St. Joseph County Independent, Volume 20, Number 16, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 3 November 1894 — Page 7

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Wo «oQi</W CHAPTER ill—Continued. An hour afterward he had safely located his charges at the house of a friend of Mme. Jardine s, where she was thankful to re t, ha 1 shared the hospitable meal, and was lingering uneasily about, shy and strange, when some one remarked that the English monsieur ought certainly to climb 1 a Signale, and s e what, all tra'elers knew, is one of the finest views in Switzerland. But the e was no one to show him Iho wav, except two little boys, sons of the house, and Silence. A ud len impube, a, of a man who is determined to have his va , conque ed Roderick’s difiide: co. "Madame, will you trust her with me? It is not Swiss fashion, 1 know, but in j England I should be thought good j knight enough to deservo Rhe charge ! of any fair dam-el, if sho would s > far conde :cnl. Ma lamoiscl e m i cousine ” Silence looked up, looked down, and smiled. Ihe mother east a penetrating glance at the two, so innocently happy in one another s company. ’The good God makes it, not I,” muttered she tt ner OIL “My daughter, I you, Adolphe, a id Hen i will show the I view to our d< a? English cousin. He ; will acknow edgo there ii scarcely ai more beautiful sight to be seen in this j world.” Ho d'd arkn nvledgo it, when, hav- i ing climbo 1 tl e steep hill ahne—for; Silence mounted merrily with a big I schoolboy at either hand—ho saw the : wh*j!e lake from Genova to Montreux, ! with its girdle of mountain i from j Mont blanc to the ternese Alps, I spread befoie him like a picture, as : still and as clear. Suddenly, though thegr. y. cloudy I sky, the sun broke out, poured down a ; torre t of light, like a cataract of m l- ! ten gold, into the lake, then spanned it 1 with a bridge of rays from shore to i shore. “Oh, how lovo’y,” cried Roderick, and both of them, shading their eyes ' from the darling glory, stood watch-| ing it, ti l Ihe descending sun. sud- i denly touching the verge of the mist, I plunged into it and disappeared. ‘ Is all ended? ’ “Not quite, ’ said Silence; ‘ wait a I mid te more.” And through the death- | like grayness which had fallen instantaneo'jsly u on mountains, lake and sky. he jo ceived a gradual, wonder.ul chaage. S e.” She spoke in J^ghsh, and touching him—the light-

through every ne ve—pointed tn the - meuKtain? nearest'thh'sunset. What a sight: $ lowly a faint color, like a blush, crept over the everlasting snows,” deepening more and more as it spread from summit t > summit along the whole range of Alps. “It 1 oks as if an angel were stepping from peak to peak with a basket of roses: “Yes," Roderick answered, also beneath his breath: only ther color is not like earthly roses.' We shall never see the like again t.ll we see it in paradise. Please God wo may! ’ As he said the we deliberately, markedly. intentionally, he saw ‘a faint tremb ing in the sweet mouth, firmly closed hough it was; and coming a little closer he took bold—not oi her , hand, but of her dress. Like a reve- ' lation. which some wil no more believe in than a blind man could believe in that wondrous sight before the e two, there came into him—perhaps into both—the love, t e one passionate, yet pure an I perfect love, < f one man for one woman which, if both have strength to accept and be true to its blesse Iness, makes all life a joy. and death it elf no longer aft ar. For even then, standing close beside her, with them’re touch of her garments and j the stirring of her hair giving him a! rapture i describable, Roderick could ' think of death, of his own dead. Sir ngely enough, the first words he said were: “Ch, if my father could but have seen this sight.''’ “Perhaps he does see it, and mine, too. They were friends when they were young.” “Yes. And we? We must be friends all our lives.” “I hope so. ” . “Friend was the on y word he dared to say—a wiser word than he was | aware of; for friends may be lovers ■ some day, but lovers who are not ' friends will cease to bo both. The "colorization” slowly faded, and j that cold, gj ay, deathly shade which] comes s > sudden’^ after sunset here ! b gan to creep over the sk , and lake j and mountains even over Silence’s face: till there came into those far- i away eyes of hers an expression- Rod- i erick could have imagined it that of an i angel standing by a sealed grave, but looking upwaid still, waiting for the resurrection day. A few minutes after Roderick folloved Silence down the hill, which she descended as she mounted, with a boy on either hand, and all went ba k to tea that simple Swi s tea which he had long since beg n to prefer to the i grandest of Hicherdon dinners. Dull, to a certain extent, wa> the joume; home, for silence had neither eye-,ears nor thoughts for any creature except her mother, and I oderick, in the reaction after strong suppressed i feeling, half fancied himself de trop. Sh inking into a corner, he scarcely spoke to either, but soothed himself by taking the tenderest silent care of both mother and da ght r till he deposited them at their own door. That kindly “Pon s ir.”—“Au revoir!”—just the ordinary adieu which had taken place at the door so many times: this time it was almost briefer - than usual, for he saw t ilence was glad to get her mothe.• home: and he, too, was not sorry to rush away, afraid lest the strong self-repression of the last few hours might give way and betray him by tome unguarded look or

tone. So he hurried down the stairs, having seen the n safe, but scarcely looked at either, scarcely even answered Aime. Jardine’s gentle “Au revoir!” "Au revoir!” How strange it all felt afterward. CHAPTER V. He scarcely s’cpt all night—a now experience to his young, healthy natuie or, sleeping, woke fancying ho was falling down a precipice, or Silence I was falling and he was leaping in after her—ail those vague troubles in which dreams carry out the prominent idea of the day. He rose gladly, but only rose to vexation, no letter' from hi’s mother, but one from the family lawyer,saying Mrs. Jardine had been consulting with him, and that she altogether objected to her son s denuding hi rase'f of his patrim ny, the only absolute property he pos essed, and giving it to unknown, foreign con-ins. who might ' make ducks and drakes of it” in no time. Spite of his annoyance Roderick could not help laughing. The idea of Silence and her mother as extravagant spendthrift*, bringing io ruin the Jardine inheritance, was too comical. He had not been lucid en u;h, he must write again and explain—what? If he told his mother the whole truth, that ! ho had deliberately made up his mind, I and meant, if by God’s blessing he was fortunate in his love, to bring her home as a daughte -in-law this no tionless Swiss girl—probably the very last daughter-in-law she would have expected or desired —how would she take it? What would happen? In this serious busii.e s light he had never before regarded the question an 1 though it perplexed h m, it gave , him also a delicious sense of reality, i His nebulous passicn was resolving iti self into the clear, steady glow of a | fixed love, a love meant to end in those i solemn duties of married life which 1 all good men are born for, and good । women, too; and which neither sex : can shirk or set aside, cr by any sad I fate lose, without involving a certain j incompleteness in character and destiny. “Yes; I mu-t write again to my ! mother,” he said to himself, and even i took up pen and paper. But how to i write? T. at tender confidence —from ' babyhood to manhood—which some- ! times exists between mother and son, j had i ever existed here. “She would . not understand.” Nevertheless, in writing to his । mother, as ne at last did write, deter- ; mining to pay her the just filial respect of t filing her his intentions before ho I made the offer of marriage, he exI plained that he ha Ino idea what Mlle. ' Jardines answer would be; and he 1 begged her to keep his secret entirely Ito herself until he could tell her the 1 i result. “So the deed is done -thus far,” said Roberick t > himself, as ho posted the j letter, and then braced his courage for ' the next step, Io hi judged rightly 1 —no English wooing, tr'u ting to sweet 1 chance md-thn. imnubso m

would do here. He must speak to the mother first. Until he won Tier approval he could never be to Silence more, ostensibly, than a common acquaintance. Trying, but inevitable. So that very evening—giving the gentle invalid a whole day to recover from her fatigue —he determined to ; res nt himself, and ask formally of Mme. .lai dine permission to woo her daughter. Perhaps he might then be al.owcd to tell Silence himself all she was to him. And when she understood it all-tbe first look, eye t> eye; the first ki s mouth tv mouth; the open, mutual recognition of a love that was to last them through lite and go with them, plea e Ged. into the life eternal —at the bare thought of such bliss the vouno , man L It dizzy. lie naif staggered as he walked anl at last stood quite still at the solitary street corner—the street he knew so well—to command himself before he attempted to mount the stair. Though it wa ■ still early all was dark—the quiet darkness of a mill November night, with the tars shining overhead. Roderick looked up at them, trving to gain a little quiet..ess too. So standing, he scarcely noticed a gentleman, almost as self-ab-orbed as I himself, ti l they ran right against one another. I “Pardon, monsieur,” said the kindly voice of M. Ie Professeur Reynier. “What, Monsieur Jardine—can it be you? How fortunate: I was just coming to pay you a little visit.” Roderick' muttered some civil answer. but did not offer to turn back. Indeed, he had come to that point when he felt he could not turn back—cou.'d not defer his bliss, or fate another hour fomany mortal creature. “I —another time I shall ‘be most happy. Now —I have an engagement.” “t ardon again,” said the gentle old man, touching the arm oi the younger one; “but—were you going there?” He pointed up the stair which he had just descended. “Indeed, you roust not go.” “Why not?" said Roderick, a gr.ly, th >n recollecting himself, added, with a careful indifference: “Your daughters told me Madame Jardine was not ; well; I was going to inquire for her.” j _ “Mon ieu:” cried M. Reyflier, clasp* i ing his hands with a gesture which we unemctional Flanders would smile at as “so un-English ’ “Mon Dieu.—then mon ieur does n it know.-” “Know what?” ‘ She is dead—she died this morning. ” ’’She—who?” । Madame Jardine, alas! It was ouite ! sudde i—there was nobody beside her | but her daughter. Quite peacefm, too - without any suffering: and the doctor .ad dreaded much one day, for it was disease of the heart. Her child's only thought n>w is thankfulne. s for that. Po r Alademoiselle Silence! Madame Reynier is with her now she. or my : girls, will not eave her until the interment. ” Here the old man fairly gave way, took out his pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his honest eyes. Roderick wrung his hand in the silent English way—no more. Fie was utter y stunned. i “It can't be true! it can t 'be true!" he said in English, putting his hand to his head. “Monsieur is very much shocked, I see; and no wonder. I, too, can scarcely comprehend or believe it. But we must leave all in the hands of the good Ged. He will take care of her, as she

said, poor child! even though she is left an orphan, without any dot, without a penny in the world. But I will not detain monsieur any longer. Eon soir! Au revoir!” The very words she ha<f sain t > him in her brief adieus, only two nights before on the stair head—the sweet soul who was now • beyond the sun. ’’ Roderick's heart ga\ e way, with a great sob, like a child's. And then he choke 1 it down and turned away. To no human leing would he betray himself—not now. “Monsieur,” and he drew the o’d man’s arm through his with a ten ’er courte y. “Y^ou will allow me to accompany you home. Then perhaps I : may be honored by hearing a little i more—perhaps assisting you in the ar- i rang< ments you will have to make. ■ Remember, lam a relative —I believe, i | the very nearest relative n w left to ; Mademoiselle Jardine.” “Yes, yes, lam very grateful. And. ' she, too, jioor child! sho cannot but bo I grateful, also, for the m nsieur's go dness. Let as go. ” So they went together—the old man talking volubly and cordia’ly, the ' younger one replying in little more' than monosyllables, through the already empty streets of the little town. [ CHAPTER VI. I There are two ,kinds of love—man’s^l love; I am not sp aking of woman's^ just now. The first born of sunshin^H selfism, basking in pleasure, shrinkidH from any pain, either its own or thltf of the object beloved, which is, for tnbf time being, itself the second, strong' as tender, while equally capable off pleasure, fears not pain, ei her personal or v carious. Sorrow, suil'ering, $ the helplessness of failing powers, only ’ rouse in it a deeper i assion, a fonder i care. Happy tho woman who has found a resting-place there! She need 1 fear neither sickness nor sorrow, old ( age or I eauty's decline. Living, however sad and broken a life, she will be cherished to the last, and dying, she will be mourned eternally. Such a love, though he knew it not at the time —indeed, he hardly knew himself at all, so suddenly and strangely had circumstances developed his ! dormant nature—such a love, in all its dovotedness and intensity, had taken pos ession of Roderick’s heart for his ; “cousin” Silence. He did not attempt to see her - that, of course, wa ■ impossible and he lelt capable of making any sacrifice or exercising any self-re traint for her sake; bat it seemed as if only to be near her, throwing over her the faithful shield of his silver love, was at once aeon elation and a protection He walked the streets till all lights were out, except that solemn one which marked tho death chamber; and then, with a b'.essing on his lips and a prayer in his heart —young man as he was, Roderick was not ashamed to pray — he departed. N. xt morning, at the very earliest hour he could venture without exciting s i-picion, he was at the Reyniers’ door, to hear a l that was to be heai d concerning M le. Jardine, and to volunteer any help that he delicately ’ could to the professeur—who, he saw, < was a little perplexed and unpractical I —in arranging the details of the funeiM al. Nay, it brine a pelting wet day, j and the old man very rh umatic. liel succoedt d in being all wed himself toy go and choose the grave, in tho pietf^! cemetery which all the Neqehn.te>lU» V- ly

Uie a J proud and ff'W Toeen taken by Allie. Janffne be:seli one sunshiny Sunday afternoon, almost the first Sunday he came to the town. G; ming back to the Reyniers, he explained all he had done in the most matter-of fact and unemotional way. He seemed suddenly to have gained thepoAerof unlimited self-restraint, for her sake. To do everything for her that could possibly be done, and never to let her know it, was all he desired. The third day was a'ranged for the funeral The only communication that i as-ed between him and Ml e. Jardine hai been a loquest ho had • ent by Sophie Reynier. that ho might be allowed to attend it, in right of relat'ions ip, and Silence :ent him word back that she was “grateful.” This done, th re wa: no more to be done for her. nothing but to warder restlessly about thr. ugh th? long dreary winter a y, and wonder how she was bearing it. The very hardest bit to him of all this time was those few hours when, having done ail that was possible for him to do, and having no excuse for.indicting himself furtheri n the Reynier faihiiy, he went back to the hotel, and tried to Lad his ordinary life there—eating, drinking and sleeping: for he had no young men s small vices: he thought billiards dull, and detested smoking. He could not; this night, even rea t, and it was not until he wote next morning that it occurred to him he ought to write again to his mother, who would just be receiving his letter of two days before. |TO BE CONTINUED.! A PATCHED PONY. Tric <y Indians Make Uie of a Babbit Skin. “These stories of Indian troubles im the Southwest remind me of an ex 4 norience that I had down in New Mex 4 ico,” said Hen-y Davidson, of Albu-1 querque. “I was new to the regioiJ then, and although I had heard alfl sorti of strange t les about the tricki-1 ness of the Indian. I aid not know thaw he was a> shrewd a; 1 afterward found him to be. “I wanted a pony for some rea on, and I communicated my desire to a friend of a crowd of the greasy citizens of the outskir s. The next day I was besieged with offers. I looked all over the lot and picked three or four to make my selection from. After several hours I settled on an animal that Ithought to bo in the pink of condition and form I took him Lr a geod round sum and a trade thrown int, the bargain. “I rode home on the animal. As I got into my quarters I noticed that the horse ap eared to be uneasy, as if suffering from in,ury. As I live, I found that a patch of skin several inches s iuare had come off his 1a -k I looked into it and discovered that the : ho so was raw there, and that he had been patched up with rabbit or seme other skin for the time being. Those Indians stood by each other, t o for [ could never locate the scoundrel who had swindled me. I have since concluded that they were all wron^ and that had I bought the outfit Iwou d have found the oddest assortment of pat hed horses that it was ever the fortune of a white man to look upon. ' Many of the early wood cuts employed in books were painted over by hand, after the printing had been done.

| fattining shoatsT make cheap pork by feeding VEGETABLES. • x It W Ith II >avy Millfeed and Allow It to Sour SllKhtly Hefore Vee-Proper Care o* Grain feUek. _ G e„ eral p arm Notes . Joints on Making Pork. toTaUen'th ’ S the Very best time I latteil _ the p gs. The Hies are not i appetite snmH Ve the pigs a d small cihhn 1 a 1 polaloes i pumpkins, I etc., boiled and mi ed i With heavy millfeed and nil I sour slkrhtiv . i “ a d a^uwed to ’ che-tn f B i aia ^ cs an excellent and wheelbarrow a tort? JSf SeVei,,!t "‘ lles ’ into . a rorty-gallon open kett | c and . covered with water and covered with a wooden cover, in order to keep in the steam win bod so it in two hours 1 mibfLd 0 e<J ’ add One bUßhel of heavy •l hm?’ This will make thick mm?h, *which the pigs are j very fond of. A handful of salt ■should be added to it, and well bstirre 1 in. Th s will feed twenty boats two days, in connection with poTtlrorn. The way to feed is as folI lows: Do the feeding at regular ' periods, t> a. ni , 1?, and (i o’clock in j the evening. Each shoat should get five ears o. soft co n After this is Fea ten up, the slop is to be given a • bucket to five,) poured into a long slottecF‘t^oi/gh. These stoats should have the run of an acre of wo ds pasture, with a small stream of water running throueh it. This is of gieat advantage, as pigs re ju rc a huge quantity of water both to drink and to wallow in. Gne quart of coal, if possible j the Cumberland coal, is allowed to | live shoats per week; give this in two feeds every third day. The animals ! should have a long, low woo on roof, i ten feet wide ami thirty-six feet long : to go under at night or in stormy' weather. This roof should be six I feet high in front, and a toot from the ground in the rear. The rooting boards should lap one another, leing put on hori ontally. They should face the southwest, it pos ible, ami have in the rear a trench two toot wide and a little o er one foot m depth, dug and packed so as to draw oil the surface water. The roof requires sixteen he dock boards si teen ieet long by one foot in width. All the other timbers may be taken out of the woods Two men can put up the roof in a little over one day’s time. Pigs must be kept dry, especially at niuht. they must have e ercise, plenty or sunlight, and also shade in the middle of the day. This is especially i eeded in hot weather The one great point to । follow in successful pig feeding, is to fee 1 ort'Mme. (live good, wholesome 'feed, enough of it, but no more, am] ^give a variety of feed.

f”-. „ candidates gnswc t wail a minute Jon i iton „— f feed it was to scatter it thinly over .^Lhesod in the feed yard; the pigs t twill eat grass ar?d wheat together. . The wheat will ail be digested. If i fed in little piles, it is eaten so . greedily that much of its value is j lost. It does not pay to boil the 1 ‘ wneat but it does pay to boil the j vegetables as they require but little b cooking, ad the heavy inillfeed j being added, mixes a thick mush ; which combines with the vegetable - matter and soon sours. It is then in - condition to feed. Bran will not c answer. It is too light, and it will not mix. sboats so fed will be in * prime order for butchering bv the r middle of November. The meat. 3 will not be so iat, but just fat b erough, and of excellent ilavor—r juicy and sweet. Try this plan of i making healthy family p rk. > 1 • Proper Care of Stacks. . : It is fully as necessary to properly I shelter and caie lor harvested crops, i as it is to plant and cultivate them . carefully. Grain and r ragestoredin • the barn must be well cured and kept from spoiling with the heat of ferj mentation. The latter will affect stacks but little unless they have , been so built as to take in the rain. j After every storm the .stacks should ji be examined. If found wet they P should be dried bv throwing off the ’i upper half, spreading it in the sunti shine and air until no more moisture I can be felt, when the stack stn uld be J properly rebuilt, keeping the center •1 full, and the -terns on the ides slop--4 ing downward Stacks injured by T"heavy winds should be raked down > and retopped. All stacks soon settle T and after a few weeks need to have a ^considerable amount of new material L thrown on the flattened top, and arranged in the best wav to shed rain. , The hangers which weight down the t top often need adjustment, andsome- ; times ditches should be dug around - the stack to drain off surface water. Variations in Size of Wheat for Sowing. ; As the subject of how much wheat . to sow per acre is one of no small im- . portance, perinit me to call attention । to the wide difference ir. the quantity of actual seed there may be in bushels of different wheat, result ng from the size of grains, even when of the same variety. It has been noted at the lowa experiment station that ■ one bushel of a variety grown in California contained on y 489,879 grains, while a bushel ot Turkey Red irom lowa had i,184,y93 grains or about times as many. Other bushels of the same variety, one from lowa and one grown in Kansas, had i pwardsof 900,000 grains each. The average of all the samples tested at the station was 770,200 grains per bushel. The point 1 wish to make is that while two men may be agreed that a bushei of wheat is about the proper quantity to sow on an acre or some other given area and proceed on that basis, i one may be seeding twice, or more

than twice, as heavily as the other. — I'. B. Coburn. Australian Progress. Under the direction of the Australian Agricultural Department promising experiments are being made with the sterilizing system, which ■ produces butter that will keep perleetly in any climate. Nearly ab of the export butter is now produced at central factories and the farmers are paid for their milk, not by measure, but by its quality, or by its results in | pounds of butter. Considerable ! I headway is being made in the manu- i i tacture of export cheese under a i । bonus. । Ine Australian Government is also . encouraging the export of as many > as possible of the productions of the I soil, the principal of which are pork, poultry, eggs, concentrated mil 1 - rabbits, green peas, etc. Shipments by refrigerators have already been made with promising results, and it has been found that green fruits can le Put on the market in go d rendition by using aerated chambers. Musty Hay. j Musty hay is not fitted to be fed to > a milch cow, and yet through cur , hasty methods of harvesting grass a great deal of hay is m^ty as it comes j from the mow. It is packed solidly i into big barns befoie all of the ex- । cess moisture has been evaporated in I the field. The es ape of a cloud nt' impalpable musty dust is the result, when a lock of such hay is shaken in winter time. Corn or meal and skim rnijk are good fed together tor growing calves. The one produces ilesb aud the other bone. I arm Notes. In Holland the cows are always tethered. I The cabbage crop is one that nearj ly always pays. I Sc■ ]< corn comes a little earlier if । the tops are broxen oil after the ears I form. Ax Australian farmer attributes । the loss of 100 fowls to feeding them upon sunflower seed. Watercress is an excellent food for chickens. It can only le grown in clear water with a sandy bottom. Make the butter first-class and put it on the market in such a manner as to make it show for all it is woith. It is claimed that a decoction ot smartweed or walnut, leaves applied once a day to cattle will keep off flies. lx making good butter attention t > the proper ripening of the cream is much more important than skill in manipulat on. A hen may be made to lay right on from the time she begins to lay in the spring till she molts in the fall if she is fed judiciously. The apple trade of Great Britain has assumed great porportions, I amounting to~,()u0,000 bushe s within the past twelve years The present prise of beef in Paris,

er was Um r 3b and the nest horse meat 16 cents per pound. The total value of farm animals in the I nited States in L-86 was estimated at $1,277,111,822. In 1894 their value is put at $2,170,816,754. The better milk development se- ! cured with the first calf, the better j Jesuits it is possible to secure. Make the best start possible and keep in a good candition. Poultky raisers in the vicinity of summer resorts will be apt to find more money In disposing of their fowls during the hot weather than later in the season. T,ie cotton crop of the country for the past five periods of ten yearseacb has } assed irom 2,469,U93 bales in isi'l to 7.472, li bales for 1889, the crop d übiing from 1850 to 1860. Rye is excellent for late pastures or for early spring. Quite a crop of it maybe grown on the corn land. It may be sown on the land occupied by corn before the crop is removed. Soke places on animals caused by flies may be annointed with a mixture of one pint of crude ; etroleum. one tablespoonful of wood tar, and one teaspoonful of carbolic acid, well mixed. Scared Her into Speech. A piepossessing, middle-aged woman walked into the office of a wellknown firm of railroad lawyers on Williams street the other day, and drifted over to where the junior partner s it. She had courtplaster and other trifling articles to sell for 10 cents, and showed at the same time a card, on wh ch was written ‘I am deaf and dumb.” The lawyer was interested, says the New York World, for the woman had a sad face and seemed eminently respectable So he wrote on a pad, “Any children?” and she, in the same manner, answered. “Yes.” To the question “How many?” the repl}’ was “six,” emphasized by a mournful shake of the head. She acknowledged in writing that her husband was dead. When her address was asked lor she was rather slow in putting it on paper, and when it came to I references she wrote, with a good ! deal of deliberation, “John Davis.” “Where does he live?” was the next question, to which the woman wrote no reply, but indie ited with her hand a point on the horizon that might have meant Jersey or heaven. “Great Scott! You don’t mean to say you know Davis?” shcuted the lawyer, jumping to his feet. “Yes, I do,” answered the woman, taken off her guard by the vehemence of the speaker. The. looked at one another for a moment, and then the lawyer called an office boy and told him to show h r the street byway of the stairs, eight long flights. A man that forgets a good deal that has happened has a better memory than he who remembers a great deal that never happened.

HOOSIER HAPPENINGS news of the week concisely CONDENSED. CVhat Our Neighbors are Doing—Mutters of General and Local Interest—Marriages and Deaths-Acddents and Crimca-I'er. sonal Pointers About Indianians. Minor State Items. I Hlwcod is flooded with counterfeit ; dollars o. the 1892 issue. i • Richmond has alteady begun to maae arrangements for a ’ grand Mav music festival. While Martin Newcome was feFing a tree near Brookville a limb fell on him. Will die. Mrs. W. L. Philpott, a well-known Anuei-on womn. while talking to a irien 1 oroppea dead. . The editor of the Logansport Times ! is still advertising dead beat subset- b- . ers by offering their accounts for sale. I - A SP . ECIAL passenger train crashed I ^to a freight on the Nickel plate road lat Llay.ool No one was hurt. Sevi er al cars demolished. ' fnwW ßoß W ’ aied at AVaterfoid, from prostration, resnltin- from , amputation of a hand, which ba i be< n , i crushed in a cane-mill during a friendly I scuff’e. I Charles F. Weddle aged 24. at- ; tempted to get aboard an incoming i train on the Pennsylvania road at j Orinoco, and fell beneath the wheels. I He was instantly killed. AY hile workmen were casing a gas ! well near Shelbyville, Saturday, some ■ one struck a match. A fearful exploj sion followed and three men were i probably fatally burned. i The Bloomfield bank robber who was captpred and is now in jail at Sullivan, was .dentlied by a Chicago detective, as Georg V\ est, one of the most noted I safe blowers in tne country. A Ggshen man returned home recently a r ter an absence of twentythroe years. Instead of his wife reI ceiving him with open arms sho slammed the door in his face. ! Capt. J. R. Nation’s barn, near Kokomo, disappeared in a verv singular manner. A little whirlwind dipped down and played havoc with the structure. The timbers were found scattered some distance away. J. M. Terry, one of tho oldest and best-known conductors on the I ake Shore & Michigan Southern railway, was killed east of Flkhart He was working about his train when he was run overby it and instantly killed. He leaves a wife and three children Ho had been employed on the road nineteen years. Frank Layman met with a peculiar accident at Shelbyville. He and another workman were engaged in driving a well and were using a bar and chain, twisting the pipe. In some way Ihe chain slipped and struck him on the left side of the head, tearing his car entirely off and rendering him unconscious for hours. Jf seph Miller, son of a farmer re• siding near Yorktown, attempted tu board a moving freight tra n in An erson, but Jost his holdand fell under tho

Dr. J. W. Hint. Miller was taken t. St. John's Hospital. His condition is regarded as very critical. J. H. Rosenthal, an Indianapolis i baker, began work at the Fienm. j Bakery in Anderson. He was unused . to using natural gas and turned on the gas for some time before applying the match. The gas exploded and burned his hands, face, breast, and head badly. All of the hair was burned off and the lle. h cooked until it fell off. It is thought that he will die. He suffered untold ago ay. 'While Wilson Lewis was fshing a? I afayette his linecaughton something heavy. Exerting his strength he was horrified to find that his hook had brought up the body o' a young colored woman. The girl had been missing over a week. H r name was Mary ( haml ers. and she was b , 17 years old. Disappointment over a love affair is supposed to have : aused her to suicide. | The re; ort of the Controller ot the Currency regarding the condition of the national banks of Indiana shows that, at the close of business on Octo ber 2, the average reserve was 41.2 per cent., as asrainst 3:>.19 per cent, on ! July I-'. Loans and dis counts in; reused from $30,9?h\07;> to $-' L* 07,456; stocks and securities, fro i $2,357,810 to 014.017: gold coin from §3,562,20 : to 53,n2',676: lawful money reserve from -c.- : 1 4,524 to §6.2i: indivi ual defiosits from s2!','t : s.l4 s to $32,099,204. j As George \V. J. NES, a highly respected farmer living southwest of Rome, was crossing the railroa i on Main street, a special containing the officials of the Missouri Pacific going at a speed of forty miles an hour, struck his carriage, in tiring him so badly that he died in an hour. The man was carried fifty feet and was landed under the carriage, which was a complete wreck, and the < wre carried a greater distance and landed on the other side oi the track. Mr. Jones leaves a wife and five children Adjutant General Robbins has completed the classification of the various expenses incurred during t.. : railroad and coal miners' strikes. The lota! cost of the summer's labor troubles will rea b >53,609. every dollar of which the Slate must pay. Ten thousand dollars of the amount will be paid to the railroads for transnorta'lon of treops. The pay roll amounts to -M.000. which sum ha; already been pai I by Gov. Matthews. Telegraphic < om- । munication between the troops an 1 the state o i cials cost S3OO. Aside from the salaric . which were paid out of a private loan negotiated Uy the Governor, the other bills will not be paid until after the sess on of the General Assembly, when an appropriation will be made for the purpose. A COSTLY" mishap has occurred at Thomp on's green glass Lottie works. Gas Gity. The molten glass in the tank was allowed to get too hot and began leaking through the bottom of the tank into the air tunnel. The alarm was given and efforts were made to chill the hot glass with cold water. Before it could b ■ checked however, about forty tons of srlass had run out, ! tilling and ruining the tunnel under the tank and badly damaging the tank itself. The loss will aggregate more than SI,OOO and it will re .uired the closing of the factory for two week* . while repairs are being made