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| ' = ^ 1 " ISSUED ilMl^WllKXi^ l. m. grist & sons, Publishers. I Jl ^jfantilg gteicspaper: $or the gromofion of the |)olitirat, Social, gijgrirutturat, and Com medial Jntyrests of the people. {termssingle?coapyy efi ve centsanc1' established 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 3, 1900. NO. 1. * ' - ' -l ??!.? T.lln. Tin otnnrxwl I honl*. .lnit'lF ,lnu.n Infn tliu pfvor The I KR(I(IM rURN'fKRRn THE CRUCI OF PHIL By REV. CHARLI Author of "In His Steps : What Would Hardy's Sevei ; Synopsis of Prkvious Installments In order that new readers of The Enquirer may begin with the following installment ol this story, and understand it just the same as though they had reaa it all from the beginning, we here give a synopsis of that portion of it which has already been published: Philip Strong, a minister, receives two calls, one to a college town, where he may live a quiet, scholarly life, to his liking, the other to a mapfivrt urlug Apwn, whan* there i^pieuty of work to' do among the laboring classes. He accepts ttie more aetlve Held. Philip discovers that a number of his wealthy parishioners have property rented for saloons and gambling houses. He Interviews one of them and is advised that he hud better not stir up the matter. The next Sunday he preaches upon the subject, and .Mr. Winter, one of his most prominent parishioners, having property rented for such pur|K?sos, rises from Ids scat and walks out of the church. CHAPTER III. "I have come to see you about your sermon of yesterday morning." began Mr. Winter abruptly. "I consider what you said was a direct insu.t to me personally." "Suppose 1 should say It was not so Intended?" replied Philip, with a good natured smile. "Then I should say you lied!" replied Mr. Winter sharply. Philip sat very still. And the two men eyed eueli other in silence for a moment. The minister reached out his hand and laid it on the other's arm. saying as he did so: "My brother, you certainly did uot come into my house to accuse tue unjustly of wrougiug you? I am willing to talk the matter over in a friendly spirit, but I will uot lietnn tn tWU'snil.'ll nllUSe." There was somethiug in the tone and manner of this declaration that subdued the mill owner a little. Lie was an older man than Philip by 20 years, but a man of quick and ungoverned temper. Lie had come to see the minister while in a heat of passion, and the way Philip received him, the calmness and dignity of his attitude, thwarted his purpose. He wanted to find a man ready to quarrel. Instead he found a man ready to talk reason. Mr. Winter replied, after a pause, during which he controlled himself by a great effort: "1 consider that you purposely selected me as guilty of conduct unworthy a church member and a Christian and made me the target of your remarks yesterday. And I wish to say that such preaching will never do in Calvary church while I am one of its mem. bers." "Of course you refer to the matter of renting your property to saloon men and to halls for gambling and other evil uses." said Philip bluntly. "Are you the only member of Calvary church who lets his property for such purposes ?" "It is not a preacher's business to pry into the affairs of his cnurcu members!" replied Mr. Winter, growiug more excited again. "That is what I object to." "In the first place. Mr. Winter." said Philip steadily, "let us settle the right and wrongs of the whole busiuess. Is it right for a Christian man. a church member, to rent his property for saloons and vicious resorts where human life is ruined V" "That is uot the question." "What is?" Philip asked, with his eyes wide open to the other's face. Mr. Wit ter answered sullenly: "The question is whether our business affairs. those of other men with me. are to be dragged into the Sunday church services and made the occasion of personal attacks upon ns. I for one will not sit and listen to nuy such preaching." "But aside from the matter of private business. Mr Winter, let us settle whether what you and others are doing is right. Will you let the other matter rest a moment and tell tne what is the duty of a Christian in the use of his property?" > "It is my property, and if I or my agent choose to rent it to another man iu a legal, busiuess way. that is tny affair. I do not recognize that you have anything t > do with it." "Not if I am convinced that you are tfli.it in lin fill fill ttl till* COII1 " "Hi IP muuity mid the church?" "You have no business to meddle in our private afl'airs!" replied Mr. Winter angrily. "And if you intend to pursue that method of preaching I shall withdraw my support, and most of the influential, paying members will follow Uiy example." It was a cowardly threat on the part of the excited mill owner, and it roused Philip more than if he had been physically slapped in the face. If there was anything in all the world that stirred Philip to his oceanic depths of feeling, it was ati intimation that he was in the ministry for pay or the salary. and so must be afraid of losing the support of those members who were able to pnv largely. lie clinched his fingers around the arms of his study chair until his nails bent on the hard wood. (lis scorn and indignation burned in his face, although his voice was calm enough. "Mr. Winter, this whole affair is a matter of the most profound principle with me. As long as I live I shall be lieve that a Christian man lias uo more right to rent his property for a saloon than lie has to run a saloon himself. And as long as I live I shall also believe that it Is a minister's duty to preach to his church plainly upon matters which bear upon the right and wrong of life, no matter what is involved in those matters. Are money and houses and lauds of such a charae FIXION IP STRONG. CS M. SHfcLrlJUIN, 1 Jesus Do?," "Malcom Kirk," "Robert i Days," Etc. ter that the use or them lias 110 nearing on moral questions, and they are therefore to he left out of the preaching material of the pulpit? It Is uiy conviction that many men of property in this age are coming to regard their business as separate and removed from <3od and all relation to him. The business men of today do not regard' their properly as God's. They always speak of it as theirs. And they resent any 'interference.' as you call it. on the part of the pulpit. Nevertheless I say it plainly, I regard the renting of these houses by you and other business men in the church to the whisky men aud the corrupters of youth as wholly wroug and so wrong that the Christian minister who would keep silent when he knew the facts would he guilty of uuspeakahle cowardice and disloyalty to his Lord. As to your threat of withdrawal of support, sir. do you suppose 1 would he in the ministry if 1 were afraid of the rich men in uiy congregation? It shows that you are uot yet acquainted with me. It would not hurt you to know me better!" . All the time Philip was talking bis manner was that of dignitied indigna J An I lie? ontTuc t\*oo noi'or nnn rco nr null. &lir> uu^vi ?* Ito UV v> vv%*.wv v. vulgar. But when he was roused, as he was now. he spoke with a total disregard for all coming cousequences. For the time being he felt as perhaps one of the old Hebrew prophets used to feel when the flame of inspired wrath burned up in the soul of the messenger of God. The man who sat opposite was compelled to keep silent until Philip had said what he had to say. It was impossible for him to interrupt. Also it was out of the question that a man like Mr. Winter should understand a nature like that of Philip Strong. lie was white to the lips with passion and so excited that his hands trembled and his voice shook as he replied to Philip: "You shall answer for these insults, sir. I withdraw my church pledge, and you will see whether the business men in the church will sustain such preaching." And Mr. Winter tluug himself out of the study and down stairs, forgettiug to take his hat, which he had carried up with him. Philip caught it up and went down stairs with it. reaching him just as he was going out of the front door. He said simply. "You forgot your hat. sir." Mr. Winter took it without a word and went out. slamming the door hard behind him. Philip turned around, and there stood his wife. Her face was very anxious. "Tell me a" about it. Philip." she said. Sunday evening they had talked over the fact of Mr. Winter's walking ^ ty? "You shall answer for these insults, sir." out of the church during the service and hud anticipated some trouble. I'hilip related the facts of Mr. Winter's visit, telling his wife some thiugs the mill owner had said. "What did you say, Philip, to make him so angryV Did you give him a piece of your tnindV" "I gave him the whole of it." replied Philip, somewhat grimly, "at least all of it oil that particular subject that he could stand." "Oh. dear! it seems too bad to have this trouble come so soou! What will Mr. Winter do? He is very wealthy and influential. Do you think?are you sure that in this matter you have done just riirlit. just for the best. I'liilip'/ it is going to be very uuplensant for you." "Well. Surnli. I would uot do differently from what I have doue. What have I done/ I have simply preached (Jod's truth, as I plainly see it. to my church. And if I do not do that, what business have 1 in the ministry at allV I regret this personal encounter with Mr. Winter, but I don't see how 1 could avoid it." "Did you lose your temper?" ya "Tht're was some very load talking. I could hear it away in the kitchen." "Well, you know. Sarah, the more indignant 1 get the less inclined I feel to holler.' It was Mr. Winter you heard, lie was very much excited when he came, and nothing that 1 could conscientiously say would have made any difference with hint." "Dili you ask hiui to pray over the matter with you7" "No. I do not think he was in a praying mood." j "Were you7" Philip hesitated a moment and then replied seriously: "Yes, 1 truly believe ' I was-that is, 1 should not have been ashamed at any part or tne interview to put myself into loving communion with my Heavenly Father." .Mrs. Stroug still looked disturbed and auxious. She was going over in her mind the probable result of Mr. Winter's antagonism to the minister. I* UnL./ul ?/? Iwii. III.-Q n vnru sprimis li lUUtVVU iv/ uvi iimv u t thing. Philip was inclined to treat the affair with a calm philosophy, based on the' knowledge that his conscience was clear of all fault in the matter. "What do you suppose Mr. Winter will do?" Mrs. Strong asked. "lie threatened to withdraw his financial support and said other paying mem hers would do the same." "Do you think they will?" "I don't know. 1 shouldn't wonder if they do." "What will you do then? It will be dreadful to have a disturbance in the church of this kind, Philip. It will ruin your prospects here. You will not be able to work under all 'that friction." And the minister's wife suddenly broke down and had a good cry, while Philip comforted her, first, by saying two or three funny things and, secondly. by asserting with a posithe cheerfulness which was peculiar to him when lie was hard pressed that even if the church withdrew all support he (Philip) could probably get a job somewhere on a railroad or in a hotel, where there was always a demand for porters who cotfld walk up several flights of stairs with a good sized trunk. "Sometimes 1 almost think 1 missed mj' calling," said Philip, purposely talking about himself in order to make his wife come to the defense. "1 ought to have been a locomotive fireman." "The idea. 1'hilip Strong! A man who has the gift of reaching people with preaching the way you do!" "The way I reach Mr. Winter, for example!" "Yes," said his wife; "the way you reach him. Why, the very fact that you made such a man angry Is pretty good proof that you reached him. Such men are not touched by any ordinary preaching." "So you really think I have a little gift at preaching?" asked Philip slyly. "A little gift! It is a great deal more than a little, Philip." "Aren't you a little prejudiced, Sarah?" "No, sir. 1 am the severest critic you ever have in the congregation. If you only knew how nervous you sometimes make me! When you get started on some exciting passage and make a gesture that would throw a stone image into a tit and then begin to speak of something in a different way, like another person, and the first I know I am caught up and hurled into the subject and forget all about you." "Thank you," said Philip. "What for?" asked his wife, laughing. "For forgetting you?" "1 would rather be forgotten by you than remembered by any one else," replied Philip gallantly. "And you are such a delightful little flatterer that I feel courage for anything that may happen." "It's not flattery; It's truth. Philip. 1 do believe in you and your work, and I am only anxious that you should succeed here. 1 can't bear to think of trouble In the church. It would almost kill me to go through such times as we jometimes read about" "We must leave results to God. I am sure we are not responsible for more than our utmost doing and living of necessary truth." Philip spoke courageously. "Then you don't feel disheartened by this morning's work?" "No, I dou't know that 1 do. I'm very sensitive, and 1 feel hurt at Mr. Winter's threat of withdrawing his support, but I don't feel disheartened for the work. Why should I? Am I not doing my best?" "I believe you are. Only, dear Philip, be wise. Do not try to reform everything in a week or expect people to grow their wings before they have started even pinfeathers. It isn't natural." "Well, I won't." replied Philip, with a laugh. "Better trim your wings, Sarah; they're dragging on the floor." He hunted up his hat. which was one of the things Philip could never find twice in the same place, kissed his wife and went out to make the visit at the mill which he was getting ready to make when Mr. Winter called. To his surprise, when he went down through the business part of the town, lie discovered that his sermon of Sunday had roused almost every one. People were talking about it on the street ?an almost unheard of thing in Milton. When the evening paper came out, it described in sensational paragraphs the Itev. Mr. Strong's attack on the wealthy sinners of his owu church and went on to say that the church "was very much wrought up over the sermon and would probably make it uncomfortable for the reverend gentleman." Philip wondered, as he read, I at the unusual stir made because a preacher of Christ had denounced au undoubted evil. "Is it, then," he asked himself, "such a remarkable piece of news that a minister of the gospel has preached from his own pulpit against what is without question an un-Christian use of property? What is the meaning of the church Iu society uuless it is just that? Is it possible that the public is so little accustomed to hear anythiug ou this subject that wheu they do hear it it is in the nature of sensational news?" lie pondered over these questions as lie quietly but rapidly went along with his work. lie was conscious as the days went on that trouble was brewing for him. This hurt liini in a way hard to explain, but his sensitive spirit felt the cut like a lash on a sore place. When Sunday came, he went into his pulpit and faced the largest audience lie had yet seen iu Calvary church. As is often the case, people who had heard of liis previous sermon on Sunday thought lie would preach another like it again. Instead of that he preached a sennou on me iove ui vjou ior me world. In one way the large audience was disappointed. It had come to have its love of sensation fed. and Philip had not given it anything of the kind. In another way It was profoundly moved by the power and sweetness of Philip's unfolding of the great subject. Men who had not been inside of a church for years went away thoughtfully impressed with the old truth of God's love and asked themselves what they had done to deserve It?the very thing that Philip wanted them to ask. The property owners in the church who had felt offended by Philip's sermon of the Sunday before went away from the service acknowledging that the new pastor was an eloquent preacher and a man.of large gifts. In the evening Philip preached again from the same theme. u%|ng it In an entirely different way^His audience nearly filled the church and was evidently deeply impressed. In spite of all this Philip felt a certain element In the church had arrayed Itself against him. Mr. Winter did not appear at either service. There were certain other abs^ .ces on the part of men who had been constant attendants on the Sunday services. He felt, without hearing it. that a great deal was being said in opposition to him; but. with the burden of it beginning to wear a little on him. he saw nothing better to do than to go on with his work as if nothing unusual had taken place. TO RK CONTINUED. ijlUoerlliuu'iuts grading. A V TV WAN l)F,TR( 1T1VF. 4.1.1.1 141 1/lil.i.l M \y JL * . M ? A SIOUX SCOUT WHO WAS A GKN'IUS IN GKOUND HEADING. I'll in Hnman Sleatli Bxerclned Extraorillunry Skill In Trnlllnnr a Fugitive?He Had Inatluct and a Pair of Eje? Tliu? Were UnerringArklchita, a typical Indian, was chief scout at Fort Sissetou. Dakota, in 1882. Although he knew English well, he held the old Indian hatred of its use, and would never speak It except under extraordinary circumstances. He stood about live feet nine inches in height, was slender, but wiry, and was about 34 years of age. Ordinarily he was slow and sedate in bis actions?very dignified; but when the necessity arose, he could bp as quick as a flash, and had, like every Indian on the northwestern plains, a pair of eyes that could equal any fieldglass. His services?for he bad been employed as a scout for some years?had been very valuable to the government, and, in recognition of this fact, the offi eer in commanu nau secureu uuiuomy from the war department to promote him to thp rank of sergeant; consequently he went around in a neat uniform with chevrons and stripes, very much impressed with his own importance. which he considered second only to that of the commanding officer; and be took care that every one else also should respect bis rank and dignity. As bis native name Is the Sioux for "soldier," it Is easily seen why he was so named; but be bad still another name, which the Indians had given him before his entering military circles, and that, translated into English, was the "grasswalker." or "trailer," from his absolutely marvelous ability to find the trail of anything that left even the slightest trace on the ground as it passed over it. A desperate soldier named Brice broke jail one night and was pursued the following morning. The trail led to the west for a tritle over a mile; then it turned n?rth for a quarter of a mile and we followed until we came to a tree at the edge of a slough to the northwest of the fort, called the "garden bar slough." Here Arkicbita pointed under the tree and said Brice had lain down there to rest. The trail here led into the slough. A Dakota "'slough" is a shallow lake, the water of which is from six inches to three feet deep, with a soft, muddy bottom, but not generally miry. The center of the slough is usually free from grasses or weeds, but along the OH frt HA v.owIq Aiit Innf* cus?. 11 v/in ? j ? ? --v, 0 tule grass grows. This particular slough was a mile long and varied from an eighth to a quarter of a mile in width, and there was a foot of water covering as much soft mud. During the.night the wind had roiled the water up considerably. It seemed hardly possible to track anyi thing through it. except where the tule had been broken down. Where that was the case, even 1 could follow the trail: on reaching opeu water, however, the case was different. The eastern end of tlieslongh reached to a point near the fort not more than 150 yards from a brickyard, on which was a kiln that had been built during the summer. The kiln was now ready for firing. Once 1 thought Arkichita was ballled, after all: he had come to a dead standstill near the tule. Then an inspiration struck me: perhaps by a circle 1 could find the trail Happy thought! I put it into immediate execution and found one. Rather elated at my success. 1 called. "Come quick: heap trail!" He came over, took one look; just the suggestion of a smile played on his face as he said. "Cow." I did no more trailing, but understood what was bothering him. The post herd also had waded through ^ere j since Brice's escape, and it took all the SCOUrS euuiess [luuciivr ?ititi wuiiul'I iui eyesight to keep tin* trail wliere the .cattle had passed through it. The grass stem was of no use here. We had passed over half the slough In this circuitous route, when suddenly Arkiehita started, straight as the | crow tlies. for the edge of the slough near the brickkiln. Was he following the trail? On he went until he came to the BLIUI I* UCUICiM iuv 1VIIU, uvi v uv uwv^/v-, evidently bothered again. There was a scarcely discernible footprint in the mud and water right at the edge of the slough, apparently the last step the deserter had taken before reaching hard ground. This footprint showed the toes, so the deserter was now barefooted. Another thing about this print was Its direction; It stood at right angles to the line previously followed. Either the man had taken a sideward spring for the land froui his right foot, or he had turned around and started back over his own trail. Arkichlta went down on his knees and inspected the grass, blade by blade. I kept a respectful distance at one side, astonished at the turn the affair had taken Now. Inch by inch, on his knees, he wrenched the secret from the apparently unwilling surface of the earth. Eighty yards from the kiln, he looked up and glanced at it Tiii.un,, ,i iiiun oviduiitlr Instnntlvoccur red to hot I) of us. The trail was leading to the kiln! Then he rose, and, bending over, slowly advanced to the edge of the brickyard. After reaching the yard. Arkichita walked slowly arounu the outer edge of It. examining the ground with the utmost care, until lie came to the point from which he started, when he said, "Trail come in?no go out; man In there." poiuting to the kiln. And circumstances proved him to be right, though It was 3H hours before the fugitive was located In the kiln and captured.-Lieutenant W. C. Bennett, U S A.. In St. Nicholas. HIS IIKAI) LIKKS Til K UK AT. Bat the Netcro Alwny* Tries to Keep Hi* Heels Cool. It has often been said that the capacity of the negro race for enduring heat lias never been rully tested. An incident related by a dairyman living on the outskirts of the city seems to bear out this assertion. . This dairyman has a young negro boy who looks after the cattle and does chores around the place. The only effect that the heat produces in his case is a desire to slumber. The dairyman hud a young calf in the barnyard, and as the sun was pouring in on the poor auinial his wife sent "caritna" out to turn tlie calf loose, so that he could seek a shady spot. After waiting an hour for his return the housewife went to the barnyard to Investigate. There she found both boy and calf curled up 'n the hot and stifling barnyard. The calf was dead from the effects of the sun. but the boy was slumbering peacefully by its side. While a negro can stand any amount of heat on his head he loves to cool his heels. It is a common sight in the winter to see a negro boy on a frosty morning with ills head bundled up to keep out the cold and at the same time walking unconcernedly along the frosty ground In ids bare feet. One of the hottest places in the city on n hot day is at the lumber wharfs of the Florida Central and Peninsular railroad. When the men knock off for noon, they frequently take a nap with their faces upturned to the rays of the blazing sun. At the same time they get their feet under the shadow ot some friendly lumber pile.?Florida Times-l'mui. CUSTKR'S INDIAN SCARB. The late Charles Osborn, the New York broker, and General Custer were Intimate friends, and Osborn annually visited the general at his camp on the plains. During one of the Indian cam paigns ue raviivu wsuum uuu u i^unj of friends out to Kansas nud, after giving them a buffalo hunt, arranged a novel experience iu the way of an Indian scare. As Osboru was lying in his tent one night firing was heard at the outposts and the rapid riding of pickets. "Boots and saddles!" was the order in the disturbed atmosphere of the night, aud Custer appeared to Osborn loaded with rifle, two revolvers, a saber aud a scalping kuife. "Charles," he said in his quick, nervous way, "you must defend yourself. Sitting Bull and Plea-lu-Your-Boots, with Wiggle-Tail-.Jim and Scalp-LockSkowbebau, are ou us in force. I did not want to alarm you before, but the safety of my command is my first duty. Things look serious. If we don't meet again, Cod bless you!" The broker fell on bis knees. "Custer," be cried, "only get me out of this! I'll carry 1.000,000 shares of Western Union for you into the firm to get me home. Only save me!" But Custer was gone, and the camp, by shrewd arrangement, burst into a blaze, and shots, oaths and warwhoops were intermixed until suddenly a painted object loomed ou Osborn's sight, and something was flung into his face?a human scalp. lie dropped to the ground, said the Lord's Prayer backward and sideways until the noise died away and there was exposed a lighted supper table with this explanation on a transparency: "Osborn's treat!"?Chicago Record. TIIK WILY B.ADUKR. Paul W. Ilenrich. the real estate dealer, is also a student of entomology, natural history and animals in general. lie lived down in Nebraska at one time, where the badgers have taken the place of the buffalo. One night Mr. Ilenrich was explaining the peculiarities of the animal and stated by way of introduction that a genuine Nebraska badger was sharper than a politician. "They have several bright ways of ! doing tilings." he began. "Perhaps 1 need tell of tint oue to make tueir intelligence plain. Now. if a badger has vermin, do you know how he goes about It to rid himself of them?" "Scratches 'em off." said the proprietor. "No, sir; Mr. Badger isn't fool enough for that. He just goes to some stream; then he stands on the bank and reaches around with his mouth and pulls a little tuft of hair out of his tail. Now listen closely. With that bunch of hair in his mouth he turns around ant^ vermin naturally crawl to keep out of the water and begin to wend their way toward bis neck, and as be dips himself dowu deeper into the water they hasten to his nose and then out on to the bunch of hair which he holds In his mouth. When Mr. Badger finds that they are all out on that little tuft, he opens his mouth and lets the current drift It down stream. Then he crawls out on land again, shakes himself and laughs, while he listens to the vermin floating away, singing 'A Life on the Ocean Wave.' "?Denver Times. THE BRAIN IN SLEEP. The Influence on the Nerve* by the Stomach nnd the Food That It Container-Event* That Occur In a Fraction of a Second. Dreams are generally a repetition ot thoughts unguided by reason. Those caused by internal action or brought' about by action witbin tbe body are due entirely to tbe action and state of tbe stomach, wbich in turn Is affected by tbe quantity and quality of food consumed. Tbe first ends or feelers of tbe nerves are located in tbe walls of tbe stomach, and as tbe food Is digested they draw up tbe nourishment and distribute it throughout tbe nervous system to replace tbe waste that has taken place during tbe day. If tbe stomach be surcharged with an abundance of beating food, too much nourishment Is forced upon the brain, causing an abnormal filling of the channels, thereby expauding them, bringing them in touch with others and causing the matter from one to overflow Into or to mix with the fluid of neighboring channels. Whenever the fluid traverses a channel more or less forcibly the thought which originated that passage is reproduced more or less vividly; hence insures the general mixing up of thoughts which originally bad no connection with each other. An overloaded stomach also causes a flow of blood to the brain, sent there by uature to assist in assimilating the extra nourishment, and the overcharged blood vessels, pressing upon the nerve channels near the brain, cause even more turbulent disturbances. This accounts for the advice of so many medical men that no considerable quantity, especially or animal rooa, should be taken immediately before bedtime. The crossing, recrossing and touching of these thought channels brought about in this way produce the absurd mixtures of fancies that often come to us when we sleep. The stomach, too, is a mill which keeps on forever grinding, the walls acting as the grindstones. When* therefore, there is nothing between them, or, in other words, when the stomach is empty, one wall grinds upon the other, causing an irritation of the nerves which produces that peculiar sensation of falling from some great height. To understand how external action will affect the dream of a sleeper it must be borne in mind that those dreams which seem to take hours, and even days, in passing really occupy but a minute fraction of a second. If, therefore, we are awakened by some loud, strident noise, say by the cracking of a whip, then between the time that the sound strikes the ear while we are yet asleep and the time that wo ovo fnllr Awnke tn realize what has caused the s^rnd a few moments only have elapsed, but those few moments were sufficient to allow of a dream of apparently several hours' duration. As un example: A milkman, driving up beneath an open bedroom window, cracks his whip smartly. Immediately the thought produced by the sound causes a dream. The sleeper imagines himself a soldier who has fallen into the hands of the enemy. He is led out to be shot. He stands blindfolded, with hands tied, before the platoon of soldiers. He hears the click, click, click as the rifles are cocked. He hears the word given, and the noise of the volley rings out on his ears. Then he awakes with a start, to hear the rumble of the milkman's wagon as he cracked his whip and drove off over some rough cobblestones. A blow, a cut or a sensation of pain will operate in the same way and awaken certain channels of thought connected with pain just as the noise awoke those connected with sound. For instance, a sleeper dreams that he Is closed up in some close traveling carriage aud is being driven rapidly off In an unknown direction by a man who l*oc? nnnn hlo nnrco nnH llfo He tries to shout, in vain he struggles to get free and in the tussle drives an arm through the glass window of the carriage. The hand is cut and bleeding. It smarts fearfully, and he awakes to lind that In his sleep he had carelessly thrown out an arm, and his hand has smashed some fine medicine glass on a stand by the bedside. The whole dream passed between the time that the hand first struck the glass, creating the sensation of pain, and the moment that the sleeper awoke to realize the fact.?Chicago Record. Both Afflicted. There came to a young doctor an uncommonly unclean infant, borne in the arms of a mother whose face showed the same abhorrence of soap. Looking down upon the child for a moment, the doctor solemnly said: "It seems to be suffering from 'hydropathic hydrophobia.'" "Oh, doctor, is It as bad as that?" *1.? I.,.,. 'Pl.of'o o nirr olnL tlini 111C Ull/IIIUI. i WU( o u OIV.U Dess for such a uiite. Whatever shall I do for the child?" "Wash its face, madam," replied the doctor. "The disease will go off with the dirt." "Wash its face?wash Its face, h* deed!" exclaimed the pother, losing her temper. "What next, I'd like to. know!" "Wash yojur owh, madam?wash your own." was the rejoinder.?Buffalo. Enquirer. Tradition Say* Franklin Planted the First One In This Country. Every housewife is supposed to know how to handle a broom, but it is safe to say that, not one in ten has any clear idea of what her sweeping utensil Is made of or how it is made or where the material came from. Brooms are. rnuue irom me ueuus or Drusnes or the broom corn, a first cousin to our commoD field corn. And lu this connection is told a very pleasant little fairy story concerning Benjamin Franklin. "Poor Iticbard," by the way. seems to have been about the biggest jack of all trades that ever helped the United States to become the richest and most powerful nation of the world. If this story Is true, he Is the patron saint of the housewife and the broominaker, as well as a kiteflier, lightning catcher, printer, publisher, editor, author, philosopher, statesman and other things "too numerous to mention." Broom corn first grew in India. From there it was carried to Europe. The story goes that Dr. Franklin was examining a whisk broom that bad been brought over from England in the days before we had any broom corn of our own. He found a single seed on the broom, picked It off, planted it and raised a stalk of corn from wblcb Is descended, so to speak, all of the broom corn of the United States. However this may be, broom corn grows much like its first cousin, our maize, which originated here. The head is larger, however, and the seeds grow on the head Instead of In ears. The heads are cut off, leaving about six inches of stalk, and the seeds are scraped off by a machine, which does a clean job and does not injure the panicles. The seeds are valuable in a way. They are fed to horses and poultry and ground into meal for cattle. In the making of the brooms, the corn is put around a handle of basswood or soft maple turned in a lathe. Each layer is wound tight with twine or wire until the desired size is attained. The broom Is then pressed out flat and sewed to keep It in that shape. Whisk brooms are made in the same way.? Buffalo Express. AN EFFECT OF LIGHTNING. Damaged a Pair of Eye* That Were Large and Bright. Through the brotherhood of affliction that comes from wearing glasses in one of their various forms a popular official of the Rapid Transit company told in conversation the other day of a curious reason why he wore prescription helps fo eyeslyliP." "It""tnHTbeCause I was struck by lightning," he said. "It was .when/.I was in my teens. I sat between an open window and an open door and there was a flash. The last I can remember is a sense of having an envelope of light around me. I was picked up insensible and those who first suw me say that smoke issued from my mouth end nose. All thought I wns dead, but I slowly recovered and soon seemed to be as well as before the heavenly visitation. "The serious effects of the shock, however, developed in my eyes. Their largeness and brilliancy bad been often commeDded on by my friends, but these more or less desirable features had been destroyed by the electric fluid. The pupils and the irises contracted and I found a great difficulty In my vision. An expert oculist examined the eyes and gave some scientific name to the difficulty. That's another story. I only know that I can see and am glad to be alive. "One effect remains, however, that is rather curious. Most people who have been struck by lightning are fearful of being struck again. Not so with me. I'm not nervous even in the height of an electrical storm, but 1 confess I'm not anxious to sit in a room at such a time where there are two openings into the disturbance. That would be inviting destruction."?Brooklyn Eagle. iilinitilll iWiltLUkhT rncaitn tujirimi. In the best hotel lu Paris one gels luxury, comfort and even splendor, but never one's cards or notes, according to Harper's Bazar. There is a fatal gulf for these. One is a number, not an individuality. The table is, however, very luxurious." It is a clean and well ordered caravansary. As for the comfort of warmth lu winter, they do not know the meaning of the word. We are justly accused of exaggerating the heat of our rooms in America; the furnace is denounced; but after freezing to death in Paris, one of the coldest of cities, very far north, one returns williDgly to the heated rooms of America. We exaggerate the excellence of the French bed. There Is no such thing in France as that comfortable, broad, low thing which we call a Freuch I>ed. A high, hard, narrow shelf Is the apology for it. We exaggerate our comforts by havine eras in our sleeping rooms and hot and cold water in our stationary washbowls and ba;brooms. They never exaggerate comfort In Fra.ice. You have as many candles as you will pay for, and no bath, unless you order It, when men laboriously bring you a tub filled with hot or cold water, and take It away after you have bathed. We exaggerate very much the supposed good living in Frauce. To go to a hotel in Paris to live we must expect out of the season very little good food, very little that is sustaining and nourishing. It is "all sauce." There are no good jointsi of muttou. uo good American desserts. This Is an especial discomfort to the sick, who never get good toast, good custard, good tapioca puddlug. nor oysters that they like. IfeYeiv f Did yott ever look over a boob on human ailments that you could not make one of them at least fit your case, even though you thought you were quite well when you began reading??Philadelphia Times.