J § 4 LOVE'S LINK. noon of day, way Followed the slow-borne bier where mute her lover lay. bridal band, of heart, and grand wonderland. with cloudless skies! no stars arise! each other's eyes. And then, for swift and sweet converging tide, turned aside The hopeless girl who wept smiled on the new-made bride, —[Agues Lee, in Donahoe’s Magazine AS A GONSEQUENCE. MARY A. SAWYER. Deacon Albany sat at the tea-table. was a warm night, the east wind wat had tempered the day’s heat having died away, and his coat, worn because of the presence of a guest, made him uncomfortable. His eye was stern, and his voice almost irri- table. as he addressed his niece who sat at the head of the table. “Then youn and Sarah won't neither you ?"’ he asked. “‘No, uncle we are going toa party. I told you this morning.”’ “We positively cannot go to prayer with you to-night, Deacon Albany,” said Sarah Cooke. 3 might spared, but who could or would have a party without Meg?” The deacon groaned aloud. He pushed aside h cup of tea, and leaning an elbow on the table, looked hard, strong his rho, young, pretty, ired in a it ti + i 1 L of or ni meeting Lie be is lance t with niece, | comingly att pink calico, sat quietly tea. You young things will some dav,”’ he said. it alarming hand eluteh on you, cry out an’ smite y« in an’ trembli Il be then to gi find an ain't held forever an’ forev hilst dancin’, an’ di ! way o salvation. It'll be shut you'll find." He waxed warm, his voice had a high which brought his would not go on | to couldn't he harm was there little gathering of should go on 20? n fear too late the door shut, shut open olks is the spoke, and . 3 it ote in it, wished he said Why What niece's cheeks. She ike that, she o herself, stirred him calmly. : gy difference in St rah (Cooke looked ut much death-beds con Albany?” Meg stared at glared at her, he said sharply, ®.r of pre and ask me Awixt the an’ the death-b sinner! I don’t believe there said Sarah. are sick enough to die are of she asked presently her, and ‘Ido I hear ve ; joy $k the fessin if much dif- People who k to is ference,” too sic have any fear of anything ‘You don’t talkin’ about.” Know what you are replied the deacon. ‘You haven't never seen folks die, an’ you don’t know. But 1 have seen folks die, a plenty of ‘em, an’ | tell vou there ain't no more heart. rendin’ sight than to see an verted sinner writhing an’ about, all in an agony of fear, groan- in’ an’ eryin’ aloud, an’ knowin’ in his heart that he has put it off too long, that a life-time of remorse is his sure portion in the next world. Oh, it is terrible, terrible! And here you be, you two young things, put- ting it off, an’ dancing and feasting. ‘stead o’ going to prayer-meetin’ an’ findin’ out the way o' salvation.” Saral. listened quietly. had often attended the weekly prayer- meeting, where she had heard words $ uneon- tossing she con's lips. Meg, also, was familiar with thers. Ordinarily they seemed to her simply a part of the table- conversation, to which she need make no reply. To-night, they roused in her a spirit of defiance, ‘I don’t believe there's much dif- ference,’’ she said “What's that, hey?" went on boldly. “I'd guess if it was you and me, just as quiet as you would. I ain't a mite afraid of making a great fuss when 1 die. Deacon Albany rose and pushed his chair against the wall. of auger faded from his face, his voice was less hard. "'I have been a right- eous man, "he said,” and I expect to die the death of the righteous. has no terror for the righteous man, fear, no clinging to life, no remorse. Such will be my death-bed, but for you, my child, I am sore afraid.” He went away out of the room. His boots creaked, and he walked on tip-toe, as if the grim, shadowing presence were waiting upon the threshold. The two young women were silent for a few moments after his departure. There had been a quiver in his voice which touched them, Meg was the first to speak. “I sup- pose I ought to go to prayer-meetin 'more,”’ she said. "I suppose i ought to go to-night.” bled a bit of bread into fine frag-| ments, whilst Meg, in whose oars] watched her absently, Suddenly Barah spoke. “Don't | you want me to make you a few day's| she asked, Meg's eyes shone, as she answered | “Don't I? Will you really? | Sarah mimicked her earnest voice. | | inviting myself, I think I will. A week later, the deacon, Sarah and Meg were again seated at the Mez had removed the first course, and had brought on a steamed | The sight of it moved the deacon to | movements, however. “Don’t be scared of gittin’ on too much sauce,” he admonished. ‘‘Pudding without | put it on plentiful, You can’t have too] much of either in this life,” falling, almost unconsciously, into his won- ted phraseology, *‘‘pudding ’ serious His manner wus grave, his voice so that Sarah stifled the laugh Here was man, said to herself, really good man; what mattered it i fing he good sie and religion? It was the deacon's favorite pud- He had partaken very freely lamb and green peas and So freely, in- deed, that Sarah, watching him, felt a sudden fear lest the pudding would But the deacon’s ca- desire, A second and a third helping were given him, and he ate with incre satisfaction. An amiable itself pushed back hi 3 . ) head against the 885.00 of roast asing benevolent smile h face, and | wir and rested wall. He was a fast eater, and Meg and Sarah had not i He looked air of pride ana spread over his 10 8 ¢ his finished their dessert. tionately and with an his niece, “That is as Sarah elping, if 1 lurking fear « the deacon, ch canned fruit on Sarah. We and our own nd there's always garden, hings you can said string raise Or presse; n things a plenty the 1't hold to buying ur own soil.’ biueberries will r and lamb isn and 3 too old to cook. why Albany, canned goods peas YOU § nust ves, I idn't kr supy ow those were © MORO they and Sarah, ned canned said ‘are both ntthatit isa pity people are by eating Deas 80 poisoned ifted his . of the head. eely he had to question the Ig natural esaw a wretched af- position y + maovion how fr to the id, youn know,” iy toying with never eat vary freely of canned fruits, since there is ontinued Sarah spoon. ‘I shall the risk, but I am not nervous and papa them, you them. as mamma are. touch know The deacon rose up hastily and left the room. A vision of a long illness rose sharply before him. He groaned aloud when he reached the wood yard. ‘‘She said her father——and he a doctor—wouldn’t touch them. And [=I ate like a starving beggar.” won t Papa He came in from the fields an hour mrlier than usual that afternoon. Fe said the sun was very hot and the men could finish without him, yet he drew his large cane-seated rocking-chair beside the stove, and sat down in it. ‘““Are you cold, uncle?’ asked Meg. “I guess I ain't feeling just right in my stomach, Marg'ret.”’ Meg was all attention instantly. “Shall I make you a bowl of ginger tea? The water is boiling.’ The deacon assented eagerly. watched its preparation and drank it with avidity, though it was so hot it “You have taken & chill.,”’ said Meg. “You must go to bed as soon as supper is over.”’ To this the deacon submitted with- out a murmur. Perhaps he had taken He drew the blank- shiver: there he had worked without his vest, despite the east wind, he acknowledged gratefully, It was a About seven o'clock his niece came to his bedside. ‘I don't believe you'll need anything more before eleven o'clock,”’ she said, ‘‘we’ll be back by that time. I'll tell James to sit on the back porch. You ean eall him if you need anything.’ The deacon felt himself dismissed to solitude and slumber. He pulled himself together with an effort. '* Where ure you two girls gadding to, to-night?’ he asked. “It is the night of the Fisher's little party,’’ gently. “ You will go to sleep directly and we'll be at home ¥ are quite feverish,” she said. “I must maka you gome lemonade be- fore I go. What a chill you must shiver, at his niece. “If you bought new dress, ’’ he said, his thrifty soul asserting itself, ‘you can go; but you 's over, An’ youan' Sary'd better g 1 His head fell back instantly. last word had sent a sudden, grue- some apprehension to his heart. “Why, what is it, Uncle? A pain?’ The deacon waved his hand impatient ly. *'Go away,” he said, in a husky singing, an’ your mirth-making. Go, Margaret, an’ leave a helpless old man alone to die.”’ “I will not go if you are sick, of course, uncle; but I think it is only “1 am a very gick man,”’ he inter- rupted, in a hollow whisper, “‘an’ I’m growing sicker every minute.”’ “I'll send James for the uncle, shall 17" The deacon moved restlessly. put his hand to his forehe it away again, hastily. and dry. It startled h sprang to his eyes, “I'm a dreadful momned; “I'm on Marg'ret.’’ Margaret smoothed bac) bled hair. “Oh, no,” she cure you. I'll go out him now.” “Tell James to hurry; I 11) nee He It im. was Tears man,”’’ dyin RICK 4 my my & nis tum- said doctor’l] and send him His lips refused to utter the dread- ful word. He gasped and looked with mute entreaty at his neice, Meg's calmness somewhat, but her parting word again st hig heart fluttering “Oh, the doctor wo reassured him said, leaving returned bowl of thorougwort tes a Bpoon She Nias presently, lowed, and hand. came with up deacon ich it the § fy wi greatly her fing and counted the studying ined. **] you know, Deacon Albany. The made with his lips. Sarah ten, deacon Save me, Sain let I will do what bany, but life and Lord's hands The deacon groaned gravity confirmed his sent an icy chill to his heart often he had used them ! by H sick-bed k the impenitent and death,” had poor sinful creature, to face now. The L ve in the midst of do fit FH} (mem Her words How stand. had striven ner. ‘‘Life fears : © with alt he immoned you can't get away from His eyes filled wi tears He felt f for the dying si; ing pity he had He turned with his face ot bear the sigl been 1 3 Sarah heard her pu the stove, nothing. ¥ heart rose the troubled ery rit yet, Lord. Oh let me live!” In a short time Meg returned. ‘1 thought I'd hot water ready.” she want it. He you think ?"’ “They always do in such returned Sarah, tvitable. Low as was her voice the deacon caught the words. gain he uttered a deep groan. Both Sarah and Meg stooped over him. What ity’ they asked. “Where is t pain?’ More loudly still the deacon groaned. He could not His mind was occupied with those fate. ful words—"'in such She knew it then! She, the daughter of a doctor, almost a doctor herself, she knew the symptoms of poisoning. Groan after groan escaped from be. tween his set lips; he extended his limbs and lay in an almost rigid po- | sition, He closed his eyes ft ready y Lord, let me live! some The doctor may ¢ don’t feverish have anid. seems CRSeN, ' it is in. Oracluiar:s is he Shaan. cases, ”’ { tween the groans, Meg stood beside him and smoothed { his damp forehead from time to time. She went out of the room, return. ing in n moment or two, Her face was grave, and the descon, tossing rest. noticed it immediately, Why don’t he come in? Tell him to hurry. ‘Tell him —tell him—'' His voice failed suddenly, and he fell back the pillow Meg hastened goothe him. *' He was away,”’ gnid, “but James left word. He'll be here soon.’’ The deacon opened his eyes and fixed them upon his niece. With an effort he spoke, trying vainly to upon i to she ‘““He can’t help Marg'ret, I'm too late,’’ he said. me now. I'm going, going fast, Death" He broke off abruptly. He shut his eyes and turned his head to the wall, him I'd go like this. Oh, Lord, let me five!’ Meg stole away from the bed, mak- ing an imperative motion to Sarah. Both left ried conference in the kitchen, returned to her uncle's bedside. He was still groaning and restlessly from side to side. Meg bent She touched her lips t “Do vou feel much pain, dear uncle?’ she asked “Oh yes, ves! Oh 1! Oh, I'm going fast, Marg'ret, I'm a—"’ Meg tossing his forehead. yes, yes Again before the dread word he fal. tered, and Meg i and a third time will be well to-morrow ‘Sarah says so doctor.”’ The deacon caught at this faint ra Ion does she HAY ! Whe seeing it Si OODeG kissed him. '’ she and she is almost . 3 | eagerness, she say so? What don’t she do hep—"" Sarah's voice Tell something for mn There was a cheery ri invigorated hi stood be side smile, r mustard pl i thought 1 aster for vour chest Albany, on't find any in the pantry but tl CRN TIE and blueberries | brought from home yesterday [why matier? eon 14 SO what There was a twinkle in he a laugh in her voice, but noticed them not his hand toward the cried. d tr iow: wl both of 3 repeate I'm w« : God! Les oice tremble i with [=I “é i ater It te would surely sarah Ce 0 3 “You.” It ipted rather a turn for exper I've heapd deal power of imagniation, and-——and-——wy I confess Meg MOIR © 5 tern Sarah, iments rein t bovaat great about ia uncle.’ “1 thin blazed Meg And if that k it wascruel ghl cruel! is the way doctors—— “Doctors must make experiments And,” coaxingly to be famous; I was silly, nervous women of our day. Even your uncle would subseribe experiment with his nerves for We nt to cure all the 10 the happier homes Meg put her hand on hers, touched it lovingly. ‘Forgive me said, ‘‘but next time, dear, practice your enthusiasm on Spare my poor uncle, I beseech you.”’ » She » » - * | it did not ease the load upon his heart. his heavy eyes upon Sarah, who stood at the {39t of the bed. “ Father, "ll be here directly,’ said, reassuringly. | “He ean’t help me, no one ean help me! ”’ “I'm dying—dying—dying!’’ “Oh, no, Deacon Albany."”’ replied Sarah, ‘‘ you will not face death this time. It is merely’ ’ protestingly. “You mean well Sairey,”’ he said, in a voice that was high and shrill with excitement, “but you don't know. You're young, an’ you don’t know." “I know you are not sick enough to die.”’ “Don’t tempt me, Bairey.,”” he moaned, *‘ it is death that has come forme. I can feel it. 1 can feel his clay touch. Oh Lord, oh Lord!’ Meg stooped and kissed his fore- head. ‘‘1I hear wheels,” she said. “The doctor will eure you, dear by eleven, at the latest,” She bent unele.” i struck both his listeners forcibly. had never before heard. Both ts meaning, and tears filled their eyes at his closing appeal : Thou me, O Lord, to smooth the pillow of the dying sinner. Help Thou me to help him." '—[Yankee Binde. A River at the Bottom of His Well. While digging a well on the farm of John Walters, near Hartline, Douglas county, Wash., the works men at a depth of seventy-six feet to the blows of the pick. Tapping the side of the wall, they broke into a cavern, with a good-sized stream of water flowing along its bed. They entered the space for ten or twelve feet, but declined to explore the sub- terranean hall any further. The stream was easily diverted into the well, and Mr. Walters will have an in- exhaustible supply of pure running water. The course of the stream was not parallel with the ravine in which the well was being sunk, but crossed it at almost right angles. — [Morning Oregonian. THE JOKER'S RUDGET. JESTS AND YARNS BY FUNNY MEN OF THE PRESS. Time and Money--Gumpie's Good Advice, Ete. Etc CAN CURE ANYTHING The my up all hope of that patient SBurguns-—-Why don't you Dr. Freshlytes? He'd be something. The Old Physician—Ah! famous practitioner? surguns-—-—No, but | Old Physician=To the lod oe t knowledge It 8 necessars call in able to do He is a yo just gradu- A The rain it raineth every day, And I'm by faith 80 crossed It starts when home is far away And my umbrella lost —{ New York BAD CARE. Herald. AND MONEY. The e the for te: W init Passi Al Passing Pit ss i O01 minterfeiter was it Hat are you « what f{ or? 3 URAGEMENT. { Poote=iV il] you | about Spring? Witor—I1 | balance to the work. Poct—What kind of a balacce® : Editor—A balance o! about i £40 iO pay for its publicatic Nn at ad- fake a work of mine there s a. compenaating bank SARCASTIC. He—1 cannot take “No” for an an- swer ShewWell then, No, Sir NI ERTAINTY. In deep thought he wandered along the shore of the lonely isle The sun had set Anon his gaze wandered over the fn 21] | : save him, His lips were moving. “Yes, ' he muttered, “it is still the question of the hour.’ upon whose FROM THE MODERN GIRLS VIEWPOINT. Miss Dainty. Miss Jockerclub—=No wonder. She's 80 effeminate. {Chicago Record. HAFE AND MODEST. No.” said Willie Wibbles, not a bit afwaid of a bicycle.’ “You are quite brave,’ said the young woman, “Oh, not necessarily,”’ rejoined Willie, modestly. ‘‘Vousee, I nevah wide one.” = Washington Star. HOW TO RECOGNIZE iT. Nedders—What's a bon mot? Slowite—Something you always think of after it's too late to say it. “I'm =={("hicago Record, A DIVISION OF LADOK, 01d Soak—1I've got a terrible load on my mind. Cynicus—Liiving your stomach a rost, oh YI Truth. A BOCIAL TRIUMPH. Mrs, Gossippe~-1 hear you attracts ed much notice on your appearance in the social world abroad Mrs. Numoney—| should say so. I WORE ON Ar : $20,000 to $45,000 of diamonds every ball I went te), wee] ( ‘hicago Record, aversoe {rom WILL BE. The Heiress (returned from abroad) ~My husband is a nobleman. Her Friend-—Hush. dear girl! It won't make a bit of difference with those who are your true friends —— Chicago Record. AE IT PROBABLY NEVER IN TRADE. Elder Bister (1994) —Horrors ! Don’t i it giris grandfather mad Younger Sister—Didn Elder Sister—Merey, no T™ Their great. trade, rw tL our ¢ those Upton Honey In ! Our great. grandfather was a | city official. He h 1 years at $5,000 a res ted office for i then worth £5 000 000, — Pu A FATAL IPTOW GEN 61114 Mrs. B.—1 lent Mr. Sweetfern ls Borrowes-——\\ i161 Didn't vou |} Moment for? j—~That believe she can keep Twe I don interesting Facts About a Famous African City. al preg. former ‘h greater area at grandeur g char nich imparts an imposing the str ct in which ief buildings w hols di The Great Mosqus of ) stated few smaller ones, other ch are the an immense . 3 eho 3 ppearmanee, and a ciimate is hot ithy Mic Timi own 0 is not a manufacturing whole life of th being based upon foreign com There are three great high- ways for this commerce—down the river from the southwest, and by two from the north, from Morocco and from Ghadames respectively. Of this gold, which arrives here chiefly in the form of rings, is the staple; and the amount which the city exports is set down at about $100,000 yearly. Salt and the kola- nut, which is used in the place of coffee, are also largely imported and re-exported, as are also tobacco and dates. Rice and corn are brought from Sansanding. English manufac almost the City merce roads commerce, cutlery and ealico arrive from the north and northwest. The fixed population of the town is only about 13,000, but during the trading season—which lasts from November to January, when the nu- merous caravans come from Morocco and Ghadames to meet the merchants ——— LC ——— Pined for Companionship. A romantic story comes to us from the good town of Sidney. It says that an elderly widower called upon to him that he was very lonely. His children had grown up and gone, and he felt the need of companionship. The friend was equal to the emer- gency. He told the disconsolate widower of an excellent lady, a widow, his wife's sister, who would be just the person of all to cheer u his home and make life really rh living. He ended by writing an in. vitation to his sister-in-law to come and visit at his home, and sent his friend to Waterville with it. They drove back together, and on the way entered into a marriage engagement. The wedding is expec BOON, = [Augusta (Me.) Journal.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers