The Color of Fall

Killed by a Locomotive

1885--John Daily, a laborer for some years on the Joseph Hiner farm, north-east of the city, was struck by the switch engine not far from the crossing of the two roads and fatally injured. It seems he had been to Peru and started home, carrying a sufficient amount of intoxicating liquor to make him sleepy, and had sat down on a tie to rest. The whistle of the locomotive failed to arouse him from the stupor, and the engineer discovering the danger reversed his engine too late to avoid striking the unfortunate man with the pilot beam. Some of his ribs were crushed in and death ensued before he reached the county infirmary to which he was carried. Sunday his remains were buried in the Tillett graveyard.
Only one of the quartette that used to walk to town with Joseph Tillett is now living. The other three were killed on the railroad not far from the same spot where Daily was struck.

The Bagging Factory

1890--The owners of the Peru Bagging Mill which has been lying idle for two years, have announced their intention of starting up at once, and have already ordered the material. When this arrives, and it is now on the way, the gas will be turned on in the boilers of the big mill, and 100 hands will be set to work. This is a big boom for Flax Hill, which had become the deadest part of the town. Peru is walking right out of the reach of her neighbors and nothing can hold her down. She has taken the tide that leads on to fortune. During the last three weeks we have located the Peru Twine Cordage Factory, employing 100 hands, the Eel River shops, employing 500 or 600 men, The Bagging Mill, which is, as far as its effects are concerned, a new factory, employing 100 hands, while the assurance has been given that 5,000 acres of the city will soon be opened to the culture of celery.
Is it true--there is more than corn in Indiana? CELERY
Wonder if they were going to plant it in the black muck in Oakdale?

Toll Gate

1885--One night Dr. Pence drove home from Bunker Hill over the Strawtown turnpike. He had seen it stated in the newspapers that the county had bought the turnpike and supposed the transfer had already been made. The night was exceedingly dark and the doctor jogged along without accident or incident, to mar his meditations until his horse stopped in front of the toll gate this side of Cole's Brewery. Thinking the horse had merely stopped from force of habit, he applied the whip to urge him on when the animal, after trying to jump over the pole across the road suddenly squatted and ran under it. The first warning the doctor had of his danger, the pole struck him amid ships and knocked him back on his beams end and the top of his buggy was raked off as the horse pulled it under the horizontal pole. Only those who are acquainted with the doctor can form the faintest idea of the horrid imprecations that rolled from his lips for the next half hour.
Wander how the drivers of today would like to pay a toll for using Strawtown Pike--golfers would have some" horrid imprecations roll from their lips."