St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 18, Number 15, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 29 October 1892 — Page 7

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j 1 I LJOW^* ' ^LflOcfawew 1 CHAPTER XV lll—Continue:!. Brian slept all da/, aid at dinner time Margaret, pausing outside of his door and hearing no sound, fancied ho must stil! be sleeping. But two hours later, when the loneliness and silence became oppressive, and the des re to • see and talk to him could no longer be j resisted; she put aside the book she I had va niy tried to read, and, going to his room; tapped upon ihe door. There was no answer, and she knocked more loudly. Still ro answer. Becoming frightened, she tried the door. It opened to reVeal an empty room. Biian was gone. Sho stood for a second motionless, trying to realize this fact, and then without a word or cry she went to her own room. He was gone; that was all. It was easy to say it. Why should sho mind so much? Ha l he really been home? Perhaps she had cnly dreamed, that Bertie had talked with her, or that she ha d heard Brian’s voice. - Maybe if she should rub her eves very hard she would awaken presently to find herself i back at EJmwco 1, and these last two months a horrible dream. * “We should never despair except in the face of positive defeat,” Wilson had once said to her. “ Wasn’t this positive defeat." Could she see hope beyond it? Was the long, hard struggle and the bitter travail of spirit thiough which she had passed to avail her nothing? Ah, heaven would be more kind.” This thought brought a certain hope and trust with it. And she could think quite calmly of the hopes an i longings which had filled her heart when sho married Brian; of the unfulfilled dreams end ambitions which had become a part of her life, and her vague ideas of those wife duties and attentions which were to win him ba< k frem a liie of indo- , lence to a position high and honored before the world. They had been in vain. All in vain. She tried to put aside the overpowering regret this knowledge brought her. She would forget it. She would sit here no longer. The window was open and she was col 1 and chilled. Besides, she heard —what? A step. Yes, a step, and, thank God, she recognized it. Without a second’s hesitation she left the room, anti when Brian entered the hall outside he found her standing like an apparition in the dim, uncertain ! moonlight. He started back, but it was too late - to avoid her. Yet even in that moment j of supremo agony he saw that her white, pained face held no anger, no reproach, only the unutterable sadness j of one who has hoped to much and been disappointed.

he '"wmniy endeavored to control. “You!” “V! ! ’ha’t pen could describe the shame, the misery and desnair that simple word held. “Have you come to add the last dreg to my cup of bitterness?” he continual rather huskily. "Ah, you turn your face ■! away. lam beneath even your notice. , Why did 1 come home to night?” “Because you still have a little feeling forme,” she answered, in a voice that was lull of tears. “I can't bear 100 much. ” “Some little feeling for her,” he reflected. “My Gt>d, have I shown much feeling for her? Yet I touched nothing to-day—nothing since this morning.” .“Why did you go out?” she asked, leaning rather heavily against th j door, though she was conscious of much relief at his assurance. “To forget, Margaret, to forget myself . —to forget you. Hero eveiy memo.y ; haunted me. I must hive died had I staid in that room one hour longer. I ! have walked and walked. My body is weary, but my mni is active. It is a living furnace of litter agony. It tortures me. I cannot escape ” “From your better nature. No, Erian. : Thank God, you cannot escape iioni your better nature. It is the thought of i the man you might be which tortures i you. Oh, Brian, Brian! Where is your > promise?” He laughed unsteadily. A meaningless laugh which jarred upon her. “You see, it is worse than useless,” he returned, recklessly. “I’m too worthless to waste one thought upon. I have broken your heart and ruined your life, Bertie says. Why don’t you hate me? Why don’t you strike me as I stand here a villain and a coward.” “Ah, no,” she cried, raising her hand to her face. “Not that weak and un'.ortunate, tut with heaven’s help a man.” I He grasped the door for support. Her । gentleness unnerved him. Contempt ■would have found him stroi ge •. “What can I say, Margaret?” he asked, looking in her face with pitiful helplessness. “What can I say. Your trust is heaven for me. Can I find any excuse after that. Yet I struggled. If you could know how hard. ” “But you tojk nothing to-night?” she questioned, a soft light stealing into her eyes. “No, nothing; but the temptation was never more teirible. When I recalled these last two days I thought I should go mad. I remembered that I had again broken my solemn promise. Again overwhelmed you witn shame and soriow, notwithstanding all yo ir kindness and all your sympathy. The worst | criminal on earth never felt greater j misery and degradation, I was sure I you would m ver trust me again. Sure ; that you would dread to look upon my face. I could see no hope. And when I went into that accursed place they seemed so happy, The wine’was there to bring forgetfulness, to drown my misery. It was before my eyes. Close to my hand. Yet I did not drink. A thought of you, like the last straw to a drown ng man, held me back. I pushed it from me. Though I saw heaven in its depths and hell in my own mind. Then Wilson came am I ” He could go no farther, emotion overpowered him. Margaret’s own eyes

filled with tears, and impulsively she placed her hand in his. “Poor Brian,” she said very softly. I “It has been very hard for you. I never j knew how hard until now. To-night ; has marked your first victory, and after ■ this you shall not fight alone. No : matter how rough the path may be, no ; matter how ofien you may stumble, I ' know the time must com? when you will j stand strong and firm. It is this belief | which keeps my faith and courage so ’ warm w.thin me. And until that time | docs come, I always want you to re- ■ member that my hand is .er in yours, and, side by side, we will meet and , overcome all that is hard to you. I Through better and through worse, al- । ways together. Don’t, Erian; it pains j me to seo you give way so. We will ■ only be giving mutual help. You shall ! lean on me, as I shall oiten lean on you. ! I have had so many hopes and ambitions | for yon. So if you will insist on mag- i I ni ying my simple duty into such gen- i ! erous proportions, I shall expect my j ; reward mmy own way. I can say no I more to-night; I feel so utterly weary. I To-morrow I will have more to tell you. | Only keep your courage strong, and remember that my desire to help you is alove every other.” “May God make me strong, Margaret, to be worthy of your faith. In his presence and in yours I solemnly pledge my word That the day shall come when you will seo in me something higher and better than the weak creature I am tonight. I can say no more than that. Words are powerless to express my thoughts. I can only feel.” “And I can understand,” she returned, ; with tremulous lips. “I can hold my i hand to you now and say: ‘There is only faith and trust between us.’ ” A lone in his room. Alone with feelings i and emotions which filled his heart to overflowing, Brian went over every word . of this conversation, and in the fresh | stren ’th and courage which had come to h m he repeated his pl dge. Then his mind passed in review the events of the evening. He remembered | that when he could no longer bear the tide of bitter, remorseful thoughts which | surged over him he had found his way to his old haunts w.th the almost over- I whelming desire to seek oblivion in the usual way. How Wilson ha I found him , and drawn him away from the tempta- ; tion that ha t well nigh conquered him. They had waked for a long time in the fresh, cool night, and while Wilson I ta ked in the kind, conr dential manner he had so often used in their student ■ days, Brian had felt himself over- ■ powered by a rush of feeling, and he j had longed with intense longing for something of the noble personality of ; the man beside him. “You have saved me from myself,” he | had c ied under the impulse of the | mon ent. “I thank you. not for my , sake, but for hers. Men who are strong like you seldom pity men who aie weak I like me. I have fallen without the 1 breastworks. Shall I ever find safety?” I And Wilson had answered, just as he 1 often answered in those old days, when j he had promised such rich fruition lor ' ■ Brian’s many talents: “There is safety for you in strength jof purpose an 1 determination of endeavor, and safety,” he had aided in a I lower tone, “in the faith and trust of n I loyal wife. Think of her and be strong.”

MARGARET SEES SOME SUNLIGHT. “I think the clouds must be rolling by,” Margaret sad to herself one , morning. j Brian had just told her of his talk ; wi h Wilson, and of the latter's promise j to help him in every possible way. And ! as if this was not enough there was Lor ■ j long delightful letter from Miss Hilton, i ' and Ihe promise it held, that this dear old friend would be with her so soon. ; ■ Only a shM visit —live or six days at i ■ most—yet the prospect of even that J I made her so happy that she coul i : j scarcely speak of it to Brian, dhe I I happy moment arrived at last, when she i looked into the dear, brown eyes and j kissed the smooth cheek, which was ; still so round and rosy. She could only । i let her tears fail, and leal how sweet it । was to lean once more upon that true | ■ and tender love. j “It is so nice to have you, so very | nice to have you,” she cried, in g ad ! tones, as she divested Miss Hilton of ! i bonnet an I wraps, and n ade l.er take the great arm-chair. “So like the old times. I am going to sit on this low > । stool ! y you and stroke your hand just ■ ;as I used to do. Do you remember how ' j you used to like me to stroke your ; i band. Ah, I have misled thosi times, ! ; Miss Hilton. You cannot guess how I i : have missed them, even at Elmwood; ; ; but here a thcusan I times more.” “What a delightful little home you have,” answered Miss Hilton, allowing i b.er eyes to travel about the room in an ! effort not to see ihe expression of pain which had a companied Margaret’s words. “I am charmed. ” “Are you? lam so glad. I think it rather n ee, too, though at first it did j seem rather small. Now I have become ■ accustomed to it, and we are doing | nicely Norah and Nanny are both with ! me. They both like New Y'ork better j i than Ido. I fear lam lackingin appre- ; ! elation, but— No, I’ll not tell you ! any n ore of that. I have really made : a great many friends here. I find the ; people very nice and pleasant.” “1 am pleased to hear it, Margaret. I j never doubted your faculty for « dng ' love. Y’ou are happy, too, I hope. Margaret continued to stroke the hand that rested on hers, but she found it impossible to raise her eyes, and the earnest question only won an evasive answer: “I am contented now.” Miss Hilton was a keen observer, and i Margaret’s reply did not satisfy her, ! but she answered with apparent read!- ■ nesf: “I am glad for even shat much. I j fear you have not trusted me implicitly. ! ! I think there has been some heartache, ! i or your'lettcrs were not true barometers i I of your feelings. Some were very hope- i I ful; others despondent. Often I feared j : you were 1 reading down, and then l| wished to borrow wings and come to ; yen. ” “All, if you only had,” faltered Mar- । I garet, burying her head in Miss Hilton’s ! iap. “Y< u were so kind to want to do! so. It has been h artache, so much J heartache, I co; id not tell you. It was ; too bitter to put on paper. Yet I knew i you would road between the lines, that I you would s e and understand. And I j felt sure of your sympathy—always so I sure of that. If all had fallen from me I believed I should still have you. j

Sometimes I was tempted io ask you to come just for a little while. Then I reflected you might find it hard or impossible, and so I always put the wish aside.” “Your letters would have brought me, Margaret. Absence has not lessened my love for you. I want you to feel that it is always with you, though I may be far away. I was very much I surprised when you told me you were j leaving Elmwood. I felt that Brian ! was at the bot’on of your reason, and ; I begged heaven to bless my brave ; girl. lam so happy to hear of Brian’s i improvement. Industry is certainly a I eoncoss on for him.” “I a'ways bo. red for something beti ter,” Margaret returned, wondering why : sho shou d make her words apologetic. । “Th m, beside?, he is my husband, and • there is less a question of personal feeling than of wifely duty. There’s du y । again. I am g: owing to detest the j word. I Oh, Miss Hilton, you are Hired. How thoughtless I am In my j selfishness I’ve quite forgotten what a j journey you’ve had. Come; you sha'.l I go right to your room. Then I shall I bring you a cup of tea, and you must ' rest until Brian comes. He will be deI lighted to see you.” i When Brian returned that night he ' found Miss Hilton installed in his par- | ticular chair. “Don’t be jealous,” laughed Mar- | garet, after the warm greetings were over. “I gave Miss Hilton your chair because she is a visitor, and must enjoy all the privileges.” “On the principle of ‘The poor you have always with you,’ I suppose.” “Don’t quote Scripture so lightly, you thoughtless boy,” said Miss Hilton, with a smile. “I have been hearing some good accounts of you.” “I know who to thank for that,” returned Brian, with a grate!ul glance at Margaret. “How long have you been ! hero discussing m >?” “I have been here since early’ this afternoon, but we di cussed other subI jects tesic.es you, sir. Margaret has l been tel ing me a budget of news, and I ! have been admiring thi i de ightlul little home. “All Margaret’s tas’e,” wasßrian'sre- ! ply. "1 t It you, Miss BEton, she is ” i “Won t you com ito dinner, pica e ” interrupted Marg; r t at ths po nt. j “You'll find that a much mor? interesting sub oct for discus ion.” When Brian returned home next evening he found Miss Biltm alone. “We have spent the afternoon in shopp ng,” she explained, “and the ex- ' perienoe proved too much for Mar- ; garet, so 1 s nt h r away to rest b?f< re ! dinner. Sh * will be in presently, and meant me you must put ip whh my j comsany.” “1 am not displeased at the prospect,” h? responded, lightly, though an anx- ! ious expression settled over l.is face. l“ l am bccordrg se ims y worried about Margaret,” he addo I, more gtavely. “Don’t 2ou think sho is looking j rather ill?” “Fh i doesn’t seem particularly well, j I fear she finds this s.uin' weather ' trying. Her case is not difficult to I diagno o, however, and the medicine . she most requires is—Elmwood.” The old lady gave Brian a searching i look as she gave expession to this opinion. Ho bore it without flinching and answered with scarcely a moment’s hos- ‘ itation: “You are light. I have thought the 1 same. Sho shall go to Elmwood as soon as possible.” । Miss Hilton shook her lit ad, yyitH I thoughtful gravity. "That won't do. Brian. Such a half-j I way m iho I wo ihl I e as cfTo -tive nJ । taking 'Uy one parl or ase dlitz. You | must this in i s pr ”, er light, mj^ j dear boy. Margaret shcu d not make a' l the sa Tificts. ” “She shall make no more,” was the । impel ive answer. "I see it all now. i When the gees to Elmwood I go with In r. ' । “To stay, I hope. Otherwise ” “Yes, Miss Hilton, to stay. I have been tu Ilcientiy neg ectful and I ratal. ■ Now I have turned over a new leaf, and i lam de'emned that my future shall ! be worthy of her husband. I i ave ; much to make up. ” । o v I recognize the real Biian,” an- ! swered Miss Hilton, with smil mr eyes, s “I have always been confident that he ’ woul 1 show himself some day. I am . very glad to see him.” “.f he lives at all,” returned Brian, j with unusual feeling, “,t is to Margaict’s credit. Her trust gave him life, and her influence led him on. As^o t ; cannot understand 1h? depths to which I had sunk, neither can you realize to । what extent she has proved my salvation. Had her nature been less noble, : less gci;orcus, less pure than it is, I ! could not love her as I do, and—here ■ ehe is to hear me say so.” “And to thank you for such sweet i words,” aided Margaret. “Erian, have [ you been In mo very ’ mg? I thought ■ I should be here before you came, but i iny eyes would not stay open, and the ; time went so fast.” “If you are rested I sha’n’t r grat it,” ' returned Brian, drawing her unresist- ! ingly to the chair beside him. “I am j g’.ac. those refractory eyes compelled I your obedience, even though they de- ! prive Ime of your company. In your ! absi nee Miss Hilton has made herself vastly entertaining. We have been exi changing ideas. See*how she flies back i in my chair, which she takes without j the least compunction, and smiles at ! something I have told her. I wonder if it w’on’t make you smile, too. We will ; try the experiment after dinner.” i But. alter dinner Wilson made his ap- । pearance, end Margaret forgot all else ■ in her eTort that he and Miss Hilton ' should have ample opportunity to sea and admire each other. [to be continued. I Mortuary Customs. The Guatuso Indians of Central America live in considerable numbers in a single hut, and the village visited I (ompißid about fifteen huts. Tie 1 dead arc buried in the habitations, I and the earth covering the graves . settles until it is about a foot below । the surface of the floor. As time i goes on the graves become less dis- ; tinct. and finally they are completely ; obliterated. When a person dies the i relatives wail aloud, crying 1“ amdisi tressed.” When a warrior is buried I his body is provided with certain , feathers of two currassows, a bunch j being placed in each hand, and for I some time after death cacao is placed upon the grave, in order that the dc- । i ar ted warrior may be supplied with ! drink. — A dog differs from a swell, for there are no creases in the canine’s I pants.

SLOW GROWTH OF THE OAK. Sixty Years Old Before Good Seed Is Produced—Activity of Ilie Boots. The extreme limit of the ago of the oak is not exactly known, says the Ohio State Journal, but sound and living specimens are at least 1,003 years old. The tree thrives best in a deep, tenacious loam with rocks in it. Stagnant water is one of its aversions. It grows better on a comparatively poor sandy soil than on rich ground imperfectly drained. The trunk, at first inclined to be irregular in shape,straightens at maturity into a grand cylindrical shaft. The oak does not produce srcod seed until it is more tnan 00 years old. The acorn is, the fruit of the oak; the seed-germ is a very small object at the pointed end of the acorn, with the future root uppermost. The acorn drops, and its contents doubtless undergo important molecular and chemical changes while it lies under its winter covering of leaves or snow. In the mild warmth of spring the acorn swells, the littlb root elongates, from the end of the shell, and. no matter what the position of the acorn, turns downward. The root penetrates the soil two or three inches before the ! stalk begins to show itself and grow j upward. The “meat” of the acorn nourishes Loth root and stalk, and two years may pass before its store of food is entirely exhausted. At the end of a year the young oak has a root twelve to eighteen inches long, with numerous shorter rootlets, the stalk being from six to eight inches high. In this stage it differs from the sapling, and again the sapling differs from the tree. To watch these transformations under the lens is a fascinating occupation. If an oak could be suspended in the air with all its roots and rootlets perfect and unobscurcd the sight would be considered wonderful. The activity of the roots represents a great ' deal of power. They bore into the soil and Hatten themselves to penetrate a crack in a rock. Invariab y the tips turn away from the light. The growing point of a tiny outer root- is back of the tip a small distance. The tip is driven on by the force behind it and searches the soil for the easiest points of entrance. When the tips are destroyed by obstructions, cold, heat or other causes, a new growth starts in varying directions. The first roots thicken and become girders to support the tree, no longer feeding it directly, but serving as conduits for the moisture and nourishment gathered by the outer ro >t!ets, which are constantly boiing their way into fresh territory. These absorb water charged with soluble earth, salts, sulphates, nitrates, phosphates of lime, magnesia and potash, etc., which passes through the larger roots, stem and branches to the leaves, the laboratory of new J growth. An oak tree may have 700.- ! 000 leaver, and from June to Octoi ber evaporates 226 times its own wnlwHT of wutoi*. account of ' the new wood grown, “wo oi tain ! som.’ idea < f tho enormous ga:n of matter and energy from the outside universe which gees on each summer. ” Oak timber is not the heaviest, toughest nor moit beautiful, but it combines more good qualities than any other kind. Its fruit is valuable food and its bark useful in c/rtain industries. An oak pile submerged for । ii‘o years in London bridge came up in sound condition, and there arc specimens from the Tower of London which date from the time of William Rufus. To produce a good oak grove requires from 140 to 100 years. It seems a long time to an American, but forestry is a perpetual branch of economics when once established.

He Saw Hie Point. tc had a pretty hard day of it and had gone to bed early. When his wife entered the room he was sleeping soundly, and no man likes to be awakened half an hour after lie gets asleep. She evidently amused at something, and as she approached the bed she exclaimed: “John! Oh, John!” He never moved. “John! Wake up!” she persisted, “rhere's one of the funniest incidents ” He still slept and she began to shake him. “John! Listen to me!” she cried. He mumbled something, and she shook him again. He opened his eyes and gruffly asked what the trouble was. “There's the funniest story in one of the papers,” sho said. “It’sabout Goldust, the millionaire,and it maxes me laugh every tim ■ 1 think of it. I’ll tell you about it.” “No, you won’t,” he exclaimed hotly’. “What in thunder ” “Why, John!” “I suppose you think it’s a joke to wake me up out of a sound sleep to tell me some foolish story. What do you think I went to bed for?” “Don't you want to hear it, John?” she asked in surprise. “No, 1 don’t.” “Dear me,” she said in a puzzled sort of way “don’t you really like to be waked , in the middle of the night to b a story any more than I do when I get to bed first?” He glared at her and she retreated, but she knew that the shot had gone home. He doesn’t wake her up any more and expect her to laugh at some joke or story he heard at the club. — Free Press. Japanese Paper Money. Describing the Japanese paper money a correspondent says: “These arc oblong paper cards of the relative values of a dollar, half,quarter,eighth and sixteenth. They are of local issue, and the privilege of putting them in circulation having belonged to the daimio for centuries past, as a

consequence there were over a hundred local varieties in the empire of various colors, values and sizes. The general characteristics are the same in all, the obverse of every design conspicuously presenting the dragon with horns, hair, scales, claws, and mustaches ” Art Students in Faris. Most of the women art students in Paris are poor, and must live as economically as-possible while persuing their studies in the great city. The most convenint way of living is in an apartment, usually selected in the Latin Quarter. For four rooms ami a kitchen, prices vary from $l5O to S2OO a year, according to size and location. The furniture of the apartment is provided 1 y the student, and is gen ‘rally of the most primitive descript on, soap-boxes forming a large proportion of it. Then there arc a few chairs, picked up at a convenient second-hand shop. In fact, the cnly new article is the divan, which cost $6, and also serves as a bca. Yet the American girl usually contrives to give on air of comfort to her surroundings, and to make her one room co/.y and home-like. For a single individual does not indulge in the lurury of a whole apartment, but shares it with several of her compatriots. They engage a woman to sweep, make the beds and ccok; her wages are six cents an hour. Breakfast is prepared by the girls themselves, and requires only an alcohol lamp as fuel. The gas companies rent stoves to those Bohemians for 50 cents a month. Nearly every vegetable, canned cr fresh, can be bought already cooked, and in as small quantities as desired; soups and meats can also be purchased prepared for the table, and poultry is sent to the house steaming hot from the spit. Only Americans sojourning in Paris have any idea of the number of girl students who live there alone. Not one art student, in fifty is with her mother or chaperon. She ofie n crosses with friends, selects a pension or a private family, where she fines the terms 100 high or the food too scanty, and it is not long before she meetsone or more congenial spirits in the studio, who are quite willing to take an apartment with her, and make for themselves that for which every true woman longs, wherever she may be —a home. How to Clean a Clock. An eight-day cuckoo clock stood in < one corner of the kitchen, inside the ; case of which Jemmy kept his single- ! barrelled gun; a good one it was, and ■ always kept ready loaded. “I like to i have things ready and handy-like,” he was wont to remark; “you never know when they may be near” —the birds he meant. There was no gun license needed in those days, only a game certificate. The things that . did come when Jemmy was about, i seldom went away again. The clock ! was a good one, but the bird had not I shouted properly for somc_ time: omx day, Iw 1 WflllHl I Ulll 1 'lip all l ight, and the next he was a mute.

Mol her said she really must have it cleaned, but she never could make up her mind to let it go out of the house. One day, the very day which this really was going to be done, a boy came rushing from the farm-yard into the kitchen, where Jemmy was having his snack of lunca alone, to tell him: “Something had come, and he'd best be quick, for it was on the move like.” Jemmy opened the clock case and hurriedly caught up the gun, as he had done scores of times before, but not with the same result. In the haste of the moment he touched one of the weights; it swayed, the hammer of his gun hit the bottom of the weight, which threw it back, and ott she went, bang! right through the works. Down fell the cuckoo. The mother was up-stairs when she heard the report: her first thoughts were for Jemmy. “Jem, my boy. what haveyoudone?” she cried. For a moment he looked speechless at the wreck, then he shouted back: “All right, mother, I’ve only cleaned the clock.” Bates of Postage in 1311. An old almanac for 1814 gives the following as the rates of postage prevailing at that time: “For every single letter by land, for forty miles, 8 cents: ninety miles. 10 cents; 150 miles, 12.} cents; 300 miles, 17 cents; 500 miles, 20 cents, and for more than 500 miles,2s cents. Noallowance to be made for intermediate miles. Every double letter is to pay double the said rates; every triple letter, triple; every packet weighing one ounce, at the rate of four single letters each ounce. Every ship letter originally received at an office for delivery, 6 cents. Magazines and pamphlets, not over £0 miles. 1 cent per sheet; over fifty miles and not exceeding 100 miles, 14 cents per sheet; over 100 miles, 2 cents per sheet.” Quicksand. The reason a person sinks in quicksand is because the latter is composed chiefiy of small particles of mica mixed largely with water. The mica is so smooth that the fragments slip u| on each other with the greatest facility, so that any heavy body which displaces them will sink and continue to sink until asolid bottom is reached. When particles cf sand are ragged and angular any weight pressing on them will crowd them together until they are compacted into a solid mass. A sand composed of mica or soapStone, when mixed with sufficient water,seems incapable of such consolidation. When a man tells a bad story on another man, with sorrow in his voice and tears in his eyes, the people think what a good man he must be, but the devil knows better.

HERE’S ALL THE NEWS TO BE FOUND IN THE STATE OF INDIANA. Giving a Detailed Account of the Numer* oum Crimes, Casualties, Fires* Suicides* Deaths, Ktc., Etc. Minor State Items. A M ilitia company has been organized at New Albany. The fruit crop in Lawrence County is reported a total failure this year. The long-continued drought has been broken in some sections of Southern Indiana. John Neff, near Milford, had both legs broken by a log rolling on him off a wagon. Miss Daisy Chase, while horse-back riding at Mitehell, was thrown and seriously hurt. On an old farm near Crawfordsville, George Britton has found a number of skeletons in a gravel pit. Theiie is still one toll-road in Shelby County. Its purchase and liberation is to be voted on next month. John Farrington, aged 18,of Kokomo, died from injuries received by being struck by a train last July. Bfrgi.ars broke into H. McLachlan's store at Elkhart, and stole $1,200 worth of jewelry and other goods. James Hackett, a Bedford bartender, was accidentally shot and killed bv a boiler-maker while out hunting. Edward Henry, a resident of Greenville, near New Albany, was White?appcd for mistreating his wife. An engine and eight cars were wrecked in a collision at Logansport. The airbraKe failed to work. Loss, SIO,OOO. Ed. Hill, a Brazil youth, was hunting, when the breech-pin of the gun blew out and penetrated his skull. Ho will die. Logansport has dug up an elm log that was buried under a street fifty-five years ago. The wood was sound in svery fiber. The large lake at Bethany park, near Brooklyn, was drained recently. It is ?stimated that 3,000 pounds of carp fish were caught. Martin Peterson of Goshen, who claimed to have lost both arms by falling under a Lake Shore train, was awarded £B,OOO damages. James McCormick, near Seymour, is said to be 109 years old, and is also said to have spoken to George Washington, the father of his country. William Meloy of Scottsburg, while limiting, accidently shot his cousin. Walter Meloy, twenty-live shot taking effect in kis face and head. The side-bar on a Big Four engine broke near Warsaw, smashing the cab ind injuring Jones Scott, who was riding en the scat with the fireman.

The Kokomo Daily Gazette-Tribune has moved into a new home of its own, it zeing one cf the finest printing offices to be found in Northern Indiana. Robert White, aged IG, son of John White, oi Walnut Level, Wayne County, was fatally mangled by a freight train at the L., E. & W. depot in Muncie. At Crawfordsville, the Monon paid a judgment and costs jn a suit for a horsp Louis Feltz. 13 years old, of Brookville, was accidentally and fatally shot in the groin bv his brother while thby were gathering grapes in the woods. The Connersville News and Times have consolidated. Howard M. Gordon retires, and J. W. Shackleford, Delia C. Smith and IV. F. Downs takes charge. The last of the walnut timber growing ibout Goshen was hauled to a mjll the )ther day by eighty-seven teams gaily decorated. The timber was valued at 18,500. Some wretch hit an Elwood horse on he leg with a stone the other night, the animal went into convulsons and wo men worked all night before its life ivas saved. H. L. Thomas, who cleaned out a boarding-house at Brazil of jewelry and money, was captured by Detective Patrick Farley and lodged in the Clay -ounty Jail. Harry Aluis, aged 34, in Parrot’s Dill, at Patoka, received a slight cut on his right hand with a saw. He went home, and 9 p, m. took lock-jaw and died it 10 o’clock. Sigman Welinitz, a prominent business m iof Whiting, committed suicide. His wile had left him, and he had made an attempt at a reconciliation, which was unsuccessful. The father of a boy at English, where ihe lad was suspended bv the neck by a quick-tempered school-teacher, will apply to the State authorities to have the teacher suspended. Jack Britton of Harmony, brakeman an the C. & I. U., was cut to pieces at Kickapoo. While making a coupling at the foot of the steep grade at that point, lie was caught by a backing freight train and twenty-five cars passed over bis body. The east-bound train run by the Welis Fargo Express Company on the Chicago and Erie collided with some freight cars which had run through a closed split Stritch on a heavy grade at Leiter’s, a few miles west of Rochester, engineer Fredericks, one of the oldest men on the road, and Firemen Metz wore horribly scalded and bruised, Metz being fatally injured. The engine was badly damaged, road torn up, express cars injured, and several freight cars demolished. William H. Kelly, a prominent resident of Frankfort, died last week. For several years Mr. Kelly had stomach trouble, and it was the desire of the family that an autopsy be held. The operation revealed a cancerous mass in the stomach which contained a metallic substance that proved to be a portion ol a shoemaker's awl, fully an inch ir length. The aw) is supposed to have been in his stomach ever since Mr. Kelly worked on the bench as a shoemaker, over thirty years aso. H S. Suhwier, a 1 O-year-old boy, ai McCool, near Valparaiso, has died ol supposed hydrophobia. He was bitter: last summer, and had been treated by the Pasteur Institute at Chicago. An unknown man about 25 years olc was killed at Union Citv, by a Panhandle freight train. It is the supposition that ho was beating Ips wav on the train anc fell between the cars. He was torn tc pieces and had evidently been dragged for some distance. Nothing was found in the pockets of his clothing, which was that of a laborer, save a brass check, which was marked with the number “29“ and “G. W.”