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the builder.
laiden oh stone in its measured place,
t and tower and stair,
and carv inffs that stand on their face ;
£ that my work is fair.
j I know -
jjedoa bt of its beauty and worth grows
strong, work . done;
that my is
, r thought I have held so long
find the
worthy to stand in stone.
Itfcequ estion comes, as its towers gleam
bigii walls of the town,
prthe lower
I raised earth's dirt to thy feet, O sky.
, fragged crystal down?
thy
,inna Robeson Brown, in Lippineott.
THE FATAL MARK,
S this Mr. Rush
w m- ton’s?” It hand¬
e. wans a
1 some young man
•§§1 ~ who asked this
MBjK-, question—a sty
lish fellow, with
^ plenty of light
L whiskers, and the
s {yle of tie and collar. And the
f L w ho had opened country the place door where for him, the
pretty not fashion
people were servant, very but
e, was not a a
Leif. jLjfr. Rushton’s only daughter
If hat a pretty little soul,” he
ignght. [f she turned her head, he
a m as
Uered for a moment whether some
fir [ii, had just slapped such her singular on the mark left
there was a
ifie, exactly like the scarlet print of
palm and four fingers.
But that mark had been there all
maj Eushton’s life, and it was her
U r gtief, her perpetual tease and tor
She had grown morbid about
in these early days of womanhood,
U would willingly have been flayed
fee to be rid of it. But there were
Dconnetics that could remove it.
There the red slap must be as long
ishe breathed, its hateful scarlet at
rting the first glance from every
irauger. home ?”
"Mr. Rushton at said Luke
iobbins, with a how.
"Yes,” said Fanny.
Then she ushered Mr. Robbins into
le parlor and went away ; and in a
t moments the mill owner sauntered
lit was a business call, though not
Hide exactly in a business-like way.
pere lad had been some delay of a train,
the factory was closed when Mr.
Robbins reached Mill Hollow; but
those few words about woolen stulfs
p-ere easily said, and the confidential
clerk of the New York firm of Rink &
Bftwloy knew that the manufacturer
ps a man of strict integrity. The
business was easily completed, and
pen Luke Robbins rose to depart.
“Bat you’re put out of reckoning
py this delay,” said the old gentleman,
and the hotel is a long way olf, and
I should be pleased to have yon stay
lyer night with us, The wife always
te one or two spare bed-rooms, and
upper will be ready in fifteen minutes,
let as have the pleasure of your com
my.”
Thanks,” said Luke Robbins.
Ton are very kind. I feel tempted.”
Then he thought of the pretty face
ith the red slap upon the cheek,
tspete that slap he wanted to see it
gain.
It sat opposite to him at supper
bue.
I ‘The best and kindest face in the
torkl, ’ he said to himself a dozen
iaes. And he did his best to win a
lat from the shy girl, who could not
»rget her tormenting mark until they
it in the twilight on the piazza after
«1. Then he discovered that she
aid talk. As it grew dark, and the
piekens pew merrier chirruped iu the hedges, she
and merrier.
I Mrs. Rushton had a call from some
pighbor I Mr. Rushton, and sat after apart conversing. amiable
kempts to many
asleep. rouse himself, went sound
J
Through the evening shadows Luke
r T the girl’s finely cut profile and
Pijuisitely iaeun shaped head; and the
turned all to black and white
'Con, and blotted out the red mark,
pil m i he her sat robin-sweet as close to her as he dared.
voice charmed
1121 > 8 ud what she said was bright and
: '"T- and he fell in love, as men do,
M an hour.
Men actually do fall in love for au
loar. Women cannot do that. They
retencl to be fascinated very often,
his real or nothing with them at
art.
foor little Fanny gave away her
that night in one whole lump,
always best to keep a little piece,
; can; but sometimes that is im¬
fan le.
. what a beautiful night!” said
Manas she stood on the porch with
Hoi“Such her, after the gentleman had
a fine breeze, and such
ton Judge 110011 Psquitoes do bite dread
w so
j ’ yjh,” said the mother, “and
\mp. We’d better retire.
r>_ p. Vhether your pa will b ft>
r * yvmorrow’s breakfast. H O
. 6k
* e teaC)T8 so unexpectedly. ”
tar “G goes to’ 1 ! an T single twenty
for a iews of life sometimes.
\to bed to dream of
\the next day was all
happy in memory of a parting pres¬
sure of the hand, and a whispered
hope that they might often meet
again.
“What a pity that mark is, ”thought
young Robbins. “She’s a darling
little thing. And I suppose that Rush
ton is a very rich man. A young man
might do worse than be his son-in
law.” Then, as the car whirled him
away, he said to himself, “What a pity
that mark is.”
Nevertheless he went down to Mill
Hollow t very often after that, and he
was with Fanny a great deal of the
time. Fanny’s mother felt that though
this suitor was not rich, he was elig¬
ible ; and she knew that that red mark
was Fanny’s a disadvantage to her Fanny.
old papa was an honest, kindly
man, who loved his daughter
dearly.
Alone together the old people spoke
of the probabilities.
“He certainly means something,”
said mamma.
‘ ‘And they could always live with
us, ” said papa; “we need part
never
from our only one. ”
Our eyes grow used to everything
after a while, Luke Robbins forgot
that there was any mark on Fanny’s
face, unless something particularly
called his attention to it. At Mill
Hollow' every one knew Miss Rushton,
and no one stared at the sweet blem¬
ished face.
He loved her very much at times,
though there were long hours in which
he uever remembered her existence. I
suppose none of us ever quite believe
that the men we are fondest of work
us into their bargaining and ledger
keeping, as we work them into our
sewing and preserving. If he only
thinks of you after dark, you are a
happy woman. If he takes your mem¬
ory out with his dress coat and even¬
ing tie, consider yourself blessed.
Twice a -week, at least, Luke thought
enough of Fanny to buy her a bouquet
or some music, and to spend two hours
on a dusty railroad for the sake of
seeing her.
He felt her love for him in her very
finger tips; he saw it in her eyes; he
heard it in her voice. He was a man
who is happy in being beloved. And
it was not old Mr. Rnshton’s money
that made him decide to offer himself
to her despite the red mark.
Yes, the next time he went to Mill
Hollow he would ask Fanny to have
him for better or for worse. And he
knew that she would say “Yes” very
well.
There are evil moments in every
one’s life—moments that change one’s
destiny for the worst. If only it had
rained one morning; if only Fanny
had fallen ill; if only she had not un¬
dertaken that trip to the city just
when she did, this would be a different
story.
She used to be shy of going into the
crowded streets alone, and even when
with her mother wore a thick veil, and
felt uncomfortable when anyone
looked at her. But now she cared
nothing for strangers’ eyes. Somehow
her blemished face had found favor in
his. Had he not told her how sweet
her eyes were ? Had he not kissed her
hand? "Was she not sure he loved her
—her most perfect of all living men?
Let them stare. The prettiest girl
living was not so happy.
She went smiling down to the city.
She made her little purchases with a
light heart. And then, whiling away
an hour of waiting over a straw'berry
short-cake in a pretty restaurant, she
saw Luke Robbins—yes, really Luke
himself, coming to meet her.
“Looks as if some one had slapped
her in the face,” said a giggling girl’s
voice.
And he turned his head as he sat at
a table and saw her, and went to her
at once.
“Oh, I’m so glad to meet you,” said
Fanny. “I suppose I ought to start at
once.”
“And I’ll go with you,” said Luke
Robbins.
He saw people stare at her as they
passed down the room, Part of the
staring was at the mark, part of it at
the pretty face and figure, hie laid it
all to the mark, as she had all her life.
It made him uncomfortable. But that
his thoughts of her were what they
were, it could not have affected him;
but his future wife, as he already
thought her iu his heart, that was
different. He grew very grave. It was
terrible blemish. In those moon¬ :
a lovers’ walks in the country he !
light all about it, but in
had forgotten it forced itself
bright Broadway how
upon him ! Every one stared so.
In the car which they soon stepped
into, a little child opened its round
eyes, and with a child’s innocent im¬
pertinence, pointed its finger straight
at the mark on Fanny’s face, with an,
“Oh, how funny!” smad iialm at
Its nurse slapped the
once, and turned scarlet herself, but
that did not mend matters.
At the ferry there wa3 a crowd.
Luke had passed Fanny in first, and
stopped to pay the fare.
“Two,” said he.
“The old lady?” asked the man.
“No,” said Luke.
“Oh, that one with the red scar on
her face,” said the man, lowering his
voice. “All right.” said Luke, in
“Confound you!” a
rage.
But the man had meant no rudeness,
nor had Fanny heard him, but Luke \
was excited, confused, agitated. He
hardly knew why then.
They crossed the ferry together, and
he spoke no word to her, nor she to
him. He handed her into the cars.
Then he pressed her hand.
“Good-by, until we meet,” he said,
and stepped to the platform.
There stood one of those white
bearded, red-cheeked old gentlemen
who are always members of clubs,who
are always fast, to a certain degree,
and who affect to be “judges of wo¬
men” in a way that is insulting to
every woman, since it places her on a
level with -wine and horses, having
nothing whatever to do with anything
but her personal attractions.
“Ah, how de do?” said this old gen¬
tleman, grasping Luke’s hand. “Glad
to see you, my boy. Doiug the gal¬
lant, 1 see. No relation?”
“No,” said Luke;
“Thought not,” said the old gentle¬
man. “We let our sisters and cousins
take care of themselves, for the most
part. Pretty figure rather; good
step; but confounded ugly red mark.
A man wouldn’t like that—eh, Luke?”
“No,” said Luke ; “a man wouldn’t
like it.”
Something rustled at his elbow.
“I—I left my parcel, Mr. Robbins,”
said a cold little voice. Fanny stood
there, so pale that the mark looked
pure scarlet. “Thanks. Don’t trouble
yourself. ”
But he went back to the car with
her, aud he would have pressed her
hand once more, only she kept it from
him somehow.
She had heard his speech, “A man
wouldn’t like it. ” She had heard the
speech that caused his answer.
“She heard me,” said Luke to him¬
self. ‘ ‘She heard him—confound him. ”
And as he looked after the flying
car, two tears came into his eyes.
They trickled down upon his cheeks;
he wiped them away. Suddenly he'
felt that he loved Fanny Rushton from
his soul—that this cowardly sort of
trouble that the remarks and glances
of strangers had caused him would
never make him ashamed of himself
again.
“Fanny, my darling,” he said to
himself—“Fanny, my love, your face
is dearer to me for its blemish, aud
you shall know it before I sleep. You
should, were you a beggar. I’ll hide
it from the world’s cold eyes ou my
bosom, darling; and I’ll love you all
the more for it.” And but for the
place in which he stood, he would have
sobbed aloud in his agitation.
"He took the next train to Mill Hol¬
low. He walked up the garden path
in the twilight. He asked for Miss
Fanny.
“She hasn’t come in yet,” said the
servant. “They are so frightened
about her—master and missus—but I
tell ’em she’ll turn up all right.”
Luke’s heart stood still. A pre¬
sentiment of evil tilled his mind. He
had seen Fanny into the car, and the
tram stopped within sight of her
father’s door. So, in the gathering
darkness, two anxious men went down
to the depot, hoping against hope.
“She stepped out on the platform
suddenly. Either she was bewildered,
or she did it on purpose. We were
going full speed. She had a blue dress
and a white hat, and there’s a red
mark on her face. They’ll know her
by that.”
That was the conductor’s story.
That was the story that Luke aud
lather heard at last.
Did she step out on purpose or was
she “bewildered?” God only knows
—no living being. Luke tried to be¬
lieve that what she had heard him say
had nothing to do with it. But it
was too late now to tell her what he
felt—too late to hide her sweet face
on his heart. He could only stoop
over her, as she lay in her coffin, and
press the last kiss his lips ever offered
to any woman upon the cold cheek
that, even in the death hour, bore
still upon it that fatal red mark.
Desiccated Cocoanut.
A writer, describing the manufac¬
ture of desiccated cocoanut, states that
the husked nuts come to this country
in burlap bags containing about one
hundred each, and are sold from the
vessel at $30 to $60 a thousand. In
the preparation of the nut it is first
set ou end and struck with a hammer,
and the shell and kernel cracked at
the same time. The outer shell is then
removed and the nut passed along to
the peelers, who remove the skin. An
expert can shell as many as 3000 nuts
in a day, and a first-class hand can
” The kernels
peel as many as 1800.
are then put through a grating ma¬
chine having a capacity of 7000 a day.
About seventy pounds of grated
material are placed in each of a series
of heated galvanized pans resting on
steam pipes, and from eight to
thirty pounds of granulated sugar are
added to each pan. After drying
about twelve hours the material is
passed through a sieve and packed in
boxes and barrels.—Home and Farm.
So extensive is the eruption of the
volcano Cabuco in Chile that the light
of the sun is obscured from the porta
of Yaras, Octay and Oseno, and artifi¬
cial light is necessary for the ordinary
outdoor occupations.
Vermont farmers are reported to
have realized over $400,000 on their
poultry last fall.
WORDS OF WISDOM,
The heart is no philosopher.
With Cupid salary is no object.
What a girl thinks, a woman would
like to.
Cynicism is one of the shadows which
experience casts.
Melody is the soul of music, as har¬
mony is its body.
We always better ourselves by for¬
getting ourselves.
Sincerity and truth are the basis of
every virtue. —Confucius.
What a flower enjoys, it gives to the
world to color and perfume.
Give some people an ell and they’ll
take all the rest of the alphabet.
An ounce of a woman’s intuition is
better than a pound of her reason.
Bad fences between neighbors always
result in bad feelings between them.
The man who does not respect his
mother is not fit for any woman to
marry.
Carry a man up the mountain and
he will not appreciate the view from
the summit.
Nothing is more simple than great¬
ness, indeed. To be simple is to be
great. —Emerson.
We cannot control the evil tongues
of others, but a good life enables us to
despise them.—Cato.
The price of a man’s land depends
very much upon whom he is quoting
it to, the tax assessor or a purchaser.
Mystery is but another name for
ignorance. If we were omniscient
everything would be plain.—Tryon
Edwards.
As a plaster cannot heal the would
while the arrow is sticking in it, so
prayer will not profit him who regards
iniquity in his heart.—Cawdey.
It is trial that proves one thing weak
and another strong. A house built on
the sand is, in fair weather, just as
good as if builded on a rock. A cob¬
web is as good as the mightiest cable
when there is no strain upon it.—H.
W. Beecher.
Common Sense Eye Treatment.
Dr. F. C. Heath, in a plea for a lit¬
tle common sense in the treatment of
the eyes, says that in treating diseased
or strained eyes rest—rest of eyes,
body and mind—is imperative, and
wind, dust and smoke must be avoid¬
ed. In all eye trouble, the first atten¬
tion must be paid to the general
health. Among the abuses of the eye
to be religiously abstained from Dr.
Heath cites: Reading with a poor
light—requiring the ciliary muscles
to do extra work to sharpen the vision.
This aj>plie3 to dim light, twilight,
sitting too far from the light, etd. ; the
error of posture—stooping or lying
down congests the eye, besides requir¬
ing unnatural work of the eye mus¬
cles; reading on trains. This is a
cruel strain, as the motion of the car
causes such frequent changes of focus
and position as to tax different sets of
muscles. Another fertile cause of eye
disease is reading without glasses or
with badly fitting ones. Aside from
the well known reflex effects of eye
strain the danger to the eye is that ex¬
cessive eye strain is a factor in produc¬
ing disease of almost every part of the
eye, its most serious results being
choroiditis, glaucoma and cataract.
Dr. Heath urges every one to fiud out
just how to take the greatest care of
his eyes aud so preserve his sight
many years beyond the period they
would otherwise serve him. Old age
is the time of retribution of eye sin¬
ners ; but little can then be done in a
special hygienic way beyond occasion¬
al stimutating washes and the careful
husbanding of what sight remains. —
Chicago Record.
Exciting Sport in California.
It is said that in the tule lauds,
around Suisau, Cal., many wild hogs
are found, as ferocious and as hard to
kill as the wild hogs of Germany. One
of these beasts recently killed measured
from the tip of his snout to the root of
the tail more than six feet, and had
tusks fourteen inches long. Though
it had no superfluous flesh, it weighed
420 pounds. The skin on its shoulders
was three inches thick, and as tough
as leather. The hogs have been run¬
ning wild in the marshes for a long
time, and are savage enough to furnish
better sport than some other animals,
which are generally reputed to be
more dangerous. A party was formed
to kill a particular boar that had been
roaming the tule lands for several
years, in spite of the efforts of local
hunters to bring him to bay. The
tracks of the boar was found and he
was traced to a patch of dense reed
grass. The hunters invaded it from
different points, and one of them sud¬
denly came upon the animal. His com
panions heard the report of his gun,
and the next instant saw the man’s
body thrown into the air fully ten feet.
Going to his rescue, a second hunter
was charged by the beast. One shot
brought him to his knees, but even
then he rose and rushed ou his assail¬
ant again. A second ball penetrated
the brain, and he rolled over dead.
The man who was thrown into the air
was not seriously injured, but received
bruises which laid him up for a con¬
siderable time. —New Orleans Picayune.
The Capitol at Washington has cost
the country more than $30,000,000.
NO USE IN IT I
No use in mopin’
When skies ain’t bright 5
Keep on a hopin’—
It'll soon be light I
No use in grievin’
’Bout the milk you spill;
Keep on believin’
That the cow’ll stand still t
No use in rowin’
’Cos the crops is slow;
Keep on a-plowin’
An’ they're bound to gr<vy •
No use ! the heaven
Is above the skies ;
Put in the leaven
An’ the bread will rise!
—Atlanta Constitution.
PITH AND POINT.
A ripsaw—Go it while you’re young.
A wind instrument—A fan.—Truth.
A man who courts trouble will soon
find himself married to it. —Atchison
Globe.
Great men are those who profit the
most from the fewest mistakes. —Atchi¬
son Globe.
A boy’s face always looks as if ho
had just been eating something.—
Atchison Globe.
It is awful to see some people try to
Atchison laugh when they are not amused.—
Globe.
Men never become so old that they
are not a little scared by a bluff.—
Atchison Globe.
Give a friend a club, and he is very
apt to hit you over the head with it.—
Atchison Globe.
The trouble with giving women
spending money is that they spend it.
—Atchison Globe.
Good fortune sometimes comes to
see us in a very shabby-looking car¬
riage.—Ram’s Horn.
When a girl is in love* she walks
away from the crowd at a party, and
plays the piano, in the hope that he
will follow her. — Atchison Globe.
Shakespeare spoke of the seven ages
of man. This proves his discrimina¬
tion. Woman has one and generally
sticks to it. —Philadelphia Times.
A good deal is forgiven a certain
poetess in town; people read her
poetry and remember what a good pie
baker she is. —Atchison Globe.
Express% mean opinion of yourself
occasionally; it will impress your
friends with the fact that you still
know how to speak the truth. —Atchi¬
son Globe.
The man who has no family says his
failure is due to a lack of some one to
“encourage him;” the married fail¬
ures refer to their families as 1 ‘drags. ”
—Atchison Globe.
The father of the twin babies had
been left temporarily in charge of
them. At the end of half an hour ho
weakened. “Angeline,” ha called out
to his wife, in a voice of agonizing
protest, “you’ll have to coma and take
one of these boys. No man can serve
two masters!”—Chicago Tribune.
“What does love care for rank?” ex¬
claimed nobleman!” the young man. “Cupid is no
“I don’t know about
that,” replied the pretty girl. “You
never heard anybody call him ‘your
Lordship,’ did yon?” “No. But I
think it would ba perfectly proper to
refqj: to him as ‘your Courtship. > >>__
Washington Star.
Ethel—“Why, Maud! You havo
spelled lots of words wrong.” Maude
(typewriter)—“Can’t help it. I took
it down just exactly as Air. Knibbs
dictated it.” Ethel—“But, surely, ho
didn’t stop to spall the words out to
you?” Maude—“Of course not. But
I’m familiar with his style of orthog¬
raphy. ”—Boston Transcript.
“Wbv do yon use such peculiar
terms?” asked a lawyer’s wife of her
husband, who had returned home
worn out by his day’s labors. “I don’t
see how’ you could have been working
all day like a horse.” “Well, my
dear, ” he replied, “I’ve been drawing
a,conveyance all day, aud if that isn’t
working like a horse, what is it?”—
Green Bag.
A Backwoods Piano Factory.
“There was a piano factory at
Wartburg, Tenn., before the war,”
said L. D. Dodge, of that State, at the
Laclede. “The singular thing about
it is that Wartburg was about one
hundred miles from the nearest rail¬
road, and in the heart of the Cumber¬
land Mountains. The wood of which
the instruments were made had to be
brought from New York, and then
hauled one hundred miles over
the mountains to Wartburg, which
w r as a German colony. The pianos
were made by a practical musician,
ailt } when an instrument was ordered
Re would finish up the different
parts at Wartburg and then haul them
to the home of his customer, generally
many miles away, and put up the
piano there. One of them is now at
Wartburg, and the building where they
were made still stands, although no
longer used as a piano manufactory.
The town, which consists of about two
hundred people, is away from the rail¬
road, and has not grown since the
war. The home-made instrument made
over thirty years ago is still in good
order and in constant use.”—St. Louis
Globe-Democrat.