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«up in the Maiâ€"r U DER THE LILAC TREE. ” CHAPTER IL ‘ The old proverb states that the; course of true love never runs smooth. 3 Ours: ran smoothly enough. The doc- tor laughed when Mark told him of our engagement. My mother was de- lighted; she had liked Mark from the first. The one great drawback was that he was caupelled to go to India for four years. He was a civil enginâ€" eer by profession. and a lucrative ap« pointment had been offered to him as 9. railway which was being extend- ed. The advantages that would accrue to him were great. He would gain im- mensely in experience and knowledge. and he would make, money. But. during the first few happy weeks we did not think much of the parting. It was a dark cloud ahead of us. a cloud that had nsilver lining; for when the four years were ended Mark was to return home and we were to be married. I should, he promised me, always have a home in the coun- try. He could never ask me to live in the town. It was in the month of May that we met, and in July we parted. but during the interval we spent the greater part of the time to- gether. Other summer days have dawned for me, but none like those Din which my young lover came in the early morning. while the dew sparkled on the grass. when we walked through the woods and down by the river, not- ing with loving eyes all that was so fair and beautiful around us, return- ing from our long rambles, our hands filled with wild flowers, to find my mother waiting breakfast for us. the table set out on the lawn. Then Mark would linger and pass the morning with. me. He came back in the after- noon. and stayed with us until the moon rose. {How I loved him! Then I saw only the beauty of a. great passion; now I see its pain and its pathos; now I know that the mighty power of love has not been given to us to be center- ed in any creature. Then I had one idol. and alas, I worshipped it! Ihad no life apart from my young lover's. I never tired of looking at .the dark beauty of his face, of listening to his voice. and, when he was absent from me. of recalling every word he had spoken. I had no life. no love,,no care no thought apart from him. I read the love stories of others, written in poetry and prose; but no love was like mine. Surely wise peOple. while they laughed. would have wept over it! If he had asked for my life, I should have given it [to Ihim. as I had given my love. freely and with' a smile. I felt; something like pity for those he did not love; I felt that every girl liv- ing must envy me. Mark Upton cared for me quite as much as I loved him. \Ve spent those weeks in a. land into which no care. no sorrow cameâ€"the fairyland of love and hope. Every hour brought us closer tlolgether, sweeter flowers and the summer bloomed. [the corn grew fields, and the lilacs withered. I do not know whatcomes Into other lives; but I hope that. Hea- ven give such a. glimpse of happiness as mine to all. On one occasion I heard the doctor laughing as he talked to my mother. He asked her if she knew that in some parts of England the beautiful frag- rant shrub known as southernwood wascalled “lad’s love." My mother re- plied that she had never heard it so called, and asked why was it named "lad’s love." I listened half curious- ly for the answer. "Because," hesaid, "it dies in a year. as lad's love often does.” He looked at me as he spoke. and I knew that he was thinking. of Mark's love. which. after all, was\ a lad's love. and mightlive Ior a year or die in a day. But he did not know. He was old and immersed in the cares of a grave profession. How could he understand our love, loyalty. and con- slancyi One evening Mark had gone home: but the stars were so brigh: that I remained out of doors, wal fixing the night sky. The dark blue vault was a mass of Shining. twinkling gold. They were so bright. and clear. and the faint uiystival light they threw upon the earth was so dreamily beautiful. that. l was entranced. "Nollie." cried my mother. “do come in!" "Mamma." I answered. "you come out!" Almost to my surprise she came. and we stood together watching the far- off wonderful orbs. "How bright they are. those boauti-l ful stars!" said my mother. “Ah Nell- v is. how many ihmsand years have they been shining? \\'hat have they seen? And. my darling. how soon they will I be shining on our graves!" But I. with my warm deep loveâ€"II felt no fear of death. Not even the’ stars in heaven shone so brightly or' were so true as my love. I said to her that I might die. but that the level that filled my whole soul never could. ' She looked at me with sud sweet eyes. When the stars shine in the night-sky her leak and her words come back to me. ‘ . ; "Nellie." she said. "you should never ' give to a creature the love that isdue to the creator. 1 have often thought. dear child." she continued. "that you love Mark too much. It is not safe to (enter all your huppinem in one per- son. If anything happens to that one. your whole life is shipwreck ." "more an be no shipwreck bound us by newer ties. while where Mark I answered. strcmg in my faith and love. - My mot her sighed. “lioan gives me more "pleasure. Nellie. than to know how happy you are with Mark. I believe he is true as a man can be." “True as' a man can be. mamma. means infinitely true," I interrupted, "Ah. no my dear Nellie! Men are but. mortal; their power of loving is not infinite. I do not. wish to sadder) you, to cloud your faith, to dim your love or lessen your trust; but I shouldlike to warn you. Love with caution." "There need be no «nation where Qglark is concerned. mother," I rejoin- “I am old." she continued, “.I. have seenva great deal of life. I do not. sayâ€"Heaven forbidâ€"that all menare false, or all women; I do not say that one sex is more (alas than the other: but I have seen iove betrayed, trust misplaced. l have known the honest heart. of a man broken because a woâ€" man deserted him, and I have known a. loving and tenderâ€"hearted girl die because her lover left. her." a I raised my face to the stars shining in their calm eternal beauty. Strong in my youth, ignorance, and faith. I said lightly; "Nothing of that kind can ever hap- pen between Mark and me." “Some loves," said my mother, “last forever, o‘sme for a day; and oh, my dear Nellie. it seems to' me that this last is. in these prosaic times, the commonest form' of love.” "Love for a day!” I echoed. "Ah. thank Heaven that is not Mark’s love!" My mother looked at me anxiously. [ wonder how many mothers have giv- en to their daughters just the same sensible advice, andvjust as much‘ in vain? "Do you quite understand, Nellie,” asked my gentle loving mothler.“what I mean, what I want you to do? Mark is to be absent four years. I do not; say that this love. will change or grow less; but I beg of you to leave yourself one chance. Do not give him such enâ€" tire love, that if he should die or forâ€" get you, or any circumstances should part, you. your whole life would be ruined. Love with caution, Nellie." "There is no need for caution with Mark!” cried my happy heart. To Mark. my handsome lover, Imight give in su‘perabundance this lavish love that filled my heart; and the words of my mother's warning fell on headless ears. I can remember a warm day in June. when Mark and I sought the shade of the tall trees that grew by the river. A refreshing breeze came over the water, and the birds were siâ€" lent in the great heat. \Ve were talkâ€" ing of our marriage. of that bright fuâ€" ture. which. like the June sunshine, had no shadow, Suddenly Mark asked me: "Have you any relatives, Neilie? You and your mother seem quite alone in the world." , I told him that my father was an only child. my mother also, and that I was the same. The only relatives I had ever heard of were some distant ones in America; but I had. none in England. ' "It must havebeen lonely for you. my darling. lrefore I came,” he said. I told him how my home~du.ties and my love of nature, of flowers. trees, and birds had filled my life. I had lived then in the gray of the twilight; I lived now in the light of theglorâ€" ions sun. "How little I dreamed that mornâ€" ingthat fair May morningl was to meet my fate!" said Mark. "Nellie, l shall never forget. how your hair gleamed in the sunshine." I looked up at him with happy eyes: his praise was so sweet to me. "\Ve were talking about relatives. Mark." I said, "Have you many?” "Ours is a very peculiar family," he said laughing. “\Ve have some rela- tives on my mother's side who are very poor; they live in London. On my fa- ther’s side we have some distant reâ€" latives who are very rich; but we do not correspond with either. These rich people have a title too; but I shall never trouble them. If ever I have a title it shall be through win- ning it; if ever I have a fortune I shall have made it." My noble Mark! My whole heart bow- ed down before him; was so brave. so gallant, so independent, as all true men are. _ I never recalled that conversation. those few words, until I knew who Mark Upton’s relatives were. ~.â€". CHAPTER III. “'hen the corn was cut. down, and the ripe fruit; gathered in from the orchards; when the "free and happy barley" lay under the scythe, Mark had grime. When the hour of parting came. I believe Mark would have given up the appointment. with all its advantages, rather than leave me. Twenty times he kimod me with despairing passion and love, left me, and returned. He could not leave me; I could not let him go. My mother said it was use- less to prolong the agony of parting. Mark looked at her with a white set face. _ "I cannot go," he sold hoarsely. lHe had to leave Gracedieu by the. last train that evening, and sail from London on the morrow. He had spent the whole of the previous day with us. and he was at the cottage early on this morning of the last day. Outside the very glory of summer lay over the land. We stood watt-hing the gold- en sunshine with the chill of our part- ing upon us. a. chill more bitter than the chill of death. Mark had loosened my hair, and had cut off a longshin~ ing tress. ’ "That shall lie next my heart. Nell, to them. You are mine. all mineâ€" mine only." I told himâ€"truthfullyâ€"thnt ell oth- er men were to me like shadows. "Prmnise me, Nell," he said as he kissed my lips again and again." “that no one shall kiss you while I am away." "llear heart. what fearl" I cried. Then in my turn I began to exact a promise. “You will love and think of me too. Mark?" I “I shall think of no one else. Nell." "And you will not call any one else beautiful. orâ€"â€"" he interrupted me with a laugh. "Perhaps I should be happier if I could think less of you, Nellie." he said. “My life will be one unoeesing long- ing for you.” “My dear Mark," said my mother, you are to catch the six o’clock .train, it is time you went." His face grew white and a dark sha- “Nellie. just come a little way with me," he said. "Let our last farewell be spoken where we first met.” Once more we stood by the lilac trees; every flower was dead, but thegreen leaves were there still. “I shall leave you here. my darling," said my lover in a low voice. “I shall be four years away from you. Nellie. Promise me that v. hen I return you will meet me here. in this same place. Here, where I met the sweetest love ever given to manâ€"here I shall re- turn to claim my wife. Good-by, Nel- lie..Â¥l "Good-by, Mark," I whispered. For one brief moment he put his fate on mine; he kissed my brow and my Lips; for one moment. sweet and bitâ€" ter as death. I lay with my head upon his breast; and then he was gone. There wvas a blinding mist all around me. a surging as of great waters in my cars. A sharp and bitter pain seem- ed to pierce my heart; I felt my whole frame tremble. Then the blue sky. the green earth. the trees and the river were all one. and I‘l‘celed and fell up- on the grass. I could not weep; I could not cry out. No word came to relieve my dumb anguish and despair. -. “Oh, child, be warned," saidmy mo~ ther that evening, “he warned! You must not give to any creature the love that belongs to One only." I lived through itsâ€"through the rest of the long bright days, through the sunny evenings, the moonlit nights. For some weeks I had no companion save despair. I wept WILSS/T"fl' I was alone, but I dared not let my nfifirer know how sorely I grieved. Four years, four long dreary 'years I must wait. but there was hope at the end. He would come again, my brave young lover. My mother h~elp~ ed me by setting me to work. Icould make so many beautiful things for my future home in four years, she said. I could paint; I could do ahundred things that would fill the time. and I should know that I was working for him. One whole year passed by. Every mail brought me a letter, a glowing love letter. and I was growing happy again. Only three years to wait now until I. should see Mark under the films again! Then clouds began to gather. .lEr. Upton, who, although he had laughed at us as young lovers, had al- ways beenyery kind to me. died sud:- denly. Ila fell down in the street. and was'carried home senseless. He never spoke again. He died the same evening. to the grief and distress of every one who knew him. Mark felt his father’s death keenly. He wrote to me more lovingly than rever. He said that l was all that he had in the world now, and that he must. if he could, love me even more. It was in May that the dostor died, and for one year afterward every~ thing went on as of old. I had but but two years more to wait. Time passed more quickly. Only two years! My mother had ceased to warn me. She said no more to me about caution in love. Three years had passed. I remindâ€"- ed myself every hour in the day that I had but one more year to‘ wait. Mark's letters were full of love, full of eagerness and hope. He had been prosperous beyond expectation. He had never missed writing to me. until a. day came when the Indian mail brought me nothing from himâ€"not a. word. not a. line. It was the first time such a. thing had occurred, and my mother tried to comfort me. The next mail brought me a let‘.er. but the one after that did not, and my confidence was goneâ€"I no longer felt sure that by every mail I should have news from my lover. Like the sharp thrust of a sword. an idea came to me one day that the letters were shorter and colder. I hated myself for my miscr- able fancy. How dared I think such [reason of my lover Mark“? Then in the. month of October my mother died. and alter that the Indian mail brought me no more news of Markâ€"not a sin- gle line. ‘ My mother never knew that agreat cloud bad overshadowed me. She did not know that my heart was break- ing because I had no news from Mark. Let me tell it quickly. My dear mother was buried. and I was alone in the world. save for my lover so far awayâ€"alone. save for him, and when July of the next year should come, the four years would be ended. and he would return. I thought deeply over my plans. It seemed useless now to leave the cottage; it was best for me to remain there un- til Mark came home again. Our old and faithful servant, Dorothy Clarke.was sufficient protection for me. I had money enough for one year. and Ihad my little income of twenty pounds per annum also. I had thought once of going away. but. whither should I goâ€" whnt could I do? And I must be here when Mark returned. \Vhen Christmas came I was still waiting. in dry-eyed, mute anguish. for the letter that I was never to 're- oeive. I wondered often that golden hair of which my lover had been so even when I am dead." he said. "Pro- I proud had not turned gray. I was raise me that no hand butmine shall touch these golden curls of yours while I am away. You are very beautiful Nell. although y-ru do not seem to ' know any-thing shut it: and men will ar'unire you: but you must not listen I helpless in my great grief. I wrote to lMark. I told him that my mother Ewes dead. and flint I was alone in the icottage. waiting for hima-that neither dow came into his eyes. ‘ _._ _.____________. 1have happened to himâ€"anything, ev- erything would I believe. except that he had forgotten me. I never thought of that; it never occuer to me as a solution of the mystery of his silence. There was no _one to whom I could appeal for news of Mark. Bisfather was dead; the rector of Gracedieu had not heard from him for many months; the lawyers who had forwarded the money realized by the sale of his fa- ther’s property had not'reoeived any communication from him since he had sent the formal receipt for it. There was 'no one in Grncedieu who knew his present address. There was nothing to be done but. waitin patience as test Icould. Ev- ery morning hope revivedin my heart; every evening it died. Every morn- tag I rose. praying wildly to Heaven that I might hear from Mark that. day; every night I lay down to sleep with bitter tears because a letter had not come. Every morning. week af- ter week. month after month. Iwent up to the gate to meet the postman. He neVer had anything for me. I c. knew ; that I wanted an Indian letter. and he would look at me with a. pitcous shake of the head. and pass on. But one morning when the snow lay on the ground and the bells were chimâ€" ing the postman came. no cheery "Gnodâ€"Inorning" as he. plucâ€" ed the letter in my hands and hastened away. He knew what had befullen me. Inside the envelope was my last. letter to India. returned to me through the Dead-Letter Office and on it was written in an official hand. "Gone awayâ€"deft no address." ‘ I‘o Be Continued. A .urvrâ€"II IVIN’DER \VRIN KLES. “Speaking of the somnambulist.” said the Cheerful Idiot. "he at least is no idle dreamer." The Poetâ€""Which of my poems do you think is the best?" Sheâ€""l havon‘b read that one yet." like an actor does he?" He~“No; and 'he doesn't not like one. either." {Heâ€"“My heart is on fire mil; lofe for you'l" She, coldlyâ€"“Vell, as dere is no inzurance you hathetter put dot fire oudt." degeâ€"“\Vhy did you steal the comâ€" plainant’s turkeys?” Colored" Prisoner -"I-Ie had no chickens, your Honor." Miss Ethelâ€""I wonder if that gentle- man can hear me when I sing?" Maid â€"“Of course he can. He is closing the window already." “Those new neighbors seem to be great borrowers." ° "Borrowes? One night when they gave a dinner they borrowed our family album." Patienceâ€"“\Vhat is the cheapestâ€" looking thing you ever saw about a bargain counter?" Patriceâ€""A husâ€" band waiting for his wife." He lV'ou‘ldn't L’o.â€" Friend â€"â€" "\Vouldn't you like to have me sit here and shoot at the poets when they come in?” Editorâ€"“No. You are too poor a shot.” \Villieâ€""»Mamma, can people leave parts of themselves in different places?“ "No; don’t be ridiculous!" “Well, Uncle 'Dom said he was going to South Africa for his lungs." Brownâ€""Do you know that the ma- jority of physicians are comparatively poor men?" Jonesâ€""No, I wasn't aware of that; but I know some of them are awfully poor dootors." ‘Authorâ€"“W'hat do you think of my new book?" Friendâ€""It certainly con- tains much food for thought." Author â€"“Do you really think s03" Friendâ€" "ch; but it seems to have been wretchedly cooker ." “Want a. situation as errandâ€"boy. do you? Well, can you tell me how far the moon is from the earth. ch?" Boy â€"â€""\Vell. guv'nor. I don’t know, but I reckon it ain't near enough to interâ€" fere with me ‘running errands." He got the job. "Oh. my friends, there are some spee- tacles that one never forgets!" said a lecturer, after giving a graphic des- cription of a. terrible accident he had witnessed. "I'd like to know where they sells 'em," remarked an old lady in the audience who is always mislayâ€" 'Lng her glasses. A Loy being asked to describe pa kitten said; "A kitten is remarkable \ Sheâ€""Mr. Footelightly doesn’t look for I‘ll-9113118 like mad 9-1 “Uihing “’hflt- agus because the orifices of them fit,- ever,,aml stopping before it gets there.” It must have been the same boy who thus defined scandal: "It is when nobody ain't done nothing and somebody goes and tells." Among the Reasonsâ€"“You enjoy coaching, do you? where the fun comes in. One looksco like- a darned fool. sitting up on a three-story wach and cavorting war the highway to the tooting of a born." “I know it, but it isn't every darned fool that can afford it?" A young colored philos'Oph-n‘ was em- ployed in one of our stores at a salary of 83.50 a week. He told his employer one morning that he was about to leave, having got. a better place. "A, better place?" echoed "what wages are you to get?" "Three dollars a week." "But that is not so much as you get here." “No,” said the boy; "but then it's better to do less and not get so much than to do more and not get enough." Fuddyâ€"“Talk about saving women! I suppose my wife is the most econo- mical woman going." Daddyâ€""What has she been doingnowf” Fuddyâ€""Shc has been wanting a new cloak, and the other day she said. ‘I wish I had fifty dollars to get that char: with!‘ Then she thought a moment. and added. 'No [won't he extravagant. I wish I had forty dollars. Perhaps I might be able his silence no? disease shack my faith. to get it for that! Now. that’s what LBe might be ill; on accident might if (all economy." . He bade me: I never could see' his employer; 1 I mun THE shines REMARKABLE SURGICAL OPERA~ TION IN ST. LOUIS- ? â€" Dr. Bunny's Performed a Complete Txchlen. of the Stomach o! Pom-ml Beck. “ha Sum-red from Cancer -â€" Beck R~ covered from the operation. but “as Too Do Mlllalnl lo the. “'hnt was regarded at St. Louis. as the greatest surgical operation of the age was performed at the Rebekah Hes- pital lust \Vedncsday morning. and the fact that. it gave promise of complete success was responsible for the dis~ closure of the details. It. was the exâ€" cision of the entire stomach of Conrad Btu-k. a machinist. 46 years old, of St Louis. . In several ways the operation was more arduous and compli-mcd than the 1similar and successful undertaking at Zurich, Switzerland, on Sept. 6.1897. :of, Dr Carl Sclilatter. who removed the I whole stomach of Anna Landis, a workl' . ing woman, 65 yeam old. Each opera- tion was impelled by cancerous growth that mom-wed the patient's life. Beck was the first man in the world to submit to such an undertaking. Dr. A. C. Bernays, who performed the op- eration is one of the most eminent «ur- gieous in the West. He was nSSislcd lry Dr‘s. Robert Wilson, Frank M. Floyd, and Spencer Graves. Dr. Bor- nays gave out. a. carefully prepared statement of the \‘ALSG as follows: "The patient. was sent me for opera- thO by Dr. Suluma, who had diagnosed the (use as an incurable CANCER Ob‘ THE STOMACII. lly sexerc hemorrhages and pain. arm by inadequate digestion. all caused by the cancerous tumors, the patient was muco reduced in strength, and bud lost about. 27 pounds in weight. Dr. Summa thought that as the tumor had not given rise to obstruction. a remov- ‘al of the grouth could be fllltlmpl.l‘tl. It was thought that only a portion of the stomach was involved. "0n “rednesday morning I opened the abdomen in the usual way, and up- on examination of the stomach it was found that the major curvature was not involved at all, that. the disease was lo- cated. along the minor curvature, and that it extendel the whole length from the esophagusto \Vilthlll an inch of the pylorus. This latter outch of the stomach was entirely free from disease It was found that all of the organs ex- cepting this small portion of about one inch would have. to be removed in order to give the patient a chance to get well. This micrzilion was done. and the lower end of the esophagus was united to the pyloric end or outlet of be stomach. “l have three or four times in past years operated on cases in which the removal of the entire stomach lulullt have resulted in a cure, but. never have~ had the knowledge necessary to war- rant me in the operation and have also lacked in courage. '.l.‘.hc recent suc- cessful operation by Dr. Schlatler in Zurich oration, in my opinion. based upon the exteriemce of Wednesday morningnvill'l. it is porfurma nee never become 1L common one. xercedingly difficult of and requires great resourcefulness and endurance on the part of the surgeon and his assistants. _"'l‘he (unratiun lasted two hours and 51x 'minutcs. It was somewhat differ- ent from Scihiluilcr’s. The patient is DOING li'AIRLY WELL. in fact, the danger of shock and hem- orrhage is [why over. and if he does not, get, well it will be from the impos- sibility of: properly nourishing him." The difference between the St. Louis operation and Dr. Schlattcr's is in the fact that the Swiss physician removed blue pyloric; alnd effected n. suture lien tween the upper end of the jejunum and the lower extremity of the esoph- lngus. Dr. Floyd explains that Dr. Schilatber must. have experienced hm difficulty in concluding his Operation 1 than did Dr. Bernays in finishing his.‘ i "It. was much easier," he says. "to join the ends of the jejunum and esoph- .t.exl with much more nicely. lint the .upper orifice of the pyloris bcing of ’greatcr dimensions than the lower end :of the esophagus, the junction in the operation on Beck was HGWSrIITIly a It:in of greater difficulty." Though the continuity of the pati- ieu-L's ailmentary canal was restored by I the suture 2 Jet‘WI nourishment-i. idoolare the cancerous growth had at» l . 'tampd such extent, there was not the slightest. hope of Beck's recovery be- fore the operation. , The history oflk‘t‘k's casein almost l t? sum-z as that of A'rrna Lnnvlis. She. l l‘r'l. i tor a while, however, she resumed cat- ing in. the ordinary manner, and on ll luff. hell. :sumexl two hours and a half in his operation. Later. Beck died late Friday nlght. The surgeons say the alteration was nevertheless a scientific triumph. the mndition alone pa tie nt'B (ll‘fbl Al to {mi frustrating permanent huvcess. .â€".~.â€".â€".. *A«.. . ANOTHER MYSTERY EXPLAINED. Mr. Lynch and his friend wq-re illn- cussing family names and their hist- ory. _ _ “Hm did your name originate?" ask. ed the friend. 0h, protnbly one of my ancestors «u at the grasping kind that you ' been nlnut so often. gave ban u: ‘ynch.’ andho took an ' "‘1'."=':-v.ms. 2 :mr " ' ‘ Wind» ' gave us Stuns. encouragement; amd furnished :1. precedent, but the op-l between the pyloris and ,esophagus. Beck was sustained with in- 'l'he surgeons “"1124 nourished by injections. .Af- Dr. Sclilaltcr con- WW g---a,.... m- .;..._‘ ..'_..’.-._... a h... .y-..“ . , . u~mp<~o ......._.._. m .. . ‘ ‘ W~Wmvfi VT. ’. .... ._ .:v__.___.._. .ww-7 ,: “I. ..â€"A_.__.__..__.__ _,-.._