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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.