One day the gasconading inhabitants wore an expression of assurance, the railroad, then approaching, would cross the river into their very midst, and some of them did not hesitate to place fabulous valuations on their property, but ere they were aware land had been purchased where Kilbourn is located and a rival village sprung up almost in a night, dashing the hopes of those residing in Newport. When the railroad was built on the other side of the river, their spirits went to the very depths. An effort was made to revive the hopes of those with homes there, and one night there was a real "resurrection." Speeches were made in defiance of the railroad magnates who dared to attempt to obliterate their existence, songs were sung to cheer the crestfallen, and a mammoth cake, blazing with many candles, graced the banquet board. All efforts were without avail, however, and it was not long before there was a procession of buildings moving like prehistoric monsters across the landscape, to Kilbourn and elsewhere. Where there was much dancing and delight there is now naught but an air of desertion and dreams. Although Newport is as dead as Caesar's ghost, much remains of interest. North of the bridge which spans Dell Creek are clumps of lilac bushes, flanking half-filled cellar holes, where once stood pioneer homes, the lilacs persisting since the disaster to the village in the late sixties. Trees have taken possession of the main street of the town, and where the proud villagers once discussed their fortunes and misfortunes, there is slumberous delight. Near the crest of the elevation in the woods about equally distant from the river, bridge, and highway, is a cave where the brewer stored his bibulous product for the intemperate tipplers. The chiseled cavity in the sandstone rock persists to this day. A beautiful walk leads to the north, following the river bank, once frequented by rivermen, and no doubt by Indians, as they threaded the trail in early times. Over on the highway to the left, a quarter of a mile from the Dell Creek bridge, stands "Dawn", the old Vanderpool residence, remodeled by the late S. H. Kerfoot of Chicago. It is the only home remaining in that section of the village. Passing the bridge or other favored spots on the shore, one may see fishermen contentedly waiting for a pickerel or pike oblivious to the passing of time and the passer-by. Indian Earthwork At the rear of one of the cottages south of the bridge may be seen an Indian mound of the lizard type. It has survived the trials and tribulations of this interesting place. A few rods to the south, at the rear of other cottages, a linear mound may be seen. (As to why mounds were built see chapter on the Man Mound.)