Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 16, Number 10, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 29 August 1885 — Page 6

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THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

[Commenced in The Mail June 6th. Back numbers can be had on application at publication office or of news agents.]

VANITY HARDWARE.

By ALAN MUIR. 3.

PAKT THE SECOND.

CHAPTER XVL RKFKirrAif cm.

Courage, energy, tenderness And rare knowledge of the heart was shown by Sister Catherine. She never lost patience with Vanity she never shrank from reproving her reckless notions and she never lost sight of the method by which she most lead this wandering child of nature into the way of peace.

In one of her devotional books the sister had met this phrase: "The expulsive power of anew affection." She knew that if Vanity's wild longing were to be cast out, something better must first take its place. With a woman of Sister Catherine's stamp there could be no doubt as to what this new affection must be. "There is no life without love, my child," she «pirt one day. "We cannot live without Jove." "Some of us will try," replied Vanity, in a bard voice. "I thought once as you think," the sister answered, with the tranquility of experience. "1 know bettor now." "What love have you found Vanity asked dryly.

Sinter Catherine rose, and went across the room. "I am looking at His image now," Sister Catherine said. "Shall I describe it to you?" "Please," Vanity said, with half curiosity. "Ills face i? palo. His eyes are cast down. Drops of blaod are on His cheek. His hands aro spread out and nailed to His cross." "Oh, I see."

Vanity spoko in a disappointed tone. "1 he only rifujjo for a broken heart, my child," the si ?ter said seriously. "I have looked at Hi» image hanging there hour after ho'ir, 1 have read iu His worn face

that He loves me. I have asked Him to accept my love in return and that I may love others and serve thom, an He did me "I don't understand it," Vanity answered "and I nevor shall." "You can understand that for love of us He suffered and died," the sister continued. "And that those whom He so loved and itied must dewve our love mid pity too. :iero is no heart so broken, no hfe so poor, but it can love Him back, and find joy in loving others as He loved." "I don't understand it," Vanity repeated. "It is quite beyond me."

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But tho good sister, not daunted, renewed her efforts and her instructions time after time, and she found that Vnnity bogan to listen, and to ask questions. The odd reckless fr&nkness of the actress sometimes Allocked the sister, but quickened her interest in this singulnr being. Sometimes she smiled at the way in which Vanity would parry her th "usts. "Vos," Vanity said scornfully, "I am not decoivod. If ever I turned serious, it would only come about because first 1 had turned ugly!" "Butter that," Sister Catherine remarked, ''tlian go through life with a fair face and a ban! and hardening heart." "Yfcs," Vanity rejoined, with impetuous scorn, "but what is such goodness worth!"

Another time she said: "You talk about giviug up my own will. Well, if I had turned serious when I was admired and all that, there would have been my side to it but now "My poor child I" the sister replied, "my poor untaught child!"

Again Vanity remarked: "In one way I am serious enough. I feel dull All the serious peoplo aro dull." "Now, Vanity," Sister Catherine said, "you told me when you heard my laugh outaide in tho garden that you never heard anything so merry in your life!"

So Sister Catherine gradually gained grouud. Sho never lost an opportunity, and she read Vanity's character with rare insight. In spite of all tho sick actress would pour forth in her passionate, brokenhoar tod way, the sister kept repeating that life was love, and that there was a Hfe of love open to Vanity. At times, with accents of scorn, sho would contrast this with Vanity's old ideal and at last Vanity fairly confessed that, her sister's conception of life was higher than her own. "But I should never have even looked at it" Vanity was cai-oful to add, "if the old life had not flown out of my reach. I should have no merit—no bravery in taking it up." "At least, Vanity," Sister Catherine replied, "if you do not take it up you are guilty of cowardice."

That word sunk into Vanity's heart, but she veiled her feelings so carefully that Sister Catherine began to despair. All the tin* the girl's wild recking dream of Willw Snow—her passionate resolve to realise boi ideal, if she perished afterward—her madMM of anger at the thought of being baffled by the destruction of her beauty—were yieldiug to nobler impulses. Vanity's nature was not intrinsically evil. She saw th« beauty of goodness as sometimes they see it who haw never dallied with it, facin both ways, bat have lived in honest neglect. Still, the rebell km of ber proud nature was not soon subdued. Sas hid her better self, and would answer with pride and mockery. At last Sister Catherine said ood day sadly: "Vanity, I must give you ujx.M

Half an hour later she came back to tbe dark room, and beard the girl sobbing on bw bed. It was tbe first sign of softening, and the sound went to the sister's kind heart "There, child, them," die said soothingly «*yoo must not cry lik* that. I was not ancry."

Vanity's full heart emptied itself now. "I hare been so wild and sinful, and my life ts broken up, and everything las gom to pieces, and there is nothing left! But if TOU will help me, I will live as you tell ma •ad not be afraid, and try to do the best caaP

A UtUe incident then sealed Vanity** ra» lotion. Sbe felt her hand drawn gently toward tbe steer, who clasped it fast, after which the sick girl felt tears falling down upon it Hkc rain. And Vanity knew that them were tears of lore and joy, and all that the sister bad said to bar about goodness became a reality in a moment and from that boor bar fiiet wore set upon tlw war

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upon the lawn. Hrs. Hardcastle and Arabella and Tom Pembroke were there and the old lady hoped that at last her grand was about to be crowned with success. A few blossoms still lingered on the flower beds here and there a faded leaf hung on a stripped branch, and stood motionless in the still frosty air one or two wintry birds were piping a few afternoon notes, and the December sun was westering fast It was pleasant strolling on that well-kept lawn.

Suddenly two figures rounded the evergreen shrubbery one was Sister Catherine the other, though closely veiled, they all immediately knew to be Vanity Hardware. Tom Pembroke turned quite pale and trembled old Mrs. Hardcastle bustled off another way, and Maud Neville went to meet her visitor. "I have brought this child to see you," the gjgter said. "She is going to London naxt week."

MnnH Seville came up to Vanity and caught her hands so full was she of what the girl h^d done, and what she had lost, •.hot her tears flowed too fast for speech. "Oh, Vanity, what can I say to you, my brave child? What can I say to you? If it were one's own loss, one might say: 'God's will be doner How can I say it for your "Maud," Sister Catherine said, "God's ways are not our ways. Look here."

Gently as a mother lifts a new-born infant's veU she raised the covering from Vanity's face, and there was all the beauty untouched enhanced, it seemed, by the lingering pallor of her illness, and still more by the tears with which her eyes had filled iu reply to Maud Neville's sympathy. She looked so lovely, so sweet, so chastened, that she might have sat for a picture of the Madonna. "Oh, thank God!" warm-hearted Maud Neville called out, hardly knowing what she sail. "Why did you not tell me before? But you were right the surprise is best. Oh, Vanity, I must be the first to kiss you I"

Which sbe did then, gently holding Vanity back a little, she looked at her: "Not a trace," sha cried, exulting, "not a trace!" "There you are wrong," Vanity replied, a gleam of the old vivacity playing over ber tears "there is one mark."

She showed the place on her left cheek— one tiny pit and with yet another glimpse of her old self, said: "Look herel"

And when she smiled, the mark melted away into tho daintiest dimple in tbe world, and she looked prettier than ever.

After this Tom Pembroke fell in love with Vanity Hardware, head over ears, as plain folk sav. Augustus Neville knew it. His sister Maud knew it. And the redoubtviblo

Mi's. Ilardcasde knew it.

And thus, to make what was in action a long story appear in narrative as a very short story indoed, Tom Pembroke made up his tnind to ask Vanity Hardware to marry him. He concealed nothing. He consulted Maud, he consulted Augustus the two advised together, as husband and wife will.

"O, thank Ood/" warm-heart*d Maud NevilU called out. As Vanity was a guest in tho house of the Nevilles and an orphan without a protector, they all agreed that to take her by surprise would be improper. So Maud Neville said she would acauaint Vanity with the sentiments of her brother, and Inquire if the proposal would be such as she would entertain. Tuis was ell-bred behavior, but Augustus temarked that of couiae a poor giri like Miss Hardware must jump at so dazzling an offer Maud, however, had her doubts. With her habitual frankness, but with tbe utmost delicacy, Maud told the actress bow matters stood but if Vanity bad been an earl's daughter sbe could not have been trea:ed with greater consideration. Mrs. Neville never hinted that, her brother being a handsome youug soldier with three thousand a year, and Vanity a nondescript player with a pretty face for her fortune, the only conceivable answer would be, How .ucky I am I No sbe spoke of her brother with affection and admiration, said a few words about his position an his income, and then wound up gracefully: "After all, the important question for my brother now is not what his sister thinks of his merits, but how you regard them."

Maud had scarcely looked at Vanity all this time now raising her eyes, she saw that tbe actress was pale, agitated and ready to burst into tears. Somehow this pleased Maud. There was no mere feminine exultation about

Vanity,

to

H**

CHAPTER XV1L VAWRRR MLXOCXCW LOV*. ilp*

nor any affected confusion.

It was real feeling that was expressed in ber face, and not such feeling-, thought watchial Maud, as augured well tor Tom Pembroke. "W»ll vou sit down J" Vanity said for Maud had come into her guest's room and was standing beside her. Sit here, please. I have a great deal to say to yon."

Maud sat down. Vanity walked over to the window, and settling herself on a high ottoman, and resting her fao» against the pane, said in atone as of soliloquy: "I wonder how I ought to beginf'

Maud said nothing, not knowing what to say. Presently Vanity looked at ber. "I like ycu. I shall speak freely to you." "Thank you," Maud said. "You are very kind." "Shall I toll you what I have been!—what Iamf "If you pleases" Maud said again, finding in ber wonder nothing else to say. "Fifteen years ago I was a little sickly child with a dying mother, wbo was, oh, so patisat and good! Now she has been fifteen vears an angel in heaven. And a father—oh. God forgive me for what I was going to my "Vanitv," Maud said, with tears in ber "I know all this. Don't say any more." sit still," Vanity said, "and listen to me." "Mamma knew for along time that she most die. What pains sbe took to teach me all *be could! Even nice little way* and movements. Above all she tried to make me goal. I well remember when they took her oat of tbe home—I was not let go to tbe funeral—bow I cast mvnelf down *ia ber empty room and prayed the prayer she taught me, and vowed that I would be like ber. and get to ber as soon as I could."

Vanity stopped- There was no tremor to ber melancholy voice, and ber eyes showed no signs of tears. So much could not be said for Maad Neville. "But that paaaed off," Vanity ooottaoed. "At that time we were fairly protpoaL and there was much to divert my mind. I to

I j-4

tainwi a good position, and I wanted for nothing. He was tolerably kind to me, too, and I bad plenty of friends, such as they were. "Our lire for the next seven years was full of change. Sometimes we had money, sometimes we had none. Sometimes I had twenty dresses, sometimes only one. All fhwt tima I never entered a church, never" thought of anything but gayety and the

Then bad days came. My father to fly and hide himself. "Living in concealment and solitude I meta man who was struck by me, and loved m*. Oh, what a time that was! He seemed to me all that heart could wish. He asked me to marry him. I warned him that I was not fit for him. He persisted, I yielded. I let my heart go. Oh. let me not think of that time any more. It was too wild in its daring dreams. 'Then he deserted me. Some stories were told, and he wa^ weak, and he married another woman. My heart was broken. Then my father—died, and I had a dreadful illness. Then I came to you. And then "All the rest I know. Vanity." "Not alL Not the most deadly part Mrs. Neville, for weeks after I was with you my fixed resolution was, at all costs, to win that man's heart back, to revenge myself on the woman who bad robbed me and blasted my future. I lived that wicked life over and over in my thoughts, and then tbe smallpox came. I believed that my face was hopelessly disfigured. And then, after planning suicide twenty—fifty times in my frenzy and de-

ness. I saw how detestable I bad become. My old passionate self seemed to separate from me and recede further and further, and everv day I despised that image more. Not for all the world would I again be the Vanity Hardware that I was a Tittle while ago. An infatuated, deluded, self-deluding woman, reckless, wicked, all for love of a man whom I pity now rather than care for, since my eyes are opened about myself and him. Ana then I found that my fears bad no foundation. My face was uniujured. Thank God, when I discovered that, my resolution did not waver. No my desire for a new life was more settled than ever."

Vanity stopped. Maud did not speak "Now, Mrs. Neville," Vanity continued, in a somewhat stern tone, "would you like me for a sister-in-law?"1 "I have told you," Maud replied calmly. "Your frankness has not altered my mind." "Would your brother care for me if he knew all this?" "Vanity! who could bear to tell all their thoughts?

You

CHAPTER XV lit

"Visa AND I TALK THINGS OVER

"And now, doctor," miss said, speaking very gravely, "what of Vanity Hardware "Miss," I said, "the young woman states her case well." "Do you like ber. doctor?" K: "Weil, you see, miss," said I, "the young woman sailed very near the wind. Uncommon near the wind."

Miss looked at me in an odd sort of way, her head down, just gazing under her eyebrown—you understand—and touching her lips with the feather of the pen, as of old. "Do you think old Mrs. Hardcastle ever sailed uncommon near the wind?" "Miss," I said, a httle flustered, "that is a hard question to ask ma. You see, she is an elderly lady, and has lived a good many years out and in. What have we to do with Mrs. Hardcastle!" "She disliked Vanity." "True, miss," I replied. "But ir you will excuse a homely man, miss, when the pot called tbe kettle Mack, it was bad language and bad behavior in the pot. But the kettle was black all the same.''

Do yon know, she laughed outright the most good-natured lady ever I saw "And, you observe, miss," I continued, gaining courage, "there was Mrs. Neville— an uncommon nice lady—tbe sort of a lady for my money—she was staggered at. Vanity's conduct for a time. "Mists did not deny it. asft? a "Well, now, doctor," sbe said with a sweet smile, but something sad in it, "Vanity has the offer of Tom Pembroke. A brilliant offer. A wealthy, handsome man Will she marry himf" "Not at first, miss" said I, pondering. "Not all at once. 8he will think of what sbe iadd about tbe statue. In fact, miss, shouldn't wonder if she waits a bit Until, we'll say, she can slip the statue away on tbe quiet Throw it into tbe fish-pood, perhaps." "And then she will marry Tom Pembroke T' "If she does not," said I, "sbe is not a woman, and my name is not John Book."

4CHAPTER

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conquered temptation."

"But ought not your brother to know all I have now told youf "No," Maud said slowly. "I do not see the necessity." "So be it/'

Vanity slipped from her ottoman, and then crossing the room, she took Mrs. Neville by the hand. "There is no necessity for him to know. Mrs. Neville, tell your brother he is good, kind, amiable—I might have loved him once. But my mind was made up some time ago. I shall never love any man again." "Vanity 1" "I am not fit for a good man's love. I know what an evil affection has made mohow near it led me to be what in my better moments I should hate. I will love no mere." "Vanity, Vanity! you are unjust to yourself." "I ave expelled love from my heart. If betrayed my feelings once. It made mo the slave of low, unworthy desires. Love shall enter my heart no more." "You are overdone—excited," said Maud gently. "You think harshly of yourself. Time will soften these feelings."

On a small bracket in a corner of the room was set a statuette, a woman with downcast face and streaming hair, gazing on across which she held in uer drooping hand. Vanity pointed to it. "Strange that statue should be there. 1 have looked at it so often.. It is the ipiago of my heart." "Vanity 1 It has been there for years." "Speak to it," said Vanity. "Bid the bosom rise and fall, and tho cheeks glow, and the eyes light up. Tell the head to rise. And when the marble obeys you. then bid me love again. For that stone is not so dead to human love as I."

... ,. L.~ -..

TERRS TTA HTK SATCHKPAY !EV1B9TNX5- MATT*

XIX.

TH* T.ADT pAINCTPA.li IN OUR SCHOOL FOR Hr S Jr S 9CANUA.W'*? }J$

When Vanity's reply was madb public In tbe little circle, Augustus Neville expressed frank surprise worldly old Mrs. Hardcastle exhibited the utmost bewilderment, for sbe was not able to perceive anv scheme of selfinterest in tbe young person's unaccountable behavior: Sister Catherine was sorry for her pretty disciple, and yet pleased with ber spirited behavior Maad felt grieved for Tom's sake and Tom himself was quite east down, and would have been heart-broken, ooly that a secret pride la the unworldliuess of the woman of his choke somewhat relieved his depression. Now. at least, none could say that Vanity Hardware was an adventuress.

Vanity maintained her resolution, aad asked Sister Catherine to introducs ber to a religious boom, where sbe might devote herself to charitable work. Th* good sister hesitated. "Too an young, child. Too dost know what you ask." "Yes I know well," Vanity mM. "I have made op my mind "On# thing you must promise me, te,* Sister Catherine rejoined, "there must be so vow—no vow for two years, at least" "If you BB," Vanity replied, quietly, "On shall be no TOW.*

perceived that the girl ac­

quiesced so readily because in her secret heart tbe vow bad been already taken and, remarkably enough, Vanity found that day by day successive obstacles arose, and somehow, although the residence in a religious house seemed always about to be begun, unforeseen events caused it to be continually postponed. So matters stood for several weeks.

All this time Vanity and the sister were living auietly in rooms near the Strand, and Vanity was being initiated into various good works, such as visitation of the poor and the sick. She took a certain pleasure in these, but ber chief happiness was the society of her friend, for whom day by day she felt increasing affection. One small morsel of mystery aet her thinking. Twice Sister Catherine went out after breakfast without giving any hint of her business, and each time she returned looking pale and preoccupied. The second morning slje went to her room as soon as she came dome, and remained there for more than an hour. When she came down to the sitting-room, she said: "Two friends are coming to see me this afternoon on private business. Can you write letters, or employ yourself in your own room for an hour or two?"

Shortly after three o'clock, as Vanity sat in ber room, she heard a carriage rattlo down tbe narrow stony street and stop at tbe door. Next came a loud, imperious knock. And a full hour elapsed before the sound of departing wheels aunounced that the visitors had gone. Then Vanity went down to the sitting-room.

Sister Catherine was there. In an instant Vanity saw that the interview, whatever its nature, bad been important. The sister, was deadly pale, and traces of tears were ou her cheek. "Vanity," she said, "I must leave London. Bomething has occurred which makes it necessary for me to live far away from here —in the country."

Vanity's heart sunk, and she grew pale now. bne was to be parted from her only friend. The next sentence, sbe feit sure, would announce it. "I am goiug to live in Warwickshire, in a small village. I have taken a tiny house there in which I lived some years ago." "Yes," Vanity said. No other word would come to her lips. She realized what a child the must be in life after all, when the prospect of being Uft to her own resources so terrified her. "I shall keep one servant, and do what lit tie good 1 can," continued Sister Catherine "The rector and his wife are old friends."

Until this morning Vanity had not known how much her heart and ber life had become identified with ber friend, and her sense of desolation was increased by tbe pang of feeling

how

ber,

much Sister Catherine was to

and how little she was to Sister Catherine. But she maintained her composure, and even answered with an air of sprfgbtliness. She bad not been su actress for nothing. "So 6be said, "these pleasant times are over."

Hermanner qiite deceived tbegood sister, who, disguising her actual disappointment, remarked, with something like uuconcern: "Of course you would uot care for a couu cry hfe?" "Not carer exclaimed Vanity. "Why, did vou think of asking me to go with you?" "I wanted a companion," the sister said. "And, iu fact, Vanity, I am fond of you. But 1 thought

Vanity would hear no more. In spite of ber self-control her feelings got the oetter of her, and she threw ber arms about the ^ISTCR^S DOCIC "I am so happy," she murmured, just like a child. "I thought you were going to send ue away." "And I thought, child," the sister said, not less moved than Vanity herself, "that you were beginning to grow tired of Sister Catherine and her old-fashioned ways."

Act wily, had these two women only djsKerfiblqd a little longer, each with each, they might have parted for life, while desiring, above all things, to remain together I [CONTINUED NEXT WEEK.] sn 'Tis BOZODONT the whole world tries.

TSs BOZODONT which purifies The breath and mouth, and dirt defies, Tis KOZODONT for which we cry, ..*• Sweet SOZODONT for which we sigh, Tis only SOZODONT we buy.

The Praise of Sosodont

like the famous article itself, is in almost everybody's mouth. The people hnow that It preserves as well as beautifies tbe teeth. Hence it is tbe standard Tooth Wash of the Period,

"Spalding's Glue," useful in every house. 15-5w.

Moat Georfffcoosly Apparoled. [Chicago Tribune.] Among the ladies at Long Branch this summer, one of the wealthiest, most "di* monded," and most gorgeously appareled is the wife of a New York barber who has made his fortune in stock speculation. Her husband still scrape* chins, notwithstanding the fact that his wife has "society" aspirations. Most of his customers are broken and railroad men. He pick* up valuable "points" from them, and for that reason insists on remaining in busine-a.

Another woman who wears splendid toilets and jewels is the wife of a Brooklyn baker. Her husband, starting in life as a journeyman kneader of dough, hit upon a kinl of bread that pleased New York's palate, and now he is a millionaire, lives in great style, and maintains one of the handsomest turnouts on the coast

The Doctor Forbade It.

l"

[The Rambler.]

Cholly—I see that you have given up weabing that hat-bani, chappy. W&lly—Yes, de&h boy, had to doctah forbade it, doncher know.

Cholly—Why, where's the hahm in weabing a hat-band? Wally—The doctah said it was such a deusid heavy pwes«hah on me bwain that had to stop weahing it I say, too bad I**'*-

VKRTIOO, HYSTERICS, CONVULSIONS —All Nervous Disorders in fact—are cured by Samaritan Nervine.

RECEIPT FOR PRESERVING UMBRELLA8. (Detroit Journal "Pardon me, sir, but I think you afa carrying my umbrella. I could swear to that ivory handle anywhere. If I had not recognized it instantly I should not have presumed to have stopped yon. The carving was done "Spare me tbe details, please. I have no particnlar upon It." "Then how did it come in yoor possession?" "It was left in my ball last nigbt by a burglar, wbo got away with moat of tbe family silver "I—I guess that my umbrella was a aice larger than that, after all."

EDUCATION IN CALIFORNIA. Mrs. W. E. Chamberlain, wife of Professor W. E. Chamberlain, principal of tbe oeliebrsted Padfie Business College, San Francisco, Gal., writes that from personal experience sbe can heartily recommend lied Star Cough Core to any one troubled with cough, eold or •ore-throat. It gave ber relief at once.

The manner of custom forgea the link of habit. For tbe prompt and certain cure of erysipelas, ass Ayw*a 3amiparilla,_tbe

-Stts^r

_" ___^ ft-:

A Great Blan's Birthday.

Aug. 23 was the anniversary of the birth of one of the world's great men. He was not a warrior, famous for battles, in which he who causes the greatest number of people to be killed is the greatest man. No. It was in the humane and mighty field of science that Baron Cuvier helped tbe world on. It is better to make one Fmall discovery that will be of use to mankind, though your name is never heard of outside your own town, than to conquer a continent by war. •It counts more.

Baron Cuvier was born Aug. 23, 1769, 116 years ago, in Mompelgard, a little town in Wurtemburg, Germany. He had a long name to start on, after the fashion of people in Europe. They seem to have more time over there to pronounce names than we do in America.

BARON CUVIER.

His full name was George Christian Leopold Dagobert Cuvier. FVom the time he was old enough to run about and play, he loved to notica the ways of animals, and to study them in their homes and hiddan places. He was sent to school at Stuttgart. It was tho wish of his soul to be a student of natural history, and to give his life to searching into bis favorite science. Groat men are always learning all their lives. But Cuvier v/as a poor boy. He had to start out early to work for his own living.

Many boys, perhaps most of them, would have thrown over their life plan, when they found they had no money with which to carry it out But not this boy. He was very quiet indaed he never made much fuss about anything, although he was one of the greatest of workers. When he was 18 years old, he became a teacher in a private family. He had been obliged to leave school before completing his course, because he was so poor. Ho was a teacher in the same family for six years. And all these years he spent the time he could spare studying his favorite natural history. He knew the call of every bird, the footprint of every animal, tho nest of every creature in the wood3, however wild or shy. Tho wild creatures loved him brcause he loved them.

But genius cannot remain always hidden, however poor and humble it may be. Some learned gentlemen in Paris heard of the gifted young naturalist, and urged him to come to that city. He did so, and then his fame began to grow. He made in time at Paris the largest collec ion of birds, reptiles and animals in Europe. He placed them in the Jardin des Plants, the zoological garden of Paris. He mad a classified science of the study of comparative anatomy that is, the anatomy of animals as distinguished from man. Zoology had nevor boon a regularly arranged science bot'ore his day. He studied fishes as well, wrote ^booia full of knowledge about them. Upon rows and in caves and earth-mounds are sometimes found footprints, imprint?, and fossil remains of unknown animaLs, monsters, and other strange creatures. They lived before the period of history, and honce ara called "prehistonic." Nobody knew much about these before the days of Baron Cuvier. With his wonderful power of searching into things, and finding cut about them, he took up the subject of fossil remains of animals, and soon tbe world knew nearly all that has been found out about these uucouth monsters. He advanced the doctrine that animal life began with the simplest forms, and from them, from age to age, were grown animals more and more highly organized. There is not room here to mention half the work he did for science.

Honors were heaped upon him by his country. High political and educational offices were given to him, and grand titles bestowed on him. And always his voice was lifted for liberty and enlightenment for the people. Through all his high dignities his head was never turned by vanity, and he was nover so puffed up in his mind that h9 thought he was better than other persons. He remained the same simpb, hard-working student down to the end of his life. Death found him still busy with his studies and plans for science and for the good of his fellow-man. He was a genius, because he could do everything he undertook, and do it well.

The portrait of him here given does not show the shape of bis head fully. After his death his brain was weighed and found to be the largest and heaviest on record. He was also said to be the most beautiful man of his time. He was so kindly, so pureminded^ and intellectual that attar awhile it just showed through in his face and made him far nobler looking than other men. He died suddenly erf paralysis, May 18, 1833.

Tho Oldest Apple Tree In Exlitenoe. On the land of an old gentleman named Hotchkiss, living at Cheshire, Conn., is an apple treo supposed to beat the present time no less than 180 years old. It is said to be the last of an orchard planted by tha first settlers in that neighborhood. Mr. Hotcblriaa is over 80 years ol! age, and he has known and owned this tree for nearly half a century. Some years ago he informed a gentleman that when he was a boy he heard his grandmother say that sbe used to play in her early childhood under its then broad and sheltering branches The body of tbe tree is four feet

1

diameter up to the point where the limbs branch out. There are five main branches, each of which te nearly two feet in diameter. Its height is sixty feet, and from its outermost branch®! apples falling perpendicularly lie upon tha ground thirtvtbree yards apart! Mr. Hotchkiss said that he had picked up and measured 125 bushels of good sound apples out of one year's product of this tree, and he estimates that ft has borne from ten to twelve thousand bushels from the date of its being planted up to the present time.

Aroond tlM World os a Bicycle. Thomas Stevens is riding around the world on a bicycle. He crosses the oceans fat steamers and doe? the land portion nKmnfwl upon his wheel. He expects to in Turkestan, China and Japan in that way.,

Growing.

[Texas SKftiags-l

Baby only one year old, Fair and sweet as a daffodilly -J":' Hair as bright as the crinkled gold

Hid in the heart of a water Illy. Baby only two years old, Tongue Uke a piping Bob Lfneoln,|HB Trills mor# songs than can e'er be told

Or ever a birdis would dare to think on. Baby is only—who's boa stealing

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ECZEMA

And Every Species of Itching and Burning Diseases Positively Cured.

UCZEMA, or Salt Rheum, with ing itching and burning, instantly relieved by a warm bath with CUTTCURA SOAP and a simple application of CUTICORA, the great Skin Cure. This repeated daily, with two or three doses of CUTICURA KKSOLVKNT, the New Blood Purifler, to keep the blocni cool, the perspiration pure and unirritating, tbe bowels open, the liver nnd kidney active will speedllv cure Edema, Tetter, Ringworm, Psoriasis, Lichen Pruritus, Scalded Head, Dandruff, and every species of Itching, Scaly nnil Pimply Humors of the Scalp and Skin, when the best physicians and all remedies fail.

Will McDonald, 2W2 Dearborn st., Chica-. go,gratefully acknowledges it cure of Ecsema rr Suit Rheum, on hand, neck, face, arms, and legs for seventeen yesrs not able to walk except on hands and knees for one year not able to help hlmse for eight years tried hundreds of remedies dootors pronounced his case hopeless permanently cured by Cuticura Resolvent (blood purifier) internally, and Cuticura Soap (the great skin cures)-, externally.

Chas. Houghton, Esq., lawyer, 2S State St., Boston, reports a case of £czema under bis observation for ten years, which covered the patient's body and Mmbs, and to which all known methods of treatment had been applied without benefit, which was completely cured solely by the Cuticura Reme--dies, leaving a clean and healthy skin.

Mr. John Tlilel, Wilkesbarre, Pa., writes:: "I have suffered from Salt Rheum for over eight years, at times so lad that! could not attend to my business for weeks at time. Three boxes of Cuticura and four bottlesResolvent have entirely cured mo of this dreadful disease.

Sold everywhere. Prlne: CUTICTRA, 60 eta. RESOLVENT, #1.00 SOAV, 25 cents. POTTER DRUG AND CHEMICAL Co., Boston, Mass. Send for "How to Cure Skin Diseases.,'*" "DT?ATTT1Fy the Complexion and Skin OAJA by using the Cuticura Soap. "TfKKD AND ACHINO MVSCLKS. crying through countless nerves for rest and relief." Like manna to the children of Ifrnel is the Cuticura

Plaster to (he tired, overworked,, aching muscle. Do not deny yourself the comfort afforded by this new, original and speedy

antidote to pain and Inflammation. At tlruggisls, 25c. Jive for SI.(X). Mailed free. Potter Drug and Chemical Co Boston.

SANFORD'S RADICAL CURE FOR CATARRH

Wltch-lIazel.'Amarican Pine,Canada Flr^ Marigold, and Clover Blossoma.

A single dose of Sanford's Had leal Cnroinstant'y relieves the mo^t violent Sneezing, or Ileau Colds, clears the Head as by'magic, stops watery dlscharues from the Nose and Eyes, prevents Ringing Noises In the Head, cures Nervous Headache, nnd subdues Chills and Fevers. In Chronic Catarrh it cleanses tho nasal passives of foul mucus, restores the senses of smell, taste.'nnd hearing when affected, frees the head, throat, and bronchial tubes of offensive malter, sweetens and puilfiesthe breHth, stops the cough, and arrests, the progress of Catarrh towards Consumption.

One bottle Radical Cure, one box Catarrhal Solvent and Stanford's Inhaler, all In onepnekaee, of all druggists for 81.00. Ask for Sanford's Radical Cure.

Potior Drug and Chemical Co., Doaton.

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I I kin. For the relief and prevenQwl««"ilVO' tion, the Instant It Is ap\\/Ol.TAic/ /plied,of Rheumatism,Neuralgia, Sciatica, Coughs,

Wenk Back, Stomach, ami

"Tj"? Bowels, Shooting Pains, y' Numbness, Hysteria, Female Pains, Palpitation,

Dyspepsia, LIverComplaint,

/T F'CTRI eV Bilious Fever, Malaria, ami A.' Epidemics, use Collins" (an Electric Battery combined with a Porous Plaster) and luugh at pain. 25c. everywhere.

mm

KJ ELY'S

HftFEVER

Cream liHlm,

Cleanses the-

Head. Allays Jn-

llamatlon. Heals-

the Sores. He­

ld res the Senses Taste, Hearings

St Smell. A quick

Relief. A posi­

tive Cure. Cream Halm has gained an enviable repu­

tation, displacing all other preparations. A particle is app led Into eaoii nostril no pain agreeable to use. fOcts at Druggists. 60 eta by mail regNtci ed. Send for circular.

ELY BROTHERS, Druggists, Owego, N.

Y.

AYER'S

Si

Ague Cure

contains an antidote for all malarial disorders which, se far as known, is used in noother remedy. It contains no Quinine, nor any mineral nor deleterious substance whatever, and consequently produces no Injurious effect upon the constitution, but leaves the system aa healthy as It was before the attack..

WE WABEA9T AYER'S AGUE CUBE to cure every esse of Fever and Ague, Intermittent or Chill Fever, Remittent Fever, Dumb Ague, Bilious Fever, and Liver Complaint caused by malaria. In case of failure,, after due trial, dealers are authorized, by our circular dated July 1st, 1882, to refund tho money. Dr.J.C.Ayer&Co., Lowell, Mass.

Sold by all Druggists.

RUPTURE!

Th»

WriT-GJLAD-and

nc» tr»« has a spiral (pring

UAT*D PKKS5UKK yitklt toe^ery motion retaining tbe Hernia alwajrf. IT CURM. Worn dty aad night with comfort. Enclose stamps fat cirbalar. Used is both Hospitals. Ladie* Trusses

SpcciaJtr. AUK year druggist. KCAN'SIM* TRUSS CO.. Box ad, Ana Arbor. Mich.

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-FOR

Man and Beast

Mnstang Liniment is older than most men, and used more and more ere