and that sigh fell like a death-knell on the young wife’s bedrt. “Whether my life is made or marred,” he said gravely. “I ara responsible for my own fate.” “It might all have been so different,” continued Beatrice. “Ah, Vivian, your manage ought to have crowned your life.” “As I have sown, I must reap,” he said after a silence of some “Do not talk to me of this. Beatrice. If there has been a mistake, it has been mine, and mine alone.” Then came some half-murmured words from Miss Leigh. Lady Yolante could not hear them, bnt her husband’s reply waa perfectly audible. “I do thank you. Beatrice, for your kindness to her: poor child, she suffers for my mistake.” Lower still dropped the golden head — lower, until it rested on the smooth stem of the orange tree. Sue clasped her hands before her face. lest, in the madness of her despair, she should be tempted to cry out. She bit her lips, she clinched her slender hands until her rings made great indentations in them—anything rather than cry aloud. “This is my real good-by.” said Bestrice Leigh. *T do not suppose 1 shall see you again alone, Vivian.” The bright moonshine showed him the tears in her dark eyes, as she raised her beautiful face to hia; and the iove in it was so great, the sorrow so real, that he bent his bead and kissed her forehead, as her own brother might have done. Remember, they had been brought up as children of one mother for many years. “Good-by, Beatrice,” he said. “Heaven bless you for jonr love to me, and your kindness to my wife.” But those words, which must have opened her eyes to her folly, were unheard by Lady Yiolanfee. Through the silver leaves she had seen that kiss. She judged her husband not by her reason, bnt by her jealousy, and the sight drove her mad. They rose from the garden seat and walked away. She crunched lower amid the orange trees and prayed her old prayer: “Oh, that I were dead and he were free!” ' Then she rose, and trampling the sweet almond blossoms under her feet, walked quietly back to the house. The music came in sweet, soft gushes of sound from the ball-room, where Beatrice Leigh, in her imperial beauty and Circean grace, was queen. Quietly and slowly the mistress of the house walked through the silent rooms, where no guests lingered, up to her own room. Who would have recognized in the pale, wearied, heart-broken woman, the fresh, dimpled beauty of Yiolante Temple?

CHAPTER XIV. She went to the nursery where Rupert lay sleeping; the nurse sat by the child’s cot, and she looked up in horror at the white, ghastly face of her lady. “Mrs. Peters,” said Lady Violante. “will you go and find the butler? Tell him to see Lord Selwyn, and say from me that I am and unable to return to the ball-room to-night.” “You look very ill, my lady,” said the woman; “is there anything I can do for you?—anything I can get?*’ Lady Violante thanked her. It was one of this unhappy lady’s peculiarities to be exceedingly kind to every one abont her; and Mrs. Peters went down stairs, thinking to herself that of all the unhappy women she had ever seen, none were so unhappy as Lady Selwyn. She found the butler, who sought his lordship, and delivered his lady’s message. Lord Vivian shrugged his shonidllb, sent some commonplace message in return, and said to himself it waa always the same. “Violante was always ill when there was anything to do.” When the nurse was gone she knelt down by her sleeping child. She laid her tired head on the white pillow by his side. * She laid her gentle hands on the chfld’a •kMoTI the psaggds.*the red, Lulling toaliy

Krief, she prayed aloud that heaven would bless the boy. Little —U®- *o of when ajsf homahe should kto that face again." wflbt to her wvfPing table and opened the pretty little desk that lay there. She sat for some minutes thinking what to say. wondering in what words she could Ihest reach his heart, so as to touch him with some little sorrow for his loss. Then she wrote; . | “My Deaf Husband—l call you by that name for the last time, as I write for the last time. \Ve are not happy, and I am going from you. You are bitterly disappointed in me. I heard to-night that all Florence pitied you, and knew how unhappy I made you; so, Vivian, I am going away where you will never see me any more. If I could die and set you free, I would, so gladly; but until heaven calls me, I must live. I dare not take my own life, even to set you free; but I will do the next best thing to that—l will go away where no one who knows you will ever see me again. So shall I free you from a presence yon dislike, und from what you dislike even more —the need of parting 'with Miss Leigh. She can remain now that I have gone.” The poor jealous heart revealed herself in that line—her scalding tears fell like raindrops upon the note. Lady Violante took what money remained in her desk. Half of it she gave to her maid, and took half herself. Then from her wardrobe shelves she took a small traveling, bag; in it she placed her jewel case and the purse, together with a few papers. One contained a lock of her baby’s hair, and was labeled “Rupert's hair.” The other contained a faded rose, the first flower Lord Vivian had ever given her, and the third held the little locket that Lord Vivian had traveled to Oakside to give her. These were her treasures; little reeked the unhappy girl of the diamonds and rubies her husband had lavished upon her—her only thought was for those, her treasures, dearer to her than gold and jewels. Then she gave the bag into her maid’s care, and as she did so, she was struck by the coldness of the woman’s hand. “Are you chill nnd cold?” she asked; and the woman shivered ns thought it had been December. “I am cold, my lady,” she replied; “cold, sick and faint, as though with a great dread. I cannot tell What has come over , me—l feel as though I wore going to die.” With her own hands Lady Selwyn took from the shelves a thick, warm fur cloak. She wrapped it round her maid’s shoulders. ' “That will warm you,” she said. “And now' listen while I explain my plans. I am determined that I will not be.traced; that which I ily from is more bitter than death, and I will not be found. We will go to the railway station together; you shall keep out of sight, and I will buy the ticket for Genoa. You shall go by train, and wait for me in Genoa; I will follow you by another route. Do you understand?”

The woman’s eyes, with the strange shadow in their depths, were raised calmly to hers. “I understand, my lady.” “When they know that I have gone away,” cofitigffed Lady Selwyn, “they will hear at the station that I took a ticket for Genoa, and they will follow me there. They will find you if they find anyone—l shall he miles away. My idea is to throw them off the right scent. There could be no better plan than this.” “None, my l|dy,” said the maid, trying to shake off the dull lethargy creeping over her. “I shall join you in Genoa,” continued Lady Selwyn, “when I know that the search for me has proved fruitless. If by any chance you should be seen, Theresa, you must say—what will be perfectly true —that you know nothing of my whereabouts, but that you yourself are returning to England. Now let us start; go first, and I will follow yon.” Theresa Bowden went on to her fate! No one had noticed the departure of the maid. Some of the guests were already leaving the villa when Selwyn, dressed in a dark traveling cloak, passed forever from her home. The railway station at Florence was not crowded on this eventful evening. One mail train had just disgorged its load of passengers, and another was preparing to start.

When the train-did start a lady took her place in the fiyst-elass carriage, and another—unobserved,, uoupticed—stole out of the station yard. Then, and for the first time. Theresa Bowden had time to think of what had happened—had time tQ .realize her lady's flight. The girl’s thoughts were very sad ones; suddenly she found herself torn from a comfortable home hud launched on a sea of difficulties that appeared endless. “I know,’! she said to herself, “that if the truth were known, all my lady's unhappiness comes from Miss Leigh.” The train passed by quiet vineyards, where the faint dawn of morning shone on the purple grapes; past quiet Italian villages, past purple hills and suow-cl&d mountains, without stopping, without accident. It reached a small station at last, near the pretty town of Sedi. There they who traveled heard the first Taint morning carol of the birds—and then on again. On. until—who shall say how it happened—there eame a terrible shock, a terrible noise, a hissing of steam, a crashing as of broken carriages, a ruslffug, blinding, bewildering shock, as two trains met with deadly force, and one forced the other over the embankment into the vinewreathed valley below! A collision! One train was five minutes too early, another three minutes late! There was some carelessness over the signals, and for that carelessness some ten or twelve innocent, helpless human beings paid with their lives. ' There was dire confusion and dismay; then those who had escaped began to collect themselves. In less than an hour help came from Sedi, and the dead, the tlying and the wounded were extricated from the wreck of broken carriages and laid side by side. (To be continued.) A marblq bust of James G. Blaine has been placed in the rotunda of the state house at Augusta, Me. It I's the work of Prof. G. Trentanove, the Italian scnlptor. The bust is a gift to the State, and, while the name of the donor Is kept secret, It is said to be Joseph H. Mauley. God be thanked for books; they are the voices of the distant and the dead, and amke us heirs of the spiritual life of post ages.—Cbannlug. bore others just because others

THE FARM AND HOME

■ . '< MATTERS Of INTEREST TO MAM- # er and housewife,. Value and Cost of Fodder as Feed Depends Upon Its Management—Amateur Surgegy for Animals—When Weeds May Be Killed. f Managing the Fodder. The value and cost of fodder as a feed for stock during the winter depends largely upon the. stage at which It Is cut, the curing and the manner of storing. If allowed to get too ripe and then is put In rather small shocks and allowed to stand out in all kinds of .weather until wanted for feed, It Is questionable if the value of the feed secured will pay the cost of cutting and hauling. But if cut iu good season, properly handled during the curing out, and Is properly stored away, it makes a cheap, wholesome feed for all kinds of stock. 3

The cutting should begin as soon as the grains begin to harden well. Where any considerable acreage is to be harvested it will be economical to use a corn harvester. When It can be done, the best plan of management is to cut and put up in reasonably small shocks, as the fodder will cure out more rapidly and the corn will be ready to shock out and crib easier than i| put up in large shocks, and if saved with the least loss it is best to get the corn cribbed and the fodder stored away as early as possible. But where the fodder is to be left standing in the field until wanted to feed to the stock, it will be better to put up In good sized shocks, as in this way there will be a less per cent exposed to wind, Sun and storms. As soon as well cured, busk out the corn, throwing directly into the wagon, tie the fodder into convenient bundles, and store as much as possible under shelter. What can not be stored under shelter should be stacked up convenient to the feed lots. Fodder will keep in a better condition with a much better per cent of loss if managed In this way than if in shocks in the field.

Another very good way of managing, . and especially so' if the corn is to he ground before feeding, is to run the ! corn foddsr through a threshing ma- ■ chine, loosing the concave some in or- j der to feed through faster, and'rick up ! the fodder. The stock will cat more j of ttie stalk if put up In this way than ! If kept whole. Good fodder kept in a good condition is almost equal in feeding value to good hay. But this may be greatly lessened by careless manage-ment.—Globe-Democrat. Fracture of Bones. When a sheep breaks a teg, the usual recourse is the butcher’s kuife, but with valuable breeding stock this is often unnecessary economy, for treatment is possible as with other small animals. Most shepherds say kill-when It is any bone other than those below the knee and back, no matter how valuable the animal may be, but here again we say don’t kill, but endeavor to procure union of the bone.

Where the fracture is low down, and the bone comparatively straight, the work of the amateur surgeon is simple. Have an attendant secure the other legs, then cast the patient, bring the broken leg into perfectly natural position, which, with a little further manipulation will bring the broken bones into apposition. If everything is now in readiness, the splints and other dressings may be applied. For a fore leg broken below the knee, use but one splint and wrap it well with cotton batting. Place It behind the leg instead of at one side or in front, and hold it in place by a few turns of cheese cloth bandage. See that the ends of the splint are well covered with batting, then take a two-inch wide plaster of paris bandage, which may be bought in any drug store, soak it well in water and at once bind it around the leg and splint neatly, commencing at the bottom and working up. then down again, and so on until all is in place, when the operation Is completed by a cheese cloth bandage applied Immediately while the plaster is wet. <' , The ready-prepared haudage is much nicer to handle and more satisfactory in every way than plaster of paris in bulk prepared at time of use, amd another advantage- is that it is put up in a tin box. and may be kept at hgnd for an emergency any length of time without losing its virtue, which cannot be said of plaster, which Is apt to be found useless just when most required. In adjusting splints to a leg broken just above the knee It is necessary to make the whole leg rigid, hence the splint should extend from the ground up, and all hollows between It and the leg should be well filled with batting before applying the plaster bandage.— American Wool and Cotton Reporter. The Preservation of Wood. Never apply paint or any other coating to green or unseasoned timber. If the wood Is not well dried, the coat will hasten decay. Oil paints are used to Increase the durability by protecting j the wood against moisture. An exposed j unpainted board becomes gray and fuz- • zy, warps and checks, the nails rust j out, and even if It is not exposed to [ rain, damp air, steam, etc., occasion j Similar mischief. , For coating, coal tar, with or with- ■ out sand or plaster, and pitch, especially if mixed witji oil of. turpentine and applied hot, thus penetrating more deeply, answers l»cst. A mixture of ! three parts coal tar and ouc pari utf-' salted grease,' to prevent the tar from 1 drying until it bqs time to fill the minute pores, is recommended. One barrel of coal tar, costing $3 or $4, will cover 300 posts. BotlWar and oil paint bars the disadvantage that they act as mere-covers. If the wood ha? any chance to get moist before painting, that are harmful Instead of useful. j

Heavy tar pils, freed of their volatile as wfclfasthelr thick tarry constituents, such as fiye now offered In the market under the Dame of carbolineam, are preferable: to paints and tars. (B. E. I FernSSw, etgcular 2tf, Division of For- * estryf UnltKl States Department of Agriculture.) These oils penetrate and act as antiseptics, usually killing the fungi or at least retarding their action and development. They are applied with brush or else as baths, usaally and preferably hot. They can not replace paints where the looks of the materials are to be improved. Charring-assists merely as an insulator, separating the wood from the ground, and as fungi can not eat their way through charcoal they are prevented from entering. Generally, however, the process develops large cracks, and thus exposes the Interior to the attacks of- the fungi.— Orange Judd Farmer.

Dipping Sheep for Ticks. The Injury Inflicted by the sheep tick upon the flocks can only be roughly estimated. Ticks do not cause death directly nor injure the wool, but cause untold torment by their biting and wandering about over the body. This saps the vigor of the old sheep, retards the growth of the 'lambs, and makes both susceptible to disease. The tick is a wingless fly about a quarter of an Inch long, having a large, strong, reddishgray body, and six legs. The most opportune time for killing ticks is just after shearing, as the ease of handling and the cost of dip is reduced to the minimum. Nearly all the ticks will leave the sheep for the lambs, so that the work will be very effective if only the lambs are dipped. It is better, however, to dip both old and young. The sheep should be examined carefully about three weeks after dipping and if any eggs escape destruction the sheep should be redipped. The apparatus necessary may consist of only a box or barrel, into which the animal may be submerged, and a table upon which they may he allowed to drain. On the whole it is more economical and satisfactory to use some of the good sheep dips offered upon the market. These dips usually contain arsenic, extract of tobacco, or products obtained from cresote or tar ns the destroying agent. As the latter dips are effective and less dangerous in the hands of most people they are to be preferred. The following is highly recommended and may be prepared by any one; Tobacco leaves, 50 pounds; sulphur, 10 pounds; water, 100 gallons. The to* baceo is steeped for an hour and a half, the leaves are strained off and the sulphur again boiled for an hour. Keep well stirred and use while warm.—lndiana Experiment Station.

Work the Soil. Tlie object of tillage is to secure the proper arrangement of soil particles with relation to each other. The stirring of the soil is very beneficial in the destruction of weeds, but any system that will keep the soil in the best physical condition will also keep down the weeds. Soil temperature can be considerably influenced by physical conditions. The water-holding capacity or facility with which water can move through the soil and consequently the supply of plant food which may be carried to the roots of the crop, tlie amount of water taken to the surface qnd evaporated, are governed largely by the arrangement of the particles. The free access of air can be secured in sufficient quantities, supplying tlie necessary amount of oxygen, and the soil can be placed in such a condition of fineness as to allow the perfect root development. The importance ol these points makes it accessary to give a great deal of attention to the preparation of the seed bed.—South Dakota Experimental Station.

Loss of New Swarms. Every bee keeper who relies on gathering his swarms of bees after they have escaped from the hive knows that, despite his best efforts, some of the largest and earliest of his swarms take to the woods, and btxtome tlie common property, by law. of whoever can find them. But if the bee keeper be active, he cam, after finding which direction the swarm is going, follow aa fast as he can and locate its new residence. Jn such ease the swarm is no longer a wild one, but belongs to the owner of the bees from which it cam*. It is usual In the fall to stupefy these bet** with smoke, taking the honey out of the tree. 5Ve have known bee keepers to take up all of the stupefied bees they can find, being sure to secure the queen, x>ut all together in a hive witl) some honey for winter feed, and have a new swarm iu their apiary next spiting. But usually these wild bees are not very successful. Probably those of them which remember their previous life made the mistake when going out to secure honey of trying to find their old home iu the wood.— American Cultivator.

Propaeating Moirotal t AtH. The mountain ash can be propagated by seeds, but they are vm- slow to start. The berried should* be gathered and mixed with soil and left out exposed to the weather for a bom a year before planting. If mixed with soil and placed In a box with cracks in it so that water can pass through, the box can lw sunk to its edge or a little below in the ground and left out during winter anil until the ensuing fall. Then the soil containing the berries can be* taken out and spread on the floor to partially dry. so that it qan bo rubbed through a sieve that will separate It from the seeds. The separating of the seeds is not absolutely necessary; and soil and seeds together may be sown In a drill, covering about nn inch deeu. The young plants will appear in the spring and can be taken up and tops and roots shortened and transplanted Into nursery rows to be grown on until ready for final removal.—Vick’s Magi■ißft.

RECORD OF THE WEEK

INDIANA INCIDENTS TEMNEUM To^a Two Persons Hurt iu s Freight lision—Use Fists at a Funeral—KanH way Accident Near Ttanti i Inanfsß Cuufeht in Fast Running MachiucryJa . ——— ~ . \3| In a collision on the Lake Erie mmjjlm Western Railroad at Uammsrk statists two persons were seriously injured isfa another was killed. The east-hound ttoeajffl freight train wjis at ike stotw® unlnadidH goods when an east-bound Through iTcvgStiSk crashed into the rear end. eonapiegriy de- 4 mnlishing the caboose, and the eagame wsaStfl stripped. Delia Mount of Oakville sratfa thrown on one side of the Track under (Mil rubbish and J. A. Noble of Iml Kan., was found on the other side. He3l has a bad cut in his forehead. twtE ih«aj|l are bruised and internal injuries are S<mr-M ed. The woman was nearly scalped, IsmH arms were cut and bruised and she txtl injured internally. 31 ; Fight at a Funeral. As the body of Mrs. Jerry Rcdwrt* vtsl being carried from the United Brethtwtj Church in Hartforii City hej hufekaudM and his brother-in-law bet-awe luvuMwda in a fight. Roberts and his wife sepasn*fc- t ed about two weeks before her thasi, taking the children with her. Bef®rv tthe9 funeral Roberts assents) he voaM txie charge of the ■youngest cMM heveaftev aafl-'l that was the cause of the alu-reatiuug wen- arrested. Train Hrokt in 1 sa. A north-bound freight on the Gj-zartJ Rapids and Indiana KaiiroHd was srcv*M-'|| ed one and a half miles east of JltaaSt*- 1 town. Eight-cars n ere ditched, ftcveiatli* Hoys were stealing a ride on the traita Mol Route City. The train broke ia two gul-fl way vihii • running at toll sjteed. Kngi rc-cr i ntto F’-cec*. John I.t'ti It engineer at tile electrie light plant, fs-li into lie rtutatta-g'u machinery nnd was killed. JJ-s body agsl caught 1-y.the flywheel and tons Jh.-sra.syj to pit*»- s. tlie arms, legs .-ml head i-eiaqgM severed from the body. 1j Within Our Borders. George <*;: < ummiited suit Lie a* fuse by drinking carl-oli: red. William Newberry, shot at a daar* » | few months ago. is dead at Osgood. A. E. Morrison, fishing at H.jffljE-aa'a J lake, near Lajtorte. fell In uud was drowwcl ed. At JeffersonviUe. Eli < 'larksoti. coloi't'd. :| stabbed Satunei Phillips, who will.die. gaui i escaped. Samuel Swanler of Jay Docrty diadj from being kicked by a horse at tivtxy*- Tjj burg. Ohio. . .'IsH James G. Blythe, ex-cashier <*C tie 'J Citizens’ National Bank, Delphi, took fcieS life by hauging. David Hill of Frankfort has heea ap-j pointed a deputy collector of imtwual revenue by Collector Henry. Charles Roaeh, a ticket seller at rite | Terre Haute race track, fell dead froaa i heart disease while selling a ticket, c corn cutter, when he fed direct3y m front of the machine. He was badly so**- t gled by the knives, but may recover. 1 I Robbers blew open the safe in the Bog | Four passenger station at New Pisri* | while the agent was at dinner, m i niisflj SIOO. The livery barn of William floash at J I’ierceton was destroyed by fire. Five : horses were cremated, making a total Hose of $5,000. (’apt. A. P. Johnson, his eldest soa. Albert, and Erick Bergman, fishemaaeu oa i’ Ijake Michigan, north of Millers, wove drowned. It is now a certainty that no saloon wjR : be located in the town of Dubffi*. William E. Beal has withdrawn his application for a license. Martin O'Shauglmessoy, 19 years old, while trying to steal a ride* on a Pennsylvania freight at Monroeville, fell under the train and was killed. Another window glass factory j* to be l located in Hartford City. W. R. Jones & Son. who have been conducting: the Jones factory at Eaton, are prej*ari*c to erect a thirty-two-pot tank concern. The Eastern Star Chapter of El wood gave a tri-eonnty social affair, the chapters of Alexandria, Tipton. Kotoauaw Frankton and Anderson being present. The Christian Church at GritSa was dedicated by Rev. L. L Carpenter off Wabash. Rev. Carpenter raised considerably more than was necessary to pay all debts. An elderly man. who refused to give any name but Alban, committed saieidc iu Sladck’s Hotel at Whiting by hanging himself to « beam in the lota. No motire was given foT the deed. At Terre Haute. Conductor Spear of ; the Chicago and Eastern Illinois mas .1 bound over to the Federal grand jury for 1 failure to stamp a receipt he gave to a : passenger who had paid cash fate. J At Marion. Eagle-kart C. Lauer sued Alice Pittman, a charming young woman, for s”.s(to because she promised to marry >1 him and then later changed her mind and I married Jacob Fox. another yonag man. | Miss Anna Swiney. a w oman dentist at Greenville, was fined $25 and costs for whipping Oointabus Skelton, a very aged man. in front of the village postwflky*. It is alleged that Skelton circulated letters concerning het character. ; Fire which broke out in the works of the Economic Smokeless Powder Coos- ‘ psuyat Hessville damaged the plant slightly and seriously injured E, IL WeMt, aa v employe of the company. Webb was working in the sifting room when * sligii*3 explosion occurred, setting fire to osune j chemicals in the room. Before be coaM escape he was severely bunted in the face and about the body. At Laporte. Robert Buck & Sou's fter- i aiture factory ware room and a large q«uu~> tity of lumber were destroyed by flrew | Loss $25,000, insurance $7,500. Work has just begun is Madison C'oaaty on fifty new wells for the Lidianaftoli* - Gas Trust Company. Most of them are