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' _ IggglP SEMMTEEgLY. ? l. m. grist & sons, publishers J % ^antilg fleicsgaper: 4or (he ^promotion of the political, Social, Agricultural, and (fommer^iat Interests of the ?eople. jrERM^-^otM^E^KjN a^nce. established 1855. YORKVILLE, S. O., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY?, 1901. NO. 3. THE MYSTE AHA By ANNA KATHi Author of "The Leavenworth Ca 0* and Ring," Copyright, 1900, by Anna Katharine < Synopsis op Previous Chapters. In order that new readers of The Enquirer may begin with the following installment of this story, and understand it just the same as though they had read it all from the beginning, we here give a synopsis of that portion of which has already been published: The story opens with the close of a ball after daylight in the morning. While the guests are leaving the house Frederick Sutherland dashes out frantically and disappears in the woods on the other side of the road. Agatha Webb is found up stairs murdered. The body of Batsy, the cook, is found hanging from a window. Philemon Webb, Agatha's husband, is discovered sitting before a dining table, asleep, with a smear of blood on his coat sleeve. Philemon being charged with the murder, his mind, alrady feeble gives way completely. All Agatha Webb's money has been taken. Miss Page, standing on the lawn, points to a spot of blood on the grass. Frederick Sutherland, who has been a wild fellow, promises nis father to reform; also to give up Amabel Page, whom he has I Kaon avnanHnop In morrv M{cq Pq crp tells Frederick that she followed him on the night of the murder and saw him secrete $1,000 in a hollow tree. She ?v declares that he shall either marry her or she will proclaim him a murderer. She is about to leave him and the town when she is held as a witness. The past life of Agatha Webb. Six children have been born to her and all died in infancy. It is learned that the money taken from Agatha Webb was all in new bills. A storekeeper produces one of them that a strange man with a flowing beard gave him the night of the murder. The problem now is to find the man with the long beard. Suspicion falls on the Zabel brothers. Frederick visits the hollow tree and finds the money gone. Wattles a gambler from Boston, demands $950 of FrederIick in payment of a gambling debt. Frederick secures a check for the amount from his father, pays the debt and is about to leave home when he is stopped by Miss Page. Knapp, detective, and Abel, with the coroner, visit the Zabel brothers. They are obliged to break into the house, and find both brothers dead. A spot of blood is found on the clothing of one of the brothers, and a miniature of Agatha Webb when a young girl is lying on James Zabel's breast. The party visit the hollow tree, and Sweetwater, who has olned them, digs under it and finds $980. The finder declares that Amabel Page buried the money. He also declares that he followed Amabel Page when she left the house on the night of the murder and saw her bury the money. He accuses her oftrying to throwsuspicion on one of the Zebel brothers with one of the bills. Miss Page is examined with reference to her r conduct on the night of the murder and proves a very wily witness. The will of Agatha Webb bequeaths her fortune to Frederick Sutherland. CHAPTER XXL HAD BATSY LIVED. It was the last day of the inquest, and to many It bade fair to be the least interesting. All the witnesses who had anything to say had long ago I given in their testimony, and when at or near noon Sweetwater slid into the inconspicuous seat he had succeeded in obtaining near the coroner it was to find In two faces only any signs of eagerness and expectancy that filled his own breast to suffocation. But as these faces were those of Agnes Halliday and Amabel Page he soon recognized that his own judgment was not at fault and that notwithstanding outward appearances aud the languid interest sliowu in the now lagging proceedings the moment presaged au event ^ , full of unseen but vital consequence. Frederick was not visible in the great hall; but that he was near at hand soon became evident from the , change Sweetwater now saw in A ma bel; for, while she hud hitherto sat un- , der the universal gaze with only the ,faint smile of conscious beauty on her Inscrutable features, she roused as the ^ hands of the clock moved toward noon tnd glanced at the great door of enranee with an evil expectancy that tartled even Sweetwater, so little had , e really understood the nature of the > tssious laboring in that venomous east. 1 Next moment the door opened, and tederick and his father came iu. The of triumphant satisfaction with ich Amabel sauk back into her seat B as marked in its character as her i'ious suspense. What did it mean? etwater, notiug it and the vivid <rast it offered to Frederick's air L depression, felt that liis return liad ( I b well timed. i Sutherland was looking very feeL hi As lie took the chair offered liim tlliange iu his appearance was appat to all who knew him. and there wf'cw there who did not know him. AUtartled by tliese evidences of suffer which they could not understand IBP* autared to interpret, even to them-1 Isel' moiv tlian one devoted friend stolueasy glances at Frederick to ( see he. too. were under the cloud wliiieemed to envelop 1)is father almosV-oud recognition. B^ederick was looking at Amabel. ijiis erect head and determined 1 aspe^ule liitn a conspicuous tigure in thjyiu. She who had called upi this ttssion and alone comprehended it i. smiled, as slie met his eye. with tcurious slow dipping of her dimple,jt.]| had more than once confound^. coroner and rendered her at once.admiration and abhorrence of the rd who for so long a time i \: had hat opportunity of watching | i her. * fredeito whom this smile conf veyed at hope as well as a last I threat. h| away as soon as possi- i i- ble. but Hgfore her eyes had fallen r 1 I I iRY OF THA WEBB. \RINE GREENE, se," "Lost Man's Lane," "Hand F.tr Etc. 3reen. In their old, inquiring way to his hands, from which he had removed the ring which up to this hour he had invariably worn ou his third finger. In this glance of hers and this action of his began the struggle that was to make that day memorable in many hearts. After the first stir occasioned by the entrance of two such important persons and possible witnesses the crowd settled back into its old quietude under the coroner's hand. A tedious witness was having his slow say. and to him a full attention was being given In the hope that some real enlightenment would come at last to settle the questions which had been raised by Amabel's incomplete and unsatisfactory testimony. But no man can furnish what he does not possess, and the few final minutes before noon passed by without any addition to the facts which had already been presented for general consideration. As the witness sat down the clock began to strike. As the slow, hesitating strokes rung out Sweetwater saw Frederick yield to a sudden but most profound emotion. The old fear, which we understand if Sweetwater did not. had again seized the victim of Amabel's ambition, and uuder her eye, which was blazing full upon him now with a fell and steady purpose, lie found his right hand stealing toward the left in the siguiticant action she expected. Better to yield than fall headlong into the pit one word of hers could open. lie had not meant to yield, but now that the moment had come, now that he must at once and forever choose between a course that led simply to personal unhappiness and one that involved not only himself, but those dearest to him. in disgrace andsorrow, he felt himself weaken to the point of clutchiug at whatever would ( save him from the consequmces of , confession. Moral strength and that ' tenacity of purpose which only comes . from years of self control were too , lately awakened in his breast to sus- ( tain him now. As stroke after itroke fell on the ear he felt himself yielding beyond recovery and had almost touched his finger in the significant ac- 1 tion of assent which Amabel awaited ( with breathless expectation whettwas it miracle or only the suggestion of his better nature??the memory of a face full of holy pleading rose from the past before his eyes, and with an inner j cry of "Mother!" he threw his hand , out and clutched his father's arm in a way to break the charm of his own dread and end forever the effects of the intolerable fascination that was working upon him. Next minute the last stroke rang out. and the hour was up which Amabel had set as the limit of her silence. A pause, which to their two hearts if to no others, seemed strangely appropriate. followed the cessation of these sounds, then the witness was dismissed. aud Amabel, taking advantage of the movement, was about to lean toward Mr. Courtney, when Frederick. leaping with a bound to his feet, drew all eyes toward himself with the cry: "Let me be put on my oath. I have testimony to give of the utmost importance in this case." The coroner was astounded; every one was astounded. No one had expected anything from him and instinctively every eye turned toward Amabel to see how she was affected by his action. Strangely, evidently, for the look with which she settled back in her seat was one which no one who saw it ever forgot, though it conveyed no hint of her real feelings, which were somewhat chaotic. Frederick, who had forgotten her, now that he had made up his mind to speak, waited for the coroner's reply. "If you have testimony." said that gentleman, after exchanging a few bur ried words with Mr. Courtney and the surprised Knapp, "you can do uo hotter than give it to us at once. Mr. Frederick Sutherland will you take the stand?" With a noble air from which all hesitation had vanished. Frederick Bturted toward the place indicated, but "Let mc be put on my oath. I have testIrnoncy to (jive of the utmost importance." stopped before he had taken a half dozen steps and glanced back at his father. who was visibly succumbing to this last shock. "Go!" he whispered, but in so thrilling a tone it was heard to the remotest corner of the room. "Spare me the anguish of saying what I have to say in your presence. I could not bear II You could uot bear It. Later. If yoi will wait for me In one of these rooms I will repeat my tale In your ears, bu go now. It is my last entreaty." There was a silence; no one ventur ed a dissent, no one so much as madi a gesture of disapproval. Then Mr Sutherland struggled to his feet, cas one last look around him and disap peared through a door which had open ed like magic before him. Then anc not till then did Frederick move for ward. The moment was intense. The coro ner seemed to share the universal ex citement, for his first question was i leading one and brought out this star tling admission: "I have obtruded myself Into this In qulry and now ask to be heard by this Jury because no man knows more thai I do of the manner and cause of Aga tha Webb's death. This you will bo lieve when I tell you that I was the person Miss Page followed Into Mrs. Webb's house and whom she heard descend the stairs during the moment sh crouched behind the figure of the sleeping Philemon." It was more, infinitely more, than any one there had expected. It was not only an acknowledgment, but a confession, and the shock, the surprise, the alarm even, which it occasioned even to those who had never had much confidence in this young man's virtue, was almost appalling in Its intensity. Had It not been for the consciousness of Mr. Sutherland's near presence the feeling would have risen to outbreak, and many voices were held in subjection by the remembrance of this ven cruicu iuuu a mat iuuh, luut uiuerwiae would have made themselves heard Id despite of the restrictions of the place and the authority of the police. To Frederick it was a moment of immeasurable grief and humiliation. On every face, in every shrinking form, in subdued murmurs and open cries he read instant and complete condemnation, and yet in all his life from boyhood up to this hour, never had he been so worthy of their esteem and consideration. But, though he felt the Iron enter his soul, he did uot lose his determined attitude. He had observed a change in Amabel and a change in Agnes, and if only to disappoint the vile triumph of the one and raise again the drooping courage of the other he withstood the clamor and began speaking again before the coroner had been able to fully restore quiet. "I know." said he. "what this acknowledgment must convey to the minds of the jury and people here assembled, but if any one who listens to me thinks me guilty of the death I was 30 unfortunate as to have witnessed, he will be doing me a wrong which Agatha Webb would, be the first to condemn. Dr. Talbot and you, gentlemen of the jury, in the face of God and man, 1 here declare that Mrs. Webb in my presence and before my eyes gave to herself the blow which has robbed us all of a most valuable life. She was not murdered." It was a solemn assertion, but it failed to convince the crowd before him. As by one Impulse men and women aroke into tumult. Mr. Sutherland was forgotten, and cries of "Never! She was too good! its an eaiumny: a wretched lie!" broke in unrestrained excitement from every part of the large room. In vain the coroner smote with his gavel; in vain the local police endeavored to restore order; the tide was up and overswept everything for an instant till silence was suddenly restored by the sight of Amabel smoothing out the folds of her crisp white frock with an incredulous, almost insulting, smile that at once fixed attention again on Frederick. He seized the occasion and epoke up in a tone of great resolve. "I have made an assertion," said he, "before God and before this Jury. To make it seem a credible one I shall have to tell my story from the beginning. Am I allowed to do so, Mr. Coroner?" "You are," was the firm response. "Then, gentlemen," continued Frederick, still without looking at Amabel, whose smile had acquired a mockery that drew the eyes of the jury toward her more than once during the following recital, "you know, and the public generally now know, that Mrs. Webb has left me the greater portion of the money of which she died'possessed. I have never before acknowledged to any one, not even to the good man who awaits this jury's verdict on the other side of that door, that she had reasons for this, good reasons, reasons which up to the very evening of her death I was myself ignorant of, as I was ignorant of her inteutions in my regard or that I was the special object of her attention, or that we were under any mutual obligations in any way. Why. then, I should have thought of going to her in the great strait in which 1 found myself on that day 1 can hardly say. I knew she had money in her house. This I had unhappily been made acquainted with in an accidental way, and I knew she was of kindly disposition and quite capable of doing a very unselfish act. Still this would not seem to be reason enough for me to Intrude upon her late at night with a plea for a large loan of money had I not been in a desperate condition of mind, which made any attempt seem reasonable that promised relief from the unendurable burden of a pressing and disreputable debt. "I was obliged to have money?a great deal of money?and I had to have It at once, and, while I know this will not serve to lighten the suspicion I have brought upon myself by my late admissions, it is the only explanation I can give you for leaving the ball at my father's bouse and hurrying down secretly and alone into town to the little cottage where, as I had been told early in the evening, a small entertainment was being given which would insure Its being open even at so late an hour as midnight. Miss Page, who will. I am sure, pardon the introduction of her name Into this narrative, has taken pains to declare to you that In the expedition she herself made Into town that evening she followed some person's steps down bill. This Is very u likely true, and those steps were probably mine, for after leaving the house t by the garden door 1 came directly down the main road to the corner of the lane running past Mrs. Webb's cottage. Having already seen from the hillside the light burning In her upper windows. I felt encouraged to proceed and so hastened on till I came to the gate on High street Here I had a moment of hesitation, and thoughts bitter enough for me to recall them at this moment came into my mind, making that instant perhaps the very worst in my life. But they passed, thank God, and with nothing more desperate In mind than a sullen Intention of having my own way about this money I lifted the latch of the front door and stepped in. "I had expected to find a jovial group of friends in her little ground parlor or at leusi ntrui ilie buuuu ul Lueujr vuilco and laughter In the rooms above, but no sounds of any sort awaited me. Indeed the house seemed strangely silent for one so fully lighted, and, astonished at this, I pushed the door ajar at my left and looked In. An unexpected i and pitiful sight awaited me. Seated i at a table set with abundance of un tasted food. I saw the master of the house, with his head sunk forward on his arms, asleep. The expected guests had failed to arrive, and he, tired out with waiting, bad fallen Into a doze at the board. "This was a condition of things for which I was not prepared. Mrs. Webb, whom I wished to see, was probably up stairs, and while I might summon her by a sturdy rap on the door, beside which I stood. I had so little desire to wake her husband, of whose mental condition I was well aware, that I could not bring myself to make any loud noise within his hearing. Yet I had not the courage to retreat. All my hope of relief from the many difficulties that menaced me lay In the generosity of this great hearted woman, and If out of pusillanimity I let this hour go by without making my appeal, nothlug but shame and disaster awaited me. Yet how could I hope to lure her down stairs without noise? I could not. and so yielding to the impulse of . the moment, without any realization, I 41// you want my life, I will give it to you with my own hand." here swear, of the effect which my unexpected presence would have on the noble woman overhead. I slipped up rue narrow staircase ana, caicning at that moment the sound of her voice calling out to Batsy, I stepped up to the door I saw standing open before me and confronted her before she could move from the table before which she was sitting, counting over a large roll of money. "My look (and it was doubtless not a common look, for the sight of a mass of money at that moment, when money was everything to ine. roused every lurking demon In my breast) seemed to . appall, if it did not frighten, her, for ] she rose, and meeting my eye with a gaze in which shock and some strange ' and poiguant agony totally Incomprehensible to me were strangely blended, she cried out: ] " No, no, Frederick! You don't know what you are doing. If you want my " money, take It; if you want my life, 1 will give it to you with my own hand. 1 Don't stain yours?don't'? < "I did not understand her. I did not ' know uutil I thought it over afterward < that my hand was thrust convulsively into my breast in a way which, takeu ; with my wild mien, mude me look as if 1 had come to murder her for the money over which she was hovering. . I was blind, deaf to everything but that money, and, bending madly forward in a state of mental intoxication awful enough for me to remember now, 1 answered her frenzied words bysome such broken exclamations as I these: * '(Jive, then! I want hundreds?thousands? now, now, to save myself! Dis , grace, sbntue, prisou await uie if I | don't have them. Give, give!' And niy . nana weui oui towaru ji. noi lowaru her; but she iuistook the action, mistook uiy purpose, aud, with a Ueartbrolceu cry, to save me, me, from crime, the worst crime of which humanity is capable, she caught up a dagger lying only too near her band in the open drawer against which she leaued, and in a moment of fathomless anguish, which we who can never know more than the outward seeming of her life can hardly measure, plunged against it and?1 can tell you no more. Her blood and Batsy's shriek from the adjoining room swam through my consciousness, and then she fell, as 1 supposed, dead upon the floor, and 1. iu scarcely better case, fell also. "This, as God lives, is the truth concerning the wound found iu the breast of this never'to be forgotteu woman." The feeling, the pathos, the anguish even, to be found in his tones made this story, strange and incredible as it seemed, appear for the mouumt plausible. "And BatsyV" asked the coroner. "Must have fallen wbeu we did. for I never beard her voice after the first 6cream. But I shall speak of her again What I must now explain is how the money In Mrs. Webb's drawer came Into my possession aud bow the dagger she bad planted ill bur breast came to be found ou tbe lawn outside. Wben I came to myself, and tbat must bave been very soon. I found tbat tbe blow I bad been sueli a borritiod witness to bad not yet proved fatal. Tbe eyes 1 bad seen close, as I bad supposed, forever. were now open, and sbe was looking at me witb a smile tbat bas never left my memory and uever will. " 'There Is no blood on you,' sbe murmured. 'You did uot strike tbe blow. Was It money only tbat you wanted, FrederickV If so. you could have bud It without crime. There nre $1,000 on tbat table uud half as much again in tbe closet over yonder. Take them and let them pave your way to a better life. My death will help you to remember.' I)o these words, this action of bers. seem incredible to you. sirs? Alas, alas! they will uot wben I tell you"? and bore be cast one anxious, deeply anxious, glance at tbe room in whicli Mr. Sutherland was hidden?"that, unknown to me. uukuowu to any one living but herself, uuknowu to tbat good man from whom it cau no longer be kept bidden. Agatha Webb was my mnthor I mil Pliiloiunn'o cnn on/1 nn* tlie offspring of Charles and Marietta Sutherland!" TO BE CONTINUED. gilistfUiinfous Reading. A CEMTURY POEM The following poem by Edward Markham was read at the Labor union dinner in New York on New Year's eve: I We stand here at the end of mighty years, And a great wonder rushes on our hearts, Where cities rose and blossomed into dust, While shadowy lines of kings were blown to air? What was the purpose brooding on the world, Through the large leisure of the centuries? And what the end?Failure or Victory? II. Lo, man has laid his sceptre on the stars, And sent his spell upon the continent. The heavens confess their secrets, and the stones, Silent as God, publish their mystery. Man calls the lightnings from their secret place to crumpie up me spaces or me woria, And snatch the jewels from the flying hours. Tne wild white smoking horses of the sea, Are startled by his thunders. The world Powers Crowd round to be the lackeys of the king. III. His hand has torn the veil of the Great Law, The law that was made before the World's?before, That far first whisper on the ancient deep; The law that swings Arcturus on the North And hurls the soul of man upon the way. But what avail, O builders of the world, Unless ye build a safety for the soul? Man has put harness on Leviathan And looks in his incorrigible jaws; And yet the perils of the street remain. Out of the whirlwind of the cities rise Lean Hunger and the Worm of Misery, The heart break and the cry of mortal tears. IV. i But nark, the bugles blowing on the , peaks; And hark, a murmur as of many feet, The cry of captains, the divine alarm. Look?the last son of Time comes hurrying on, The strong young Titan of Democracy: ' With swinging step he takes the open road, 1 In love with the winds that beat his 1 hairy breast, , Baring his sunburnt strength to all the world, He casts his eyes around with Jovian 1 glance? , Searches the tracks of old tradition; , scans With rebel heart the books of pedigree; ' Peers into the face of Privilege and i cries, 'Why are you halting in the path of man? [s it your shoulder bears the human i load? I Do you draw down the rains of the . sweet heaven, And keep the green things growing?? ( Back to hell!" 1 V. We know at last the future is secure: jod is descending from Eternity, \nd all things, good and evil, build the < road. ( Fes, down in the thick of things, the t men of greed. Axe thumping the inhospitable clay. B$ wondrous toils the men without the dream, Led onward by a something unawares, . Are laying the foundation of the dream, rhe kingdom of fraternity foretold. 5IVE THE SOUTH A CHANCE. Remarkable Industrial Progress Made In the Cotton States In the Last Decade. The expansion of the South in the next ten years is reasonably certain to be greater proportionately as well as absolutely than it has been in the delude just ended. In several of the states of the South are immense deposits of eoal and iron, the possession of: ivhich determines in a large degree a community's industrial standing in a country or in the world. Of course its colion product is immeasurably great;r than that produced by all the rest of :he world in the aggregate, and even liere there are opportunities for almost h unlimited growth. Of the 14,0000,000 h bales of cotton produced in the entire g .vorld, the Southern States contribute a d ittle over 75 per cent. The country .is c breaking all records these days in its c exportation of domestic merchandise, s md this, in a great degree, is caused d uy the enormous shipments of cotton, t vhich furnish the largest single item t n the value of the country's exports, t Jotton prices at the present time are a ligher than the average of any recent a cear, the product is larger, and as a n consequence the South is prosperous. a But the South has been learning to n utilize some of its cotton prod**~*4P lome. While the Northern Stati ther t lS91 manufactured 2,027,000 bales ofi.or Jep :on, and the South 613,000 bales, you u :aklngs of the North were 2,217,000'Ye^/ 1899, and those of the South were 1,41^^ 000. That is, while the North was prac tically stationary between 1891 and 189 in the amount of cotton which i manufactured, the South much mon than doubled its own manufactures o that staple. And the South has onl; just made a beginning in this branch o industry. In the production of coal and th< manufacture of iron and steel th< South has made great advances in th< last few years, and here, too, only i beginning has been made. Birming ham, Anniston and Chattanooga ar< getting to be known all over the work for the quality and the quantity o: their iron and steel manufactures, anc the South is making the world's prices for iron and steel. Socially, too, the South is making exceedingly creditable gains. Since 1861 the Southern States have expended over $400,000,000 for the public school education of her children, blacks and whites alike, although the white popu lation pay four-flfths of the taxe:s. Illiteracy among whites and blacks is declining in the South. The attractions of that section to settlers from the Northern States and from Europe are steadily increasing. That section will undoubtedly make a greater growth in population, in industries, and in general social advancement in the next 10 years than it has scored in the last 10. Horace Greeley's injunction of 40 years ago needs some modification: "Go South, young man; go South."?Leslie's Weekly. A "TEMPERANCE MEASURE." Can Good People Give Their Support To Such an Iniquity? A month or two ago, we mentioned the record-breaking sales at the Chester dispensary, amounting to $530 in one day. Last Monday those figures were just doubled, we have learned, the sales amounting to $1,060. On Saturday the filthy lucre handed in was $940, making $2,000 for two consecutive days. On Monday, we have been told, the sales would have been considerably greater had not the larger packages been exhausted, so that the money taken in was limited by the capacity for handing out liquor in the smaller packages to the crowds that were pressing and clamoring: for it. Thus the disoen sary is fulfilling its mission; it is raking in the shekels, and furnishing liquor to everybody that wants it, either to drink or resell. Surely good people who were deluded into the belief that the institution was a temperance measure can no longer fail to see their egregious mistake. When about one-third of the profits of three dispensaries bring to a city more revenue than a score of high license saloons, where is the advantage in the dispensary, except as a money maker? Good people who persist in giving their support to such an iniquity will probably not open their eyes to the ruinous tendency of the traffic until they are aroused some night by a youthful son falling into their door drunk, one, perhaps, whom they had never suspected of tasting liquor. The? day will come when many a father, standing at the grave of a drunken son, will take up the lamentation of David over Absalom; when the mother will lament with bitter and useless tears that she did not protest more positively against the course of her short sighted husband in accepting a solution of the liquor question offered by life-long liquor men; when thousands of sisters, then perhaps the svives of drunkards, and doomed to lives of sorrow, will bemoan their lost opportunities to make their condemnation of the liquor business heard by svery young man of their acquaintince. Reader, if you do not wish to reproach yourself for giving aid to the increase of drunkenness, hear a warning voice. Does some one tell you that this writer is prejudiced against the Uspensary? If you think that is a sufTcient reason for rejecting the truth we tell you, we can only regret that it will furnish you no comfort when the ivll day comes and sorrow worse than leath enters your home.?Chester Lan:ern. WITHOUT HANDS OR FEET. temarkable Achievements of a Man Who Is Full of Grit. Some time ago Secretary Root sent a nan to the Philippines to make some :onfidential observations. He made the nvestigations, returned to this counry, prepared and submitted his reports, fhese reports so pleased the secretary hat he wrote a personal letter of congratulation to the confidential agent. The man who made these reports was d. J. Dowling, of Minnesota. So far here is nothing remarkable about this itory; but there is about Dowling. He las neither hands nor feet. Some 5 years ago he was a boy and was aught in one of the great blizzards vhich occasionally sweep over the Northwestern country. He was badly rozen, and though he battled bravely o save himself, both feet and hands lad to be amputated. This was pretty lard for a boy; but he was full of true ;rit. As soon as the stumps healed he letermined to go to Milwaukee to seure artificial limbs. The only way he ould travel was by being laid upon the eat of a car, where he did not move uring the entire journey. The conducor punched the ticket which was led to him, thinking what hard luck he boy was in. Then he forgot the boy nd the train journeyed on for miles nd miles, stopped at a station for diner and again went on. Late in the fternoon the conductor felt full of rejor^^because he had given no fur- ; without hands him. "Do i He 1 anythin. "^Hiid the j^A| HHH - eating, and I won't trouble anybody 9 with my misfortunes," he replied. But t the conductor got him something and e also saw him taken care of to the end f of his run. The same self-reliance has / sustained Dowling throughout his life, f He got the artificial limbs, educated himself, taught school, ran a newspa2 per, became a politician of prominence, 2 and has been secretary of the Nation- ~ e al League of Republican clubs. He i gets along without cane or crutches, . writes with his artificial hand, makes ? no complaint on the score of being 1 crippled, and asks no favor because he t is short the average allotment of hands 1 and feet. "Mike" Dowling Is on this 3 account one of the most Interesting men in this country.?Washington Post. > DIXIE COTTON IS THE BEST. [ I England Could Not Do Without the American Product. There Is no practical sympathy here . with the agitation that England free , itself from dependence on American , cotton. While the British newspapers , are insisting that "relief must be found 1 from the danger of starvation at the , hands of foreign gamblers by securing a source of supply within the empire's i control," trade authorities view such talk with ridicule. They declare that i John Bull can never do without the , cotton that is grown in Dixie. J. R. Hune, a prominent member of the London Cotton Exchange, and an Anglo-American dealer of thirty years standing, said to The Daily News correspondent today: "It's all "tommyrot," that talk about planting India, the Soudan and Cape Colony with cotton to take the place of the staple now imported from the United States. It has been often tried and just as often has proved a failure. For cleanliness, strength and brilliant whiteness, the Yankee product cannot be duplicated. We are yearly becoming more dependent than ever on it. "In such countries as Egypt, China, Japan and India, where more or less cotton is grown, mills have gone up which have completely absorbed the local crop. Even in the United States the extension of the manufacturing Industry has operated to curtail the amount available for export. "We must simply live In the hope that between Providence and the American planters the annual yields will be sufficient to supply the demands of the English market. We do not desire to look eslewhere. for our supply, and we could not If we would."?London Cable to Chicago News. TO SIDETRACK BRYAN. Executive Committee la In Favor of a New Candidate. The anti-Bryan movement In the Democratic party is gaining momentum and will probably gain more after the Democratic senators and representatives in congress have returned from their holiday vacation. After the election there was a disposition to let Mr. Bryan drop without further consider ation. It was supposed that he was buried so deep under the adverse majority that he would not be able to crawl out; but it appears that his speech at the recent dinner at Lincoln and the announcement of his newspaper have excited considerable alarm among Democratic leaders throughout the country, who suspect that he intends to secure a third nomination if possible, and they would like to put a stop to his plans and extinguish his hopes before he goes any farther. A carefully prepared statement and an analysis of the vote for presidential electors at the last November election, will be submitted to the Democratic national committee at its meeting next month for the purpose of convincing the Bryan idolators that their candidate is weaker than his party, and that instead of strengthening it, he dragged it down at the last election, and is likely to be an even heavier weight at the next. The vote in each state is shown in detail to prove that he ran behind the rest of the ticket almost everywhere, in the few states and congressional districts that gave Democratic majorities, as well as in the Republican strongholds. It is also contended that a candidate who cannot carry his own precinct, ward, town, county, congressional district, or state, ought not to be renominated. A majority of the Democratic national committeemen are opposed to the renomination of Mr. Bryan. They were opposed to his renomination last year, but advocated it because they believed he was strong with the people. These figures are expected to convince them of their error in that particular and persuade them that he ought to be turned down.?W. E. Curtis in Chicago Record. Trusts Make Peace.?The following is published in the Chicago Tribune of yesterday morning: Private advices have reached Chicago that the war between the great sugar and coffee trusts, which has cost these trade rivals approximately $25,000,000, is to be brought to a close. Negotiations" have been closed in New York and Chicago whereby the Arbuckles will nominally give up sugar refining and become dictators in the coffee trade; Henry O. Havemeyer and the sugar trust will practically give up the coffee roasting plants, with which an effort was made to crush John Arbuckle, and handle only the sugar business. A South African Joke.?Tommy Atkins had takenjil^^yjrisoner, and, Lhe two gett^^^^^^^^^B^d about the prospec^^^^^^^^^^^^^^r the Tommy sur