Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 20, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 January 1899 — Page 7

THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE

CHAPTER VIII. While Elizabeth Jane still sat under the Scotchman’s eyes a man came up to the -door, reaching it as Henchard opened the door of the inner office to admit her. The newcomer stepped forward like the quicker cripple at Bethesda, and entered in her •tead. She could hear his words to Henchard: “Joshua Jopp. sir—by appointment—the new manager.” “The new manager!—he’s in his office,” •aid Henchard bluntly. “In his office!” said the man with a stultified air. “I mentioned Thursday,” said Henchard; “and as you did not keep your appointment, I have engaged another manager. At first I thought he must be you. Do you think I can wait when business is In question?” “You said Thursday or Saturday, sir,” •aid the newcomer, pulling out a letter. “Well, you are too late,” said the corn factor. “I ean/say no more.” “You as good as engaged me,” murmurad the man. “Subject to an interview,” said Henchard. “I am sorry for you—very sorry indeed. But it can’t be helped.” There was no more to be said, and the man came out, encountering Elizabeth Jane in bis passage. She could see that bis mouth twitched with anger, and that fitter disappointment was written in his face everywhere. Elizabeth Jane now entered, and stood ibefore the master of the premises. His 'dark pupils—which always seemed to have a red spark of light in them, though this could hardly be a physical sact — turned indifferently round under his dark brows until they rested on her figure. “Now, then, what is it, my young woman ?” he said, blandly. “Can I speak to you—not on business, sir?” said she. “Yes —I suppose.” He looked at her more thoughtfully. “I am sent to tell you, sir,” she innocently went on, “that a distant relative of yours by marriage, Susan Newson, a sailor’s widow, is in the town; and to ask whether you would wish to see her.” The rich rouge of his countenance underwent a slight change. “Oh —Susan is —still alive?” he asked with difficulty. “Yes, sir.” “Are you her daughter?” “Yes, sir—her only daughter.” “What—do you call yourself—your ■Christian name?” “Elizabeth Jane, sir.” “Newson?” “Elizabeth Jane Newson.” This at once suggested to Henchard that the transaction of his early married life at Weydon Fair was unrecorded in the family history. It was more than he could have expected. His wife had behaved kindly to him in return for his unklodness, and had never proclaimed her wrong to her child or to the world. “I am—a good deal interested in your news,” he said. “And as this is not a matter of business, but pleasure, suppose we go indoors.” It was with a gentle delicacy of manner, •urprising to Elizabeth, that he showed her out of the office, and through the outer room, where Donald Farfrae was overhauling bins and samples with the inquiring inspection of a beginner in charge. Henchard preceded her through the door in the. wall to the suddenly changed scene of the garden and flowers, and onward into the house. The dining room to which be introduced her still exhibited the remnants of a lavish breakfast he had laid for Farfrae. “Sit down—Elizabeth Jane —sit down,” he said, with a shake in his voice as he •uttered her name; and sitting down himself, he allowed his hands to hang between his knees, while he looked upon the carpet. “Your mother, then, is quite well?” “She is rather worn out, sir, with trav--eling.” “A sailor’s widow—when did he die?” “Father was lost last spring.” Henchard winced at the word “father,” thus applied. “Do you and she come from abroad—America or Australia?” he asked. “No. We have been in England some years. I was twelve when we came here from Canada.” “Ah; exactly.” By such conversation he discovered the circumstances which bad enveloped his wife and her child in *uch total obscurity that he had long ago believed them to be in their graves. “And you are her daughter Elizabeth Jane,” repeated Henchard. He arose, came close to her, and glanced in her face. “I think,” he said, suddenly turning away, “you shall take a note from me to your mother. I should like to see her. Bhe is not left very well off by her late husband?” His eye fell on Elizabeth Jane’s clothes, jvhieh, though a respectable suit og black, and her very best, were decidedly old-fashioned, even to Casterbridge eyes. “Not very well,” , she said, glad that he bad divined this without her being obliged •to express it. He sat down at the table and wrote a few lines, next taking from his pocketbook a five-pound note, which he put in the envelope with the letter, adding to it, 4m by an after-thought, five shillings. Sealing the whole up carefully with wax, he directed it to “Mrs. Newson,” and handed -the packet to Elizabeth. “Deliver it to her personally, please,” •aid Henchard. “Well, I am glad to see yon here, Elizabeth Jane —very glad. We must have a long talk together—but not just now.” He took her hand at parting, and held It so warmly that she, who had known so tittle friendship, was much affected, and tears rose to her aerial-gray eyes. When Elizabeth reashed the inn her mother, instead of taking the note with -the cariosity of a poor woman expecting assistance, was much moved at sight of it. She did not read it at once, asking Elizabeth to describe her reception, and the very words Mr. Henchard used. Elizabeth’s back was turned when her mother opened the letter. It ran thus: “Meet me at eight o’clock this evening, •If yon can, at the Bing on the Bodmonth ■Boad, The place hi easy to find. 1 can

BY THOMAS HARDY.

say no more now. The news upsets me almost. The girl seems to be in ignorance. Keep her so till I have seen you. M. H.” He said nothing about the inclosure of five guineas. The amount was significant; it may tacitly have said to her that he bought her back again. CHAPTER IX. The Ring at Casterbridge was merely the local name of one of the finest Roman amphitheaters, if not the very finest, remaining in Britain. It was in the form of a high spittoon, with a notch at opposite extremities of its diameter north and south. It was to Casterbridge what the ruined Coliseum is to modern Rome, and was nearly of the same magnitude. Henchard had chosen this spot as being the safest from observation which he could think of sot meeting his long-lost wife, and at the same time as one easily to be found by a stranger after nightfall. As Mayor of the town, with a reputation to keep up, he could not invite her to come to his house till some definite course had been decided on. Just before eight he approached the deserted earthwork, and entered by the south path which descended over the debris of the former dens. In a few moments he could discern a female figure creeping in by the great north gap, or public gateway. They met in the middle of the arena. Neither spoke just at first—there was no necessity for speech—and the poor woman leaned against Henchard, who supported her in his arms. “I don’t drink,” he said, in a low. halting, apologetic voice. “You hear, Susan? I don’t drink now —I haven't since that night.” Those were his first words. He felt her bow her head in acknowledgement that she understood. After a minute or two he again began: “If I had known you were living, Susan! But there was every reason to suppose you and the child were dead and gone. I took every possible step to find you—traveled —advertised. My opinion at last was that you had started for some colony with that man, and had been drowned on your voyage out. Why did you keep silent like this?” “Oh, Michael, because of him—what other reason could there be? I thought I owed him faithfulness to the end of one of our lives—foolishly I believed there was something solemn and binding in the bargain; I thought thqi even in honor I dared not desert him when he had paid so much for me, in good faith. I meet you now only as his widow—l consider myself that, and that I have no claim upon you. Had he not died, I should never have come—never. Of that you may be sure.” “It is only that which makes me feel ye an innocent woman. But—to lead me into this!” “What, Michael?” she asked, alarmed. “Why, this difficulty about our living together again, and Elizabeth Jane. She cannot be told all —she would so despise us both that—l could not bear it!” “That was why she was brought up in ignorance of you. I could not bear it either.” “Well—we must talk of a plan for keeping her in her present belief, and getting matters straight in spite 6f it. You have heard I am in a large way of business here—that I am Mayor of the town, and church warden, and I don’t know what all?” “Yes,” she murmured. “These things, as well as the dread of the girl discovering our disgrace, makes it necessary to act with extreme caution. So that I don’t see how you two can return openly to my house as the wife and daughter I once treated badly and banished from me; and there’s the rub o’t.” “We’ll go away at once. I only came to see ” “No, no, Susan; you are not to go—you mistake me!” he said with kindly severity. “I have thought of this plan: That you and Elizabeth take a cottage in the town as the widow Mrs. Newson and her daughter; that I meet you, court you and marry you, Elizabeth Jane coming to my house as my stepdaughter. The thing is so natural and easy that it is half done in thinking o’t. This would leave my shady, headstrong, disgraceful life as a young man unopened; the secret would be yours and mine only; and I should have the pleasure of seeing my only child under my roof, as well as my wife.” “I am quite in your hands, Michael,” she said meekly. “I came here for the sake of Elizabeth; for myself, if you tell me to leave again to-morrow morning and never come near you more I am content to go.” “Now, now, we don’t want to hear that,” said Henchard, gently. “Of course you won’t leave again. Think over the plan I have proposed for a few hours, and if you can’t hit uppn a better one we’ll adopt it. I have to be away for a day or two on business, unfortunately; but during that tinje you can get lodgings —the only ones in the town fit for you are those over the china shop in High street —and you can also look for a cottage.” “I like the idea of repeating our marriage,” said Mrs. Henchard, after a pause. “It seems the only right course, after all this. Now I think I must go back to Elizabeth tell her that our kinsman, Mr. Henchard, kindly wishes us to stay in the town.” “Very well —arrange that yourself. “I’ll go some way with yon.” “No, no. Don’t run any risk!” said his wife, anxiously. “I can find my way back —it is not late. Please let me go alone.” “Bight,” said Henchard. “But just one word. Do you forgive me, Susan?” ’She murmured something; but seemed to find it difficult to frame her answer. “Never mind —all in good time,” said he. “Judge me by my future works—goodby.” He retreated, and stood at the npper side of the amphitheater while his wife passed out through the lower way, and descended nnder the trees to the town. Then Henchard himself went homeward, going so fast that by the time he reached his door he was almost upon the heels of the unconscious woman from whom he had just parted. He watched her op the street, and turned into his house.

CHAPTER X On entering his own door, after watching his wife out of sight, the Mayor walked on through the tunnel-shaped passage into the garden, and thence by the side door toward the stores and granaries. A light shone from the office window, and, there being no blind to screen the interior, Henchard could see Donald Farfrae still seated where he had left him, initiating himself into the managerial work of the house by overhauling the books. Henchard entered, merely observing, “Don’t let me interrupt ye, if ye will stay so late.” He stood behind Farfrae’s chair, watching his dexterity in clearing np the numerical fogs which had been allowed to grow so thick in Henchard’s books as almost to baffle even the Scotchman’s perspicacity. - -ii “You shall do no more to-night,” he said at length, spreading his great hand over the paper. “There’s time eßough to-mor-row. Come in-doors with me and have some supper. Now you shall! lam determined on’t.” He shut the accountbooks with friendly force. They locked up the office, and the young man followed his companion through the private little door which, admitting directly into Henchard’s garden, permitted a passage from the utilitarian to the beautiful at one step. The garden was silent, dewy, and full of perfume. The flowers which smelled so sweetly were not discernible; and they passed through them into the house. “It is odd,” said Henchard, “that two men should meet as we have done on a purely business ground, and that at the end of the first day I should wish to speak to ’ee on a family matter. But, hang it all, I am a lonely man, Farfrae; I have nobody else to speak to; and why shouldn’t I teH it to you?” “I’ll be glad to hear it, if I can be of any service,” said Donald. “I’ve not been always what I am now,” continued Henchard, his firm, deep voice being ever so little shaken. “I began life as a working hay-trusser, and when I was eighteen I married on the strength of my calling. Would you think me a married man?” “I heard in the town that you were a widower.” “Ah, yes—you would naturally have heard that. Well, I lost my wife eighteen years ago—by my own fault. This is how it came about: One summer evening I was traveling for employment, and she was walking at my side carrying the baby, our only child. We came to a booth in a country fair. I was a drinking man at that time.” Henchard paused for a moment, threw himself back so that his elbow rested on the table, his forehead being shaded by his hand, which, however, did not hide the marks of introspective inflexibility on his features as he narrated in fullest detail the incidents of the transaction with the sailor. The tinge of indifference which had at first been visible inthe Scotchman now disappeared. Henchard went on to describe his attempts to find his wife; the oath he swore; the solitary life he led during the years which followed. “I have kept my oath for eighteen years,” he went on; “I have risen to what you see me now.” “And it’s not a small counterbalance to the immoral years that ye’ve done so much since!” • “Well —no wife could I hear of in all that time; and being by nature something of a woman-hater I have found it no hardship to keep at a distance from the sex. - No wife could I hear of, I say, till this very day. And now—she has come back.” “Come back, has she?” “This morning—this very morning. And what’s to be done?” “Can’t ye take her and live with her, and so make amends?” “That’s what I’ve planned and proposed. But, Farfrae,” said Henchard, with desperate awkwardness, “I’m in a fix, all the same. For there’s more behind.” “And how’s that?” “There’s another woman in the case; and, by no fault of anybody’s, there will be a great wrong done her.” “Ye don’t say that?” “Just hear for yourself. For many years it has been my custom to run across to Jersey in the way of business, particularly in the potato season. Ido a large trade with them in that line. Well, this summer I was there, and met with an accident. I fell out of a boat in the harbor and struck my head in falling. If somebody had not helped me instantly I should have been drowned. An account of it was in our local newspaper at the time.” “Indeed. And it’s all hap-hazard in this life!”

“But the account was not complete. The person who saved me was a woman —a merchant’s daughter—a woman who has had a foolish liking for me more than five years; ever since I first knew her from going over there to deal with her father. So when I found that I owed my life to her, in a moment of gratitude and excitement I offered to marry her. I did marry her—l married her at St. Hellers a fortnight ago. Three days after I came home here to get the house ready for her, and await her coming. Bnt, from the moment I landed, I felt I had acted rashly. It was not that I dreamed of Susan living; but I felt I did not care for this young wompn, much as she might like me. Odd as it may seem to you, I’ve always liked Susan in my heart, and like her best now. Well, now Susan has returned to life, and you begin to see the color o’t; for the other is coming by the packet to-morrow night.” Henchard’s voice grew brokenly indicative of passionate revolt against eighteen years of caution. “I’ve compromised myself by acting a fortnight to« soon!” Donald showed his concern by an exclamation. “Now see what misery a man may lay up for himself! Even after that wrongdoing at the fair when 1 was a young man, if I had never taken the second false step at Jersey, all might now be well. For don’t you suppose I complain of losing the younger and handsomer woman I last married, though she’s of a good old family, if poor; and she’s a good scholar, and well bred. I do no such thing; I willingly bear all that; I had little wish for her; bnt I complain of the trickery of things, whereby a perfectly fair course is made impossible. I mast injure one of them,and it is the second. Honor where honor is due —my first duty is to Susan —there’s no doubt about that.” “It is very melancholy and difficult!” murmured Donald, almost applied at - a complication so far beyond the degree of his simple experience. , “For myself I don’t care a pin; miserable or happy, I can bear it. ’Twill All end one way. But these two women.” Henchard paused in a reverie for a moment. “I feel I should like to treat them as hoa-

“Ye must give up the younger one, sir; and since that’s the ease yon must writ* and stop her coming.” “A letter cannot reach her by post before she has started. No—somebody must meet her and let her know all. so that she may go back by the packet which returns as soon as the other arrives. Now I feel I ought hot to see her; and the question is, Will ypu do me the good turn of going for me?” “Yes—l will.” said Farfrae, after a moment’s thought. “You are a good fellow. Take a note — that’s all you need do—leave the rest to her." , “Very well. Did ye ever tell her of the other wife’s history?” “Every word except the sale. Oh, yes, Farfrae, I wouldn’t have married again without letting the woman know that I had no proof of Susan’s death. But you can hardly think how far we were from expecting this. Eighteen years of silence —wko’d have thought it!” Farfrae seemed much relieved to hear that Henchard had acted openly toward the unfortunate woman; it rehabilitated him in his good opinion at once. “Ah, well, it cannot be helped!” he said, with philosophic wpfulness. “In your letter you must put it plain and honest that it turns out she is not your wife, the first having come back; so ye cannot see her; and that it would be wise in her to keep what has happened a secret between you for her own sake; and that ye wish her well.” “That won’t do—l must do a little more than that—l must, though she did always brag about her rich uncle, and how much he could leave her—settle something upon her, I suppose—just as a little restitution, poor girl. Will ye draw up a bit of a form for me to that effect? I’m so bad at letters.” “I will.” (To be continued.)

BROKE DOWN THE GATE.

The Owner of It Willing to Have Other Things Smashed, Too. "When Sir Richard Burton was British consul at Damascus, his wife, Lady Isabel, found that a large wooden gate, in the garden next hers, swung continuously on its hinges, and that It was keeping one of her guests, an English official, awake at night. The garden belonged to an old woman and Lady Burton asked her to have the. gate fastened, but she sent back word that It was impossible. It had been broken for years, and she had no money to repair it, So the English lady took the law Into her own hands. That night her guest slept well, and at breakfast he asked gratefully how she had managed about the gate. “If you look out of the window,” said she, “you will see it in the courtyard. I had it pulled down at sunset.# • He drew a long face of official rebuke. “Oh!” said he, “but yqu really must not treat people like that! Suppose they knew of these things at home?” “Suppose they did,” echoed she, laughingly. After her guest’s departure she ordered the gate to be mended and replaced at her own expense, and the next time she went out, the little old woman next door ran after her, crying: “O thou light of my eyes, thou sunbeam! Come and sit by the brook in my garden, and honor me by drinking coffee, and Allah grant that thou mayest break something else of mine, and live forever!”

Diamonds Are Alive.

Tlie rather startling statement is made that diamonds are alive. It is certain that some precious stones are affected by the health of the wearer. “Pearls and opals are both said to grow dull through the ill health of her by whom they are worn, and the turquoise Is said to become pale from the same cause; whale I have heard, and on excellent authority, though it Is a fact I can hardly credit, of a ruby, ring which on the hand of an invalid went paler and paler until on the patient’s death the stones lost their color entirely. Pearls are extraordinarily sensitive to the condition of the skin on which they rest. An example of this fact Is shown by an episode of which an acquaintance of my own was the heroine. She greatly desired to possess a pearl necklace, and her husband bought a very beautiful one. A month or two afterward, however, the pearls began to lose their luster, and be took the necklace back to the jeweler who sold it to him. The salesman admitted the deterioration. ‘You are quite right,’ he said; ‘but the truth is that your wife cannot wear pearls next her skin. Let her maid wear the necklace for a few weeks, and the pearls will regain their brilliancy.’ A pearl dies as actually as a flower, though Its life is a great deal longer, and all its color and brilliancy disappear. Its average life is. Impossible to estimate, as some pearH are known to be hundreds of years old; but it is probable that the life of others Is far shorter.”-

Sinking Into Oblivion.

As a pledge of love the engagement ring Is sinking Into oblivion In favor of the exchange of the Ivory eyes devised by a Paris genius. The engagement eye mast be an exact reproduction of the Individual eye. Every model must give his or her artist at least three sittings to get the right shade and the perfect expression. Then the lover carries his sweetheart’s eye abou£ with him as a watchful guard against evil.

Resented.

“Look here,” said Li Hung Chang to the young Chinaman who thought he knew everything, “am I not the richest man In the world?” “Certainly, your excellency.” “Well, I want you to bear that In mind and stop referring to this government as a played-out monarchy. It’s a gilded, up-to-date plutocracy.”— Washington Star. Riches sometimes fly away from the honest man and light on the perch erected by the other fellow. The blunt man often makes the most catting remarks.

STATE LAW MAKERS.

Albert J. Beveridge, the nominee of the Republican caucus, was elected United States Senator on Tuesday to succeed David Turpie, Democrat, whose term will expire March 4 next. The two branches of the Legislature voted separately. The vote in the Senate was as follows: Albert J. Beveridge, 2S; David Turpie, 19; Alonzo fl» Burkhart, Populist, 1. The House voted thus: Beveridge, 59; Turpie, 37. Two thousand persons crowded the hall of the House of Representatives on Wednesday, when the two branches of the Legislature met in joint convention to canvass the vote taken the previous day and formally announce the election of Albert J. Beveridge to be United States Senator. The 3G-year-old Senator, looking like a man of not more than 25, was brought in and was welcomed with a demonstration lasting several minutes. He made an extended speech. By a vote of 45 to 4fi the bill under which, the State authorities hoped to proceed successfully against the Roby race track people and the persons and concerns wasting natural gas was defeated in the on Thursday. The friends of the measure say the clerks made a mistake in the roll call, and that later the bill will be passed. Mr. Mull and Mr. Manifold gave notice that they would ask that the record be corrected, and if this is not done they will ask for a reconsideration of the vote. Five men who are recorded as voting against the bill declare they voted for it. The chief argument against the bill was that it was too drastic. It makes any repeated violation of a penal statute a nuisance and authorizes any public officer .to bring suit for injunction without giving bond. The anti-Roby race track bill was killed in the House on Friday. A reconsideration of the vote by which the bill was defeated the day before was moved by Mr. Manifold, and the motion was lost by a vote of GO to 35. The House by a vote of 83 to 0 advanced the bill for the establishment of a county council in every county in the State. The third act of the House was to kill the pet bill of Gov. Mount for the teaching of agriculture in the public schools. Both branches of the General Assembly had half-day sessions Saturday morning and adjourned at noon. An attempt was made in the House to revive the bill introduced, by Mr. Barlow, at the suggestion of Gov. Mount, providing for the study of agriculture in the public schools, which was killed in the House a few days before. Mr. Neal introduced a resolution providing for “nature studies” in schools for a limited amount of time a week; and speeches were made in favor of the resolution by all the leading speakers for the Governor’s agricultural ideas. The resolution was referred to the Committee on Education. A resolution introduced by Mr. Hayes of St. Joseph County, caused considerable friction in the House. It expressed the opinion that the next Republican national convention should declare itself opposed to trusts and monopolies. Most of the Republicans voted to table the resolution. The motion to table prevailed by a vote of 43 to 2G. In the Senate the constitutional rules were suspended and the bill fixing the term of the Appellate Court was passed. It fixes the end of the term in March, 1903. S. E. Nicholson of Kokomo, chairman of the committee representing the allied churches of the State, brought to Indianapolis on Monday a bill for changes in the divorce law, and it was introduced in each branch of the Legislature. It simply provides that a divorced person shall not remarry within two years after being divorced. The new anti-Roby race track bill was also introduced in each house. It confers on the Attorney General only the authority to bring injunction suits without giving bond.

Health in the Philippines.

It Is unfortunately true that the climate of the Philippines Is especially severe in its effect on white women and children. It is very doubtful, in my judgment, if many successive generations of European or American children could be reared there. We must then, I think, necessarily admit that we have here a serious, though uot necessarily insurmountable, obstacle to the development of the great resources of this remarkable country. Malaria and digestive troubles aside, the health of the colony Is fairly good, and the danger from epidemic disease is comparatively slight. Smallpox is always present, but seldom spreads rapidly, as a large percentage of the natives have It during childhood, so that there is hardly material for an epidemic. Cholera is infrequent, but when it once starts cannot be controlled. The natives believe that a black dog runs down the street, and the disease breaks out behind him. They declare that it is the will of God, and refuse to take the simplest precautions. Leprosy .occurs, but is not common. There is a great deal of biri-biri in Balabac, and I have seen it in Mindoro. The bubonic plague has, fortunately, never gained a hold in the Philippines.

American Books.

Just so long as reprinted editions of foreign books are cheaper than copyrighted American books, the readers among us will be more familiar with the works of foreign writers than they are with those produced at home. People whose means are limited caunot afford to pay a dollar or a dollar and a half or probably two dollars for a novel even by our best writers when they can get literature of the same class by foreign authors for less than half these prices. If our leading writers want their books to be read by any considerable number of their countrymen, they will have to put them out in cheap as well as high-priced editions.

Odds and Ends.

Japan now makes Its owu electric machinery. Australia possesses one-fifth of the world’s stock of sheep. The policemen are not all fathers, but each one has a little Billy of bis own. No politician cares to die, but they all seem anxious to join the great majority. > Dress is what an' actor has to have, and redress Is what many of them are after.

RECORD OF THE WEEK.

INDIANA INCIDENTS TERSELY TOLD. . I§§H Bold Hold-Up ia Oreensbnrc-Vincen-nes, Vevnjr and Sooth Atlantic Bond tq Be 801 l t—Sick Man Wanders Aosy aod Dies—Life Term for Murder. | | i John Linen and James Donahue, ieoMing near Smyrna, were held np the other night at 11 .o'clock while hitching their horse to a buggy in Greensburg to drive home by a man whom they recognized as Robert Manford, residing near Harris City. Donahue was told by the robber to throw up his hands, and at the same time a revolver wps thrust into his face, and In complying with the request one hand struck the revolver and knocked it to the ground and the other hand struck a knife held in the robber’s hand. Linen, who was on the opposite side of the hone, halloed for help and frightened the man away. Road Ia to Coat *10,000,0001 Directors of the Vincennes, Vevay and South Atlantic, a branch of the Black Diamond Railway, met at Vincennes. The contract for constructing the double track railroad 204 miles in length was let to Col. Albert E. Boone of Zanesville. Ohio, for $10,000,000; this includes a branch from Fredericksburgh to Jeffer- ; sonville. Work will begin May 1,1899, at Petersburg, and will be pushed in both directions. Sick Man Dies in a Ditch. Henry Mater, 35 years old, was found dead by the roadside in the western suburbs of Kokomo. He had been sick several days with the grip and left bis bed in a dazed condition, wandering away. In his delirium Mater must have ran nearly ail night, for when found in a ditch the body was mangled by barb wire fences. M Gets Life Sentence for Murder. The jury in the Fitzgerald murder case at Logansport returned a verdict, finding that the accused was guilty of murder in j the first degree, and fixing his punishment at imprisonment for life. He was tried. J for the murder of young Quincy Beebe of Bunker Hill last October. , Within Oar Borders. '1 A company to manufacture beet sugar i is being formed at Marion. Stephen Todd of Toledo, Ohio, has taken a long lease on the New Lindell’Hotei».q Kokomo. Robert Roark of Harrisburg, HI., and j Miss Lottie Knowlton of Fort Wayne m*f|j at Terre Haute and were married. | Frankton, which suffered from a disas-1 trous fire recently, has decided to put in f water works and have a paid fire depart- 1 The grip is almost epidemic in Roek-|j ville.. Many business men are down wipj the disease. There has been no fatall Ollie, the 17-year-old son of H. P. Rich- J ards, living in Marion, was instantly kitt*J| ed while engaged with his father in sett-ll ing timber. At Vincennes, Henry Wagner, while do- Jj ing carpenter work, fell into a cellaivS breaking his neck, killing him instantly. He was 22 years old. A sycamore tree is standing on thi|| Matehett farm, near Piereetoh, which | measures twenty feet in. circumference | near the base and is sixty feet to the firetH] Lucy Van, a valuable pacing mare be-l longing to Van Buskirk Brothers of And derson, died at Pendleton of fever. Lucy Van had a record of 2:20*4, | was five years old and was valued at sl,Chauncey M. Coutant, a well-knowajl Crawfordsville carriage manufactucnS blew out bis brains while suffering tromM an attack of temporary insanity by grip. He was the patentee of the dovkd tail buggy body. An attempt is being made to second headstones for the graves of two revolwd tionary soldiers buried in Wayne CrantjiS One of them is Benjamin Bishop, wbVB died in 1852, and the other is NimrujH Jester, who died in 1853. Eliakim Stowe, known half a centuijfß ago as “Lige” Stowe, died at Fort Wayne*! aged 80 years. He owned one of the finiSl traveling circuses in the United StatMjfl He amassed a fortune in the business, 1*39 lost the bulk of it in the panic of 1873. An explosion of natural gas the home of Charles Null at Kokomo and 9 three women were frightfully burnengfl Mrs. Null’s clothng was burned off. Mill rion Smith and Alza Barns were bwa||B on the hands and face. A lighted lamra in the cellar caused the explosion, gad having accumulated there from a leaking^ At Logansport, the jnry in the case ot’M the State against William charged with murder, returned a venßcM finding the defendant guilty of murder n the first degree and fixing pnni»hmeqt imprisonment for life. Fitzgerald’s crit|fl was the killing of Qnincy Beebe, the ld*| year-old son of Samuel Beebe, a reside*®} of Bunker Hill, on Oct. 5 last. | An Indianapolis paper notes that miii|9 criticism has been aroused among patTMgfl because of the nude statuary gracing th*B halls of the new Jefferson school buitdin||j| at Muncie, and some parents have wjttiH drawn their children from the school. Ihifl statuary meets the approval of Prof. jMK R. Snyder and the School Board, not condemned by many club women andz teachers. M The striking of the lug oil well In Wasfcll ington township is creating intense ezajlf eitement among the oil fraternity. XevfM within the history of the Indiana field ha%| such a tremendous gusher been drilled |mE that section. Oil leasers are flocking m l and snapping up all the available tgriifil tory, and it begins to look as if County is to furnish a new the Indiana field. The well is estimatuS by conservative men at 1,000 per I Emory Jones, aged 40. residing utafl Binkley, and f<.r many yean a proruiawjM teacher in the schools of Randolph Comßß ty, died of lockjaw, the result, probahttl s| of a gunshot wound in the left arm wljUfj he received Dec. 31. The fate of W. T. Sullivan.’a employe at Evansville, offers an Of a warning conveyed in a drean]|®Jfsj| dreamed that he had been killed cars. The next day he was «u«ht un&flH a moving train, but saved himself.** clinging to a rod. A few tagg* later :MM r 0 a pi<£s? ht by 8 swltch onsiDe 1 *