Newspaper Page Text
THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
W.” A MAHS(HAiK,} E4llr* nod Proprietor*.
AN ANNIVKUSAUY.
In a chamber o’d aad oaken,
In a faint and faltering way,
Half a dozen words were spokeo,
J nst elevens are to-day.
What was bound and wliat was broken,
Liit a woman’s conscience say.
Half a dozen words excited,
Whispered by a lover’s side;
Hi'f delighted, half afrighted,
Half in pleasure, half in pride :
And a maiden’s troth is pli'hted,
And a false lovGkuit is tied.
Has a maiden not a feeiing
That can swell, and sing, t > Mill
Came not o’er her spirit stea hi l
Thoughts of things that wer beiue
In her hart did no revtaMng
Tell her lova was something mo 1 a
l; arely lmif a dozen glances.
Half in earnest, half fu mirth—
Five, or six, or seven dances
Wnat is such a woo’ng worth?
Courtship iu which no romance is,
Cannot give a trne love birth.-
Passion is a pain and power
Slowly growing nnto might,
Bi long vigils, not the hour
Keal love is not at sight;
’fis a weed : ’its not flowe
That arises in ani ht.
Lightly is the promis e
Lightly is toe love-k
And the maid redeems th
Living at her husband’s side
And her heart-it is not broken,
But it is not in its pride.
With the years shall come a feeiing,
Never, may be, felt before;
She shall find her heart concealing
Wants it did not know of yore;
Silently the trnth revealing,
Keal love is something more.
Chamber's Journal.
AIINT ELINOR’S EASTER OFFERING.
Such consternation as the news of
Nell Earle’s runaway marriage caused
the staid inhabitants of Newton to be |
likenel only unto the shock of a severe
earthquake. It was a social earth
quake, shaking to the very foundation
all the old-timed theories and beliefs in
the wisdom of Solomon even, for does
he not say, “Train up a child in the
way he should go, and when he is old
he shall not depart from it ? ” There
fore, when everybody in the whole
town of Newton knew that, from a little j
child, Nell Earle Had been not only
trained but drilled to march through
the straight and decorous paths
ladies are expected to promenade, and
with the sternest of captains at her head
in the person of her Aunt Elinor—when
everybody knew this, and then heard
suddenly that Nell had “broken ranks”
ungracefully (disgracefully some put
it), and that just on the eve of her
marriage to the grave, to the dignified
old Professor of mathematics of the uni
versity she had started off one blight
May morning in a simple buff linen
suit, and taken the train for New York,
where she was met by the Professor’s
young son, and then and there married
him instead of his father, and sailed
for Europe the next day—this was the
terrible shock that made the New
tonians tremble. If Nell Earle, whom
everybody thought the “ prettiest be
haved” and “ best brought up” girl in
that part of the country, would act in
this outrageous way, what were they to
ff ar from their own wild, wilful daugh
ters ? . .
Aunt Elinor was almost distracted
when she read the letter that reached
her the morning after Nell’s departure.
“ I am sorry, dear auntie,” it ran,
“that I have been obliged to do, in
going away from yon in this manner,
what I feel to be a wrong toward one
who has filled for me the place of
mother. It is undntiful and unkind,
but, auntie, you have wronged me as
well. Was it not undutifnl and un
kind, in you to insist upon my marry
ing a man for whom I felt only a filial
respect ? I told you I did not love Pro
fessor lioder. I begged you to let me
say ‘ no’ to his repeated solicitations for
my hand, and I did not ever say 4 yes ; ’
I answered him, you remember, ‘Give
me time to consider.’ You both took
it for granted that in time I would au j
swer affirmatively, and you then,
auntie, announced my engagement and
ordered my trousseau without one word
of encouragement or acquiescence from
my lips. I thought sometimes I would
just let things go on—it would please
you, and I do owe you a great deal, and
I wish I could please you as well in the
different choice I have made. I thought
I would let things go on ; the Professor
was good and kind, and I wonld try to
make him happy, and I would strive to
let respect crowd out and kill the tiny
seeds of love that lay in my heart, only
waiting for a word from the rightful
lips to make them take root and blos
som. And, auntie, the words were
spoken at last, and last night when
Karl Roder met me on the rustic bridge
down by the brook, and told me all—
and asked me all—then I answered all.
How could I consent to beoome a
mother to the man whose wife I gladly
am ?
“ I hope in time vou will forgive me.
I ask your pardon for leaving you in
this way. I saw no other. I had not
the courage, after all the preparations
you had made for my marriage with the
Proff as or, to announce to you my deter
mim tioa to marry his son. We sail for
Europe at noon to-day. Dare I hope
that, if I ever return, you will meet me
with a kiss of forgiveness ? We have
forwarded a letter of explanation to the
Professor, which, I trust, will be re
ceived in the spirit with which it was
written. Affectionately, your niece,
Elinor Earle Roder.”
When she had finished reading the
epistle, Miss Elinor took off her glasses,
folded up her letter into four folds,
then tore it up into four times four,
and threw the pieces out of the window,
where the fresh May breeze caught
them up and whirled them down the
garden walk.
“I will never receive her into my
house again. I cast her out of mv
heart, as I toss her letter to the wind ,
aud Aunt Elinor sank back into the
chair, and went to rocking furiously.
Professor Roder was walking slowly
up the village street, about that time,
his head bent down in study, as usual,
and a letter which he had just gotten
at the postoffice still unopened in his
hand. Just as he reached Miss Elinor’s
pate one of the little white squares of
Nell’s torn letter lighted on his black
gloved hand. He looked at it closely
and read, “I did not ever say ‘yes I
answered him, you remember, 4 Give
me time. ’ ”
The Professor recognized the writing
and the words. He stooped then and
picked up one or two other bits that lay
at his ieet. “I told you I did not love
Profe-sor —“waiting only for a
word from the righlful lips.” “Could
I consent to become a mother to the
man whose wife I gladly am ?”
Ah, Professor, only tiny bits of the
mosaic, but the whole tablet of mys
teries is understood now.
Very slowly walked the grave Pro
fessor up the garden path. Miss Elinor
eaw his approach, and met him at the
door, her face aflame with shame and
indignation.
“ Before any explanations, madam,”
said he, “allow me to read this letter
from my sou, received this morning
and then he seated himself, and read
through twice the announcement of Ui
son’s marriage, and the little plea of
love and supplication for forgiveness
signed by both.
After a long silence, in which the
song of the young robins in the cherry
trees outside sounded very sweet and
near, the Professor arose, and with his
hat in his hand, said : “ Madam, I
think we have both forgotten that
spring-time and young love go together.
I remember it now. I congratulate
you upon the gain of a nephew. Karl
is a good boy. I in turn await your
congratulations. I have a daughter,
and one whom I shall always love dearly
as such. Good-morning 1” and taking
his cane, the grave Professor walked as
slowly down the garden walk and np
the village street, and no one in Newton
ever heard him say another word on the
subject. He answered one or two who
questioned him, however, as to the
whereabouts of his son. “My son and
his wife are abroad on their wedding
tour. I hope to see them upou their
return.”
Aunt Elinor was not so forgiving to
the delinquents nor so reticent over her
wrongs. She declared to every one she
knew that she never wanted to see
either of the runaways, and was so elo
quent and indignant over the whole af
fair that it quite annoyed the Professor
at last.. .
“If you will allow this matter to rest,
madam,” said he one day, “ I will for
get the offense, and forgive the offend
ers and as the Professor was quite
well off :‘t this world’s goods, and Karl
his only child, Aunt Elinor thought
maybe it would be best to say no more.
The summer and winter that followed
her niece’s departure seemed very long
to Aunt Elinor. She had time to
think now, and to feel that maybe she
had done wrong in urging Nell’s mar
riage to the Professor. “Heis an el
derly man,” thought she, “and Nell
was young enough to consider him ‘old,’
and I used to think Karl liked Nell.
After all, maybe Nell made the wisest
choice ; only she need not have done it
in such a disgraceful manner—running
away ! No, I cannot forgive her. If
the Professor chooses to philosophize
over it, let him. - I can’t overlook the
affair !” and Miss Elinor always ended
her soliloquies with a warmth of manner
that forbade argument. But as the
winter’s snow melted away the resent
ment and unforgiving spirit in Aunt
Elinor’s heart toward her niece gradu
ally thawed and grew softer and milder.
It 'may be the Professor’s “philosophy”
helped temper her anger; at any rate,
he continued his visits at Miss Elinor’s
just as usual. In spite of the uncom
fortable recollections one would suppose
the place held for him he went regularly,
until at last the village people began to
whisper their “who knows,” and “ you
sees,” and all the rest of the prophetic
words that usually foretell a change in
the spirit of middle-aged dreams. And,
therefore, no one was very much as
tonished to hear the announcement at
last, that after Lent the Professor would
take up his abode altogether at Miss
Elinor’s, and that Aline in that
case would sit in the Professor’s pew m
the church, and preside at her table as
“ Mrs. Professor Roder.”
Easter Sunday came early in April
that year, and the old robins in the
cherry-trees were just beginning to twit
ter about building their nests, when late
on Saturday evening, as Miss Elinor
and the professor sat in her little sit
ting-room planning their short wedding
trip, which was to be taken the follow
ing week, a timid knock at the door
was heard. Miss Elinor arose and
opened it and beheld before her on the
door step a little oval-shaped basket.
“What is it?” asked the Professor
coming forward with the lamp. 44 An
April joke, I suppose.
44 Oh, no. *An Easter offering, ”
read Miss Elinor from the card attached
to the basket. “Someone has sent
flowers for the church, I suppose,” she
continued, kneeling down to open the
basket as she spoke.
The lid came off then, and there lay
the sweetest, cunningest little babe,
who opened liis great, brown eyes and
smiled up into Miss Elinor’s face.
“ What does this mean ? ’ gasped the
Professor, nearly dropping the lamp in
his astonishment.
“It means, dear father and Aunt
Elinor, that we have brought you our
Easter offering, and beg that for our
child’s sake you will forgive and bless
us ;” and with these words Karl Roder
and his wife stepped out of the shadows
and stood before the Professor and Miss
! Elinor.
Surprise and joy, laughter and tears,
explanation and forgiveness all followed
these words, and very soon the little
sitting-room was a very carnival of mer
i riment and happiness, of which baby
I was the king!
“And a little child shall lead them,
quoted the Professor, as he pat the
baby in Miss Elinor’s arms. Miss Eli
nor "admitted this “philosophy,” and
heartily kissed her niece and nephew in.
token of her forgiveness.
“ And to think we are grandfather
and grandmother!” exclaimed Mrs.
Professor Roder, as she tied her bonnet
strings before starting on their tour.
“We are a very suitable match, my
dear,” answered the Professor, “old
and old together, young and young to
gether, both then contented and happy
together!”
“ And behold here the 4 new genera
tion ’ —the 4 coming man,’ ” cried some
one holding up the baby, who laughed
and crowed loudly.
44 Yes,” replied Nell laughing. “ Baby
represents a great deal, but in no char
acter that he has appeared has he met
with more decided success than in that
of Annt Elinor’s Easter Offering !”
Hearth and Home.
A “Blasphemous” Picture.—Speak
ing of the Cocorau Gallery in Washing
ton, a writer says: “Especially is it to
be hoped that advantage will be taken
of the earliest excuse to remove from
these walls Oabanel’s ‘Death of Moses,’
a picture which the people pass by with
brows contracted in horror, as if they
listened to blasphemy. For here in
dull color and unattractive form the
artist has insulted the beauty of holi
ness, and angels and greater than angels
have not been spared the sacrilege of
his touch. It is time that the world
should know the bad taste of attempt
ing to portray any higher being than
man, for such delineation can be noth
ing better than gross caricature, it mat
ters not how brilliant and reverend the
1 imagination that oonceives it. In re
ligion is there no resort between the
painted angels of superstition on the
one hand and the blank of skepticism on
the ottier, and would not a slight infu
sion of pantheism elevate the former
and win to it souls from the ranks of
the latter? What wonder that we are
becoming a raoe of unbelievers, when
we oonsider tlie nature of the Sunday
school books forced upon the children,
and the gloomy shapes which the beau
tiful people and stories of the Old Testa
ment assume in our pictures,
LKXIN&TON.
BE OLIVEK WENDELL HOLMES.
Slowly the mist o’er the meadow was creeping,
Bright on the dewy buds glistened the sun,
When from his couch, while his children were sleep
ing,
Bose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun,
Waving her golden veil
Over the silent dale,
Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire;
Hushed was his parting sigh,
While from his noble eye
Flashed the last sparkle of liberty’s fire.
On the smooth green where the fresh leaf is spring
ing.
Calmly the first-born of glory have met;
Hark ! the death-volley around them Is ringing !
Look! with their life-blood the young grß9 Is wet!
Faint is the feeble breath,
Murmuring low in death,
. “ Tell to our sonahow their fathers have died
Nerveless the Iron hand,
Baised for its native land,
Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side.
Over the hill-sides the wild knell is tolling,
From their far hamlets the yeomanry come;
As through the storm-cloud the thunder burst roll
ing,
Circles the heat of the mustering drum.
Fast on the Boldier’s path
Darzen the waves of wrath,
Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall;
RSd glares the musket’s flash,
_£harp rings the rifle’s crash,
Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall.
Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing,
Never to shadow his cold brow again;
Proudly at morning the war steed was prancing,
Seeking and panting he droops on the rein ;
Pale is the lip of scorn.
Voiceless the tTumpet horn,
Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high;
Many a belted breast
Low on the turf shall rest,
Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by.
Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving,
Bocks where the weary floods murmur and wail,
Wilds where the fern by the farrow is waving,
Keeled with the echoes that rode on the gale;
Far as the tempest thrills
Over the darkened hills.
Far as the sunshine streams over the plain,
Boused by the tyrant band,
Woke all the mighty land,
Gliirded for battle, from mountain to main.
Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying!
Shroudless and tombless they sunk to their rest—
While o’er their ashes the starry fold flying
Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest.
Borne on her northern pine,
Long o’er the foaming brine
Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun :
Heaven keep her ever free,
Wide as o’er land and sea
Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won!
Insects and Flowers.
In the ninth of a series of valuable
papers, communicated by Hermann
Muller on the fertilization of flowers
by insects to nature, he shows that
butterflies effect the cross fertilization
of Alpine orchids. It seems that from
12 to 15 per cent, of the orchids of the
lowlands are fertilized by Lepidopters,
while from 60 to 80 per cent, of Alpine
orchids are fertilized by the same kind
of insects. This corroborates, he says,
his view that the frequency of butter
flies in the Alpine region must have
been influenced by the adoption of
Alpine flowers.
Muller has also shown the wonderful
modification brought about in the legs
and mouth part of bees by their efforts
in fertilizing flowers.
Lnbbook’s charming little book on
“British Wild Flowers Considered in
Belation to Insects,” has just appeared.
He says that while from time immemo
comparatively late that we have realized
how important insects are to flowers.
‘ ‘ For it is not too much to say that if,
on the one hand, flowers are in many
cases necessary to the existence of in
sects, insects on the other hand, are
still more indispensable to the very
existence of flowers, * * * There
has thus been an interaction of insects
upon flowers, and of flowers upon
insects, resulting in the gradual mod
ification of both.”
In another place he adopts the start
ling and probably correct view that to
bees and other insects “we probably
owe the beauty of our gardens and the
sweetness of our fields. To them flow
ers are indebted for their scent and
color —nay, for their very existence in
their present form. Not only have the
present shape and outlines, the brilliant
colors, the sweet scent and the honey
of flowers been gradually developed
through the unconscious selection ex
ercised by the insects, but the very
arrangement of the colors, the circular
bands and radiating lines, the forms,
size and position of the petals, the
relative situation of the stamens and
pistil, are all arranged with reference
to the visits of insects, and in such a
manner as to insure the grand object
which these visits are destined to
effect.”
Lubbock has also continued his ob
servations on the intelligence of in
sects. He confirms his conclusions
presented last year to the Linnsean
society that the bees can distinguish
colors. He then recounts some experi
ments on the sense of smell possessed
by bees, on the power of recognizing
their own companions, and on the dif
ferent occupations of different bees,
mentioning observations which seem to
show that the bees act as nurses during
the first few weeks of their life, and only
subsequently take to collecting honey
and pollon. He also records a number
of experiments on ants, which certainly
seemed to show that whatever may be
the case with bees, ants do possess the
power of communicating detailed facts
to one another.
Easily Understood.
Every booby knows that it is rude to
take another person’s seat as soon as it
is vacated, and that it is an unpardon
able offense to sit in one chair and put
his feet in another. The subtle philos
ophies of the rudeness of those actions
he probably would take a lifetime to
learn. Even after he had received such
indignities many times he would be
puzzled to know why they gave him
such offense. Chesterfield himself
probably never analyzed the actions, or
resolved them into their elementary
significance; the first meaning, “ I pre
fer your room to your company; the
second being equivalent to saying, “ I
regard the ease of my feet ancl this
comfortable position more than I do
your tired limbs, or your offended sense
of propriety, Ido not care if it is dis
agreeable to you to look at the dirty
soles of my boots.” Let us analyze an
other common rale of good society :
“On entering a house or room, always
speak first to the lady of the house,
and always take leave of her first.”
Why should we do so ? Because the
house and room are for the time hers.
She gave’the invitation or permission
to enter. You ars for the time her
guest, and under obligations to her.
She is entitled to your first and last act
of respect and attention. Having paid
her that attention, be sure not to
monopolize her time and conversation,
because she bas other guests to enter
tain as well as yourself. Several lady
correspondents have asked if it was
proper to invite a gentleman escorting
them from an evening party to oome in.
Ask yourselves, 44 Why should I ask
him to enter?” Has he not been with
you all the evening, and walked home
besides ? Can he not call some other
time, and unless he has been agreeable,
why should you ask him even to call
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, MAY 6, 1575.
again ? It is as much his duty to ask
permission to call as yours to invite
him to do so. What right have you to
disturb your parents or the members of
your family at a late hour with a casual
acquaintance who has accompanied you
home from a party ?
Odd Cures.
Graham, the once famous qnack, was
wont to exhibit himself plunged to the
chin in mud, a mud-bath taken regu
larly being his specific for insuring a
century of health, happiness, and hon
or. Every physician at the time treat
ed mud-bathing with ridicule, but in
the present day the celebrated mud
baths at a certain German watering
place are among the recognized means
of ameliorating several disorders. Gra
ham was not wrong; he only took a
quackish way of announcing his theo
ries. There is apparently a curative
power in earth. Not long ago, a man
employed at some iron-works near
Melksham managed to get himself
fixed in the narrow part of an iron
tube, and when he was extricated, was
to all appearance dead. His mates dug
a Hole in the ground, put the uncon
scious patient into it, and filled in the
earth, leaving only a small hole for him
to breathe through, should he draw
breath again. In a very short time
he showed signs of returning life, with
his own hands cleared away the earth,
and a dram of brandy set him once
more on his legs, little the worse for
his mishap. Joaqnin Miller’s earth
cure experience had a more ghastly
ending. Traveling with a mining-party
in California, six of them were sudden
ly struck down with scurvy, and there
being none of the usual remedies at
hand, an old sailor suggested the trial
of one, which had saved a ship’s crew
in some land in the tropics. This was
simply to bury the men upright as far
as their chins, until the earth drew the
poison out of their bodies. Six pits
were quickly dug in the warm alluvial
soil, and when the sun went down, the
men were placed in them, and the earth
shoveled in around them. It was a
beautiful moonlight night; and the
operation completed, the invalids chat
ted gaily together ; their shaggy heads
just bursting through the earth in the
fitful moonlight, made them look like
men coming up to judgment; their
voices sounding weird and ghostly, as
of another world. After a while, one
by one they fell asleep, and all was still.
Their comrades then stole away and
sought their cabins. When they rose in
the morning, and went to see how the
bnried men fared, they found that the
wolves had come down in the night, and
eaten off every head level with the
ground 1
The Boy on Labrosse Street.
When a Labrosse street boy is play
ing “hop-scotch” on the walk and his
mother comes to the door and asks him
to split some wood, he replies that he
will be along in just onejgilij^gk
door and says:
“ Wilyum, I want that wood !”
“I’m coming right now,” he replies,
and then goes on hopping here and
there on one leg.
Another ten minutes flies away, and
she opens the door and says :
“ Wilynm, if you don’t get that wood
you know what your father will do !”
“Just ten seconds!” he calls back,
and he enters upon anew game.
The next time she calls she says :
“ Young man, it’s almost noon and I
can’t cook dinner without that wood !”
“I know it—l’m coming now,” he
replies, and he stands on one foot and
holds a long discussion with the John
son boy as to whether the game of
“ hop-sootch” is as good a game as base
ball. He has just started to hop when
a boy whispers :
“ Hi, Bill ! there’s your old dad !”
“Great snakes!” whispers Bill, and
he goes over the fence like a flash,
grabs the ax, and daring the next two
minutes he strikes two hundred blows
per minute. He gets into the house
ahead of his father, and as he drops the
wood he says :
“ Mother, the boys were just a sayin’
that I had the handsomest and best and
goodest mother on Labrosse street, and
I want to kiss you !”—Detroit Free
Press.
An Unfortunate Debutante.
A sad accident occurred to a young
debutante at an amateur musical enter
tainment in Washington a few nights
ago. The beautiful creature walked to
the foot-lights with the grace of a queen
and the ease of a professional. She
warbled the first stanza like Nilsson.
The aocompanist struck up the inter
lude, and of oourse this was the time
when the fair singer should raise her
4 lace-kerchief ’ to her face. With a
regal curve of the left arm she did so,
her eyes fixed on the admiring audience,
when horribile dictu, a most delicately
constructed silk stocking displayed it
self in wavy folds. It seems that ner
maid in her excitement had placed a
stocking in the place where the other
article ought to be, and hence her ludi
crous mistake. She stood transfixed,
resembling an auctioneer of hosiery at
a bankrupt sale. The audience roared.
The buttons flew, and stalwart men
grasped their sides in fearful agony.
Fashionable ladies forgot their propri
ety, and just screeched. Of course the
best thing under the circumstances for
Mile. Blank to do was to faint. She
did it as well as Clara Morris could.
Up rushed Senator ; he seized a
pitcher of water and soused the pros
trate form of the untortunate singer.
This had the desired effect, and so it
would any female when her SSOO dress
was ruined. With a whizzing sound
she left the platform; the entertainment
was ended; the fair singer has taken
herself to a nunnery.
The Death or Dan Bryant.— Daniel
Webster O’Brien, better known through
out the country as “Dan Bryant,” the
most popular Comedian that ever played
under a mask of burnt cork, died of
pneumonia in his residence in New York
at 20 West Sixtieth street on Saturday.
He was born in Troy in 1833. in
1845 he made his first appearance on
the stage as a dancer in Yauxhall Gar
den, the occasion being a benefit toVhis
brother Jerry, and from then he fol
lowed bis profession of oomedian almost
constantly, and with ever-increasing
popularity. In 1857 he aud his
brothers, Neil and Jerry, organized the
troop known as the “Corkonians,” and
opened Mechanics’ Ha 11,472 Broadway.
In July, 1863, he essayed the Irish char
acter of Handy Andy in the Winter
Garden Theatre, and so successfully
that he changed his line of acting and
figured as an Irishman until 1868, trav
eling as a star in this country aud Eng
land. In 1868 he returned to minstrelsy,
and in 1872 his snug little theatre in
Twenty-third street was opened. He
leaves a wife and five children
ADVENTITIOUS.
Wallins; tor the Crack of Doom-Healing
the Sick-Feet Washing—The Last Sup
per-W’atching the fllldniKht Clock-
Bitter Disappointment Weeping a ,,d
W'ailing-Extraordinary Scenes.
Chicago Tribune, April 21.
The Tribune gave yesterday a neoes
sarily brief account of the collapse of
the Adventist folly at midnight. The
thunder storm, which came np early in
the evening, and which brought such
dismay to many who were secretly pnr
turbed,carried the assemblage to an es
tatic pitch of feeling. They eagerly
peered through the windows, and be
came jubilant as the storm swept along
and the lightnings flashed. It was
during this excitement that a woman,
who had sought out the Adventists and
joined herself to them that day, asked
Elder Thurman to heal her of a neural
gic complaint that was affecting her
with great pain. Laying his hands on
her head in a reverent way, he said :
“I say nnto you in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost, be thou made whole.” And
immediately, according to the woman’s
profession, the pain left her, and she
began praising God.
At 8 o’clock, the table being set and
all made ready, they sat down. The
oeremonyof feet-washing was first in
order. The chairs were placed with
their backs to the table, so that the
gaze of the men and women was turned
away frome one another. As these
ceremonies ar ;<jcedent to the supper
had reached until after 9, the Advent
ists were pretty hungry, and fell to
with a good will. Little children who
had fallen asleep during the foregoing
exercises awoke, and betook themselves
to active exertion, and the assembly
put on a picnic appearance.
Under the nineteenth head—“ Some
interesting conversation with those who
love Jesus”—each, beginning with the
man sitting to the left of Elder Thur
man, rose, and made some remarks.
They were all characterized by a tone
of depression and a nervous assertion of
continued faith. When it came to
thubman’s time,
it was not yet 12 o’clock, but despair
was visible on his face, and his voice
was deep and solemn. He began by
speaking of the ardent longings he had
cherished for the coming of Christ.
Even if he himself were lost he wanted
to see God’s elect. His voice fell into
the measured sing-soug in which he in
tones his prayers, and became inexpres
sibly mournful as he went on.
“I confess that I begin to feel sad,
and my heart sinks within me. I have
no time fixed at which I expect to see
the Lord, except midnight. But I did
expect that he would appear at Jerusa
lem when it was four o’clock in the
afternoon here, and then I expected the
sign of the Son of Man. I will not
despair to the rising snn, but how can
I extend the prophetic dates longer than
midnight, I cannot see. It has been
my study for thirty-two years, and,
again and again, and yet again, have I
whether there oould be any mistaae;
but I could find none. The same
prophecies that show that Jesus is in
deed the Christ point to His second
advent to-night. St. Paul says : ‘ But
ye, brethren, are not left in darkness,
that that day, should overtake you as a
thief.’ Yet, if this night fails, I am
unable to see for my life, after much
mature deliberation, how mortal man
oan ever find it out. I have not followed
the traditions of men. I have proved
by chronology, by astronomical obser
vation. lam quite unable to see how
I have been mistaken.
“ If, after all, I have deceived you,
will you pardon me ? Will you forgive
me? I have done the best I could,
God kaows. ‘ I have finished my
course, I have kept the faith.’ I thank
my God for that. I have done what I
oould, I can do no more. I have felt
the burden of you upon my heart, for
I felt that I carried you in the arms of
my admonition. [Here bis voice
faltered and trembled.] I wanted to
present you to Jesus. I can bear the
burden no more. I leave you in the
hands of God.”
While he was speaking, sobs and
groans went up continually from the
assemblage. Many of tne women
wept bitterly. Most of the little ones,
wearied with the protracted vigil, were
asleep lying on the shawls and wrap
pings that had been pl aced in the cor
ner. The men looked wistful and sad,
but it was not yet 12, and some hope
still lay in the narrow circuit that the
minute hand of the dock had yet to
traverse. A tall, gray-haired man be
gan to speak in a tone of encourage
ment, and expressing the love and ven
eration which they all cherished for
Brother Thurman. Thurman, who, in
his desolation, still kept on by sheer in
ertia in the groove in which he had moved
along, announced mechanically—“And
when they had sung a hymn,” thus in
dicating the tim* when it was necessary
to sing in order to imitate the Last
Supper of Christ. The hymn, 44 Long
we’ve been waiting for Christ to come,”
was then sung in a dolorous way. The
dock still lacked a minute or two of
12, and it was watched as a criminal
might watch the approach of the hour
of his execution.
THE MINUTE HAND TOUCHED TWELVE,
and a deep groan ran through the
assembly. The disapfxhntmont seemed
to strike into Thurman’s heart far too
deep for tears. There was a self
abasement in his manner as he rose,
and in the same monotonous intonation,
but with a tremulous voice said :
44 Brethren, lean on my arm no longer.
My reckoning is all up. I leave yon
in the hands of God. It is as much as
I can do to straggle on for my
self. I will try to do the best I can.
If there is any more light to be had, I
will search for it. I bid you all fare
well.”
Then followed a pitiful scene. Wo
men wrung their hands in bitter anguish;
strong men buried their faces and wept
and groaned. The violent descent from
ecstatic joy to terrible disappointment
bruised and crushed their spirits.
Thurman sat still and murmnring as if
dazed and stupefied with the greatness
of his calamity. The work of his life
time had fallen to nothingness. The
firm footing of his faith had suddenly
slipped from under him, and the horrors
of darkness encompassed him. Of dif
ferent calibre from his followers, his
grief could not find vent in demonstra
tion of feeling, and nothing assuaged
the bitterness of disappointment. Some
of them tried to say kind and comfort
ing things to him, but he seemed to
heed nothing. Still adhering to the
programme as the fixed thing that yet
remained to him, he rose to pronennoe
THE BENEDICTION.
Continuing with a tremendous voice he
said: Oh Lord, we oame according to
Thy word. Hast Than not said that ‘in
the time appointed the end shall be?’
O Holy Parent, hear the prayers of
Thy people. Come, O Lord Jesus,
come quickly. All will come to desola
tion unless Thou return again. We
have taken Thy word in all the sim
plicity of little children. We have
tried to do our duty. O Jesus, Thou
knowest our hearts, that we have tried
to do Thy will. We can do no more.
We give ourselves into Thy hands say
ing, ‘Lord save or I perish.’”
He then sat down again in moody
silence, while his followers went on
groaning and weeptog. The Tribune
represnetative approached him, and,
after making some expression of the
respect which Elder Thurman’s conduct
had excited in him, asked the elder
concerning his future plans. “I have
none,” said he, “my course is ran.”
Reporter—Won’t you continue ths
publication of your paper ?
Thurman (slowly and mournfully)
“There is notliing to publish it lor ; my
work is done. I do not know what I
shall do, where I shall go. It was the
harmony of those dates that convinced
me that Jesus was the Christ, and now
I do not know what to believe.”
THE SCENES
attendant upon the break-up of the
meeting baffle description. Some tried
to cheer the more broken-spirited by
suggesting various possibilities of the
prophetic dates extending for some time
longer. Foyen, whose joy and happi
ness in anticipation had been boundless,
stood up and said, in a voice broken
with sobs:
“Itis no nse! It is no use! We
are either disappointed or we are not
disappointed, and if we are not disap
pointed then we did expect Jesus with
faith. Nothing bat Jesus can cheer our
hearts to-night. My heart is broken.
I never expect to see my home again, or
do another stroke of work. I feel bit
ter, bitter, disappointed. 'The tears
poured down his* cheeks, and his grief
seemed to be intolerably great. | This
is the feeling of my heart. Nothing
can satisfy me but the coming of Jesus.
I don’t know what I shall do if Jesus
don’t come. Lord, help me! I hate
to go to my home again. ’
They wept and fell on one another’s
necks. Many of them did not know
where to go or what to do, as they had
relinquished their lodgings, and given
away their furniture and everything. In
the extremity of their distress, their
affections still clang to Thurman. The
men all came to him and gave him the
kiss of peace, according to their fashion.
One of them pressed him to come and
stay with him. Thurman said, sadly :
“ I don’t feel like seeing anybody now.
I wish I could sink into my grave.”
The women gathered around him, and
he shook hands with them, for Thurman
varies from ministerial usage by never
kissing the women, reserving that en
tirely for the men. A number of people
had to remain where they were. Others
went to the houses of those who were
fortunate enough to retain homes. One
man named Miller, who had disposed of
over $6,000 of property, asked permis
sion of a brother to sleep on his floor
that night. An old, white-haired wo
man said that she had a place to go to
God only Knervly* Ar> next
crying, babies squalling, and women
wringing their hands in anguish, as at
about half-past one the assembly dis
persed, pursuing their melancholy way
to such quarters as they could go to.
Thurman accompanied Foyen to his
house on the corner of Clark and Wis
consin streets, but what his movements
in the future will be he does not know.
A Love Chase.
J,
I am a detective, acute as Argus, high
souled as Bayard, impressionable as Bo
rneo, white-gloved and massive-booted
as the best of Sootland-yard!
If Miss Braddon could only see me
she would be sure to put me in a novel,
lam just the active and intelligent to
suit her.
I love an angel! and—rapture ! —she
is not indifferent to me ! She is fair
haired, like Lady Audley—as I saw her
at the play last time I was off duty. She
came in her carriage to the station, for
all the world like the queen or the chief
commissioner. She is wedded to a
wealthy wretch. How shall I get rid
of him ? Stay ! He must have com
mitted bigamy. They generally do. I
will find out all about him, and then
claim her hand and her handsome
jointure, as Jim Gyves does in that
beautiful story in the Bobby’s Budget.
Let me set to work at once. Where are
the handcuffs I
n.
I was not deceived —I never am. He
has committed bigamy. Bigamy, did I
say? Trigamy, quadrigamy, polygamy!
She shall be mine ! I have the proofs
of his guilt, and now I await him round
the corner, by his favorite public-house,
where he seeks to make a still further
victim of the beauteous barmaid. I
loved her onoe, but she despised me.
Never mind ; I will save her and seize
him. He wants to take a theatre for
her ! Ha ! ha 1 He leaves that bar only
for the dook.
He approaches. I grasp him and
close the handcuffs. Cusses! they are
too large! He eludes tbe grip and
knocks me down, hails a passing hand
som, and disappears. I hear him say
to the cabby, “To Charing Cross.” He
will escape by the channel tunnel. Not
so—not so.
in.
I recover. I rush to the polioe station
and provide myself with smaller brace
lets. I hurry to the railway station.
Horror ! the train has gone! He will
be in Franco beyond my reach. I faint
before the ticket office.
When I revive I am in the hands of
Mr. Scott, of Leeds. He takes me to
the refreshment room and gives me
brandy. I tell him my sad story.
“ Cheer up,” he says,” “you will soon
overtake him. I have in my pocket one
of my patent flying machines, by the
aid of which I have traveled a hundred
miles in ten minutes. Mount and fly !
When you see the steamer beneath you
release the spring and desoend; seize
the culprit, and ascend with him into
the air, as the roc did with old Sinbad.”
I am afloat and going at lightning
speed towards the south ooaat. I see
the lights of Dover and the steamer just
leaving the pier. On the deck I per
ceive my man. I prepare to desoend.
Just as I near the masthead the escape
funnel gives an awful roar, the pent-up
steam blows my flying machine to smith
ereens, and I fall into the water and am
Browned. And being so, I must per
foroe conclude.— Fun.
A great reduction of wages has taken
plaoe in Germany the past winter.
Two thalers, or $1.50, has been the
wages of city laborers since the war;
before the war it was one thaler, but
this winter it has been cut down to two
thirds of a thaler. Dull and stringent
times are said to be prevailing through
out tho empire, and if this be true it
will be impossible for the authorities
to restrain emigration as soon m busi
ness revives in America,
Flower Thoughts and Fancies.
Somebody says that flowers are the
“fugitive poetry of nature;’’and to
wild flowers most eminently be
longs the remark. Our cultivated
flowers cannot be called “ fugitive
poetry ; ” we do not find them scattered
along the roadsides, smiling to the
brooks, nodding onhills to every breeze.
Not they! They are collected and
placed in our houses and conservatories,
labeled, and surrounded by the costly
accessories which belong to all vol
umes of collected poetry.
But with wild flowers it is different.
We come upon them, indeed, as upon
scraps of poetry tucked into the cor
ner of some newspaper of every-day
life, and in the one ease, as in the other,
exclaim in asortof patronizing surprise :
“ Why, how pretty that is ! ”
One cannot, however, be very well
acquainted with the woodlands, with
out quickly losing any feeling of
patronage he may once have had.
There are so many dainty wild blos
soms to harmonize with any mood in
which they may be approached, beheld
cr gathered.
We find all sorts of poetry speaking
from them; palest of blue hare-bells,
which suggest a dainty poem, full of
tenderness without strong passion,
which indeed, they, as well as people,
are better without. Then there are
violets, blue and white and yellow, like
little ballads, tales of unconscious hero
ines; gill-over-the-ground, immediately
reminding one of scores of verses he
has seen in the neglected corner of some
oountry paper ; with bine bits of pret
tiness scattered here and there, but so
small that one doesn’t care for the
trouble of hunting them out; and be
sides, like those scraps of verse, there
is so mnch of it that it can be iiad at
any time.
But flowers, also, tell us other things;
they are vivid reminders of people we
have known, of faces we have seen,
hearts we have learned to t love and
trost.
Who can ever see a valley-lily, with
out a feeling of tender greeting, or (to
go from the pretty to the absurd) who
oan look at one of those saucy Jack-in
the-pnlpits, peeping up out of its green
sheath, and not expect it to speak, and
in an oration as long as a country min
ister’s, tell of its relationship to the
regal cuila? Poor relations, truly!
How indignant the caila would be !
Then there are the lovely blossoms
of the spring-beauty, at which one feels
as much surprise as at finding a Perdita
in a shepherd’s cottage.
The flowers of the mullien are like
families in a tenement house, pretty
enough individually, but collectively—
well, they’d be rather unpleasant guests,
to say the least of it.
Autumn flowers are like stories of
the tropics. Their very names are sug
gestive—golden-rod, flaming pinxster,
trumpet-flowers.
And water-lilies ! what shall we say
of them ? Lovely, tearful Undines,
gifted with souls through unavoidable
TOroLAnaHiioi a Uv the wav. what
how true to life.
But if water-lilies have souls, wood
land vines certainly have no conscience.
Running along the ground, climbing np
trees, clinging to fences, making nse of
anything and everything, without so
mnch as “by your leave,” and to be
shunned like parasitical friends, which,
like them, once given afooting, can not
easily be removed.
It is quite a pretty amusement to
trace in flowers resemblances to one’s
friends. We have often heard people
say that every human being if like some
animal,—(if so, some of them are cer
tainly only fossil remains, whioh, by the
way, has nothing to do with the sub
ject).
The resemblance of every one to some
flower is quite as easily traceable.
Bright, insipid verbenas, queenly lilies,
royal japonicas. The readers of ro
mance are familiar with heroines who
are like them all, and ean find among
their friends the same characteristics.
How people’s dispositions show forth
in their favorite flowers! Some care
only for roses, seeing no beauty, smell
ing no perfume in anything else. Sach
people are apt to be singularly pure in
life and actions, tender in all loves and
friendships, but exclusive in everything.
Hosts of people prefer pansies, and are
justly indignant with the writer who
said that they always reminded him of
monkey faces. Love-in idleness, hearts
ease, thoughts,—certainly there never
was a flower with so many pet names.
People of liberal tastes have, of course,
their favorites, but like nearly all flow
ers. There certainly is nothing which
contributes more to the beauty of a
home than flowers, and nothing so full
of pretty fancies.
“Spake full weil in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and
golden,
Stars that in earth’s Armament do shine."
—The A Mine.
A Loan Exhibition,
Describing the loan exhibition in
Philadelphia, the Telegraph of that
city says: “Among the portraits of
distinguished men will be found orig
inal portraits of Monroe, Madison, and
Jefferson, by the celebrated Gilbert
Stuart; an original of the first Napoleon,
Sainted by Bertrand, formerly owned
y Judge Hopkinson ; portrait of Mr.
Stretch, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, the
possession of the Meade family; and
portraits of Gen. Green, of the revolu
tionary war; Richard Meade, formerly
minister to Spain, and Gen. George G.
Meade, his son; John Sargeant, Dr.
Benjamin Rush, Woodrop Sims, father
of Mrs. Eliza Burd, and other import
ant persons. On the second floor the
front and back rooms on the north are
thrown into one for the proper display
of Mr. Maxw 11 Somerville’s cabinet of
gems, valued at over $30,000, and a
choice number of pictures. This cabi
net has been collected by its owner dur
ing years of travel in Europe, Asia, and
Africa, and embraces examples of Egyp
tian, Assyrian, Etruscan, Greek, Roman,
Mediaeval, Renaissance, and modern
art, engraved on agate, amber, amethyst,
carnelian, emerald, garnet, jasper, mal
achite, onyx, ruby, sapphire, sardonyx,
topaz, Ac. It forms one of the most,
if not the most, attractive features of
the exhibition.”
Causes of Apoplexy. —A blood ves
sel of the brain has lost some of its
elastic strength; food is abundant,
digestion is good; blood is made in
abundance, but little is worked off in
exercise; the tension on every artery
and vein is at a maximum rate, the even
circuitous flow is temporarily impeded
at some point, throwing a dangerous
Eressure on another; the vessel which
as lost its elastie strength, gives way,
blood is poured out, a dot is formed,
which, by its pressure on the brain, pro
duces complete unconsciousness. This
is the apopleotic stroke,
VOL. 16-NO. 19.
SAYINGS AND DOINGS.
“ How Few !”
One of the great Qnaker poet’s sweetest
metrical gems. “ School D&vs." is devoted to
shoving the regret of a brown-eyed New
England girl at having “spelled down 1
the little boy
Her childish favor singled.”
“ I’m sorrv that I spelt the word,
I hate‘to go above yon,
riecaose"—the brown 6yee lower fell—
“ Because, you see, I love you.”
“Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child faoe is showing;
Dear girl, the grasses on her grave
Have forty years been growing.
“He lives to learn in life’s hard school
How few who pass above him
Dement the triumph and his loss
Like her—because they love him.”
Order is heaven’s first law, and it
has never been repealed.
T ie hadnsomest calf in Massachusetts
is the offspring of a Jersey bull and a
Brahim cow—the sacred cew of India.
We never detect how much of our
social demeanor is made of artificial
airs nntil we see a person who is at once
beautiful and simple. Without the
beauty we are apt to call the simplicity
awkwardness.
Tire British house of lords consists of
five princes of the blood, twenty-eight
dukes, thirty-two marquises, one hun
dred and seventy-one earls, thirty-seven
viscounts, twenty-six prelates, and one
hundred and ninety-two barons.
Some of the statisticians who are in
vestigating negro life have found that
that race, above all others, abhors sui
cide. Only two cases have been re
corded on the police books of Richmond,
Virginia, for several years.
There’s nothing kills a man so soon
as hiving Dobody to find fanlt with but
bimsieif. It’s a deal the best way of
being master to let somebody else do
the ordering, and keep the blaming in
your own hands. It ’ud save many a
man a stroke, I believe. —George Eliot.
A gentleman in Europe writes : “ I
see in the American papers notices of
bank bills altered from one denomina
tion to another. This is impossible in
this part of the world, thongh the very
simple device of having bills of different
values made of different sizes.”
Considering that there are half a
million words, more or less, in the Ger
man language, it’s a fortunate circum
stance that the spelling of each and
every one is exactly indicated by thepro
nnn nation, rendering spelling matches
unn joessary, if not impossible.
A lugubrious-looking individual,
approaching a musician, asked him in
earnest and melancholy tones, “Friend,
do you know man’s chief end ? ” The
innojept fiddler cheerfully replied:
“ No, sir ; but if you’ll whistle it 111
play it.”
A Portsmouth (Va.) man, after two
years’ useless labor in trying to raise
the frigate Cumberland, sunk by the
confederate ram Merrimac, off Newport
News, in 1862, has sold out for 85,000
to I’etroit, (Mich.) parties, who are
now trying to get up the safe, which is
illbl Iwuv Ox k- o-fNOo-Xvaxx J AMj.
is the fifth firm that has engaged in the
entei prise.
One day a lady came in a carnage to
ask Corot, the famous French painter,
who has just died, for 1,000 francs with
which to pay her rent. “She is well
dressed,” said the maid who had seen
her. “ I can’t understand how anybody
with such clothes can borrow money.
If I were yon I vould refuse.” “ Take
that to her, my child,” said the artist,
offering a bank note for the required
sum, “ and remember that poverty in
silk is the worst kind of poverty.”
A conductor on the Union Pacific
raib*oad put a “dead beat” off his train
politely once; kicked him off three
times: then finding the impecunious in
the car again, inquired: “Where in
blazes are yon going, any way V”
“Well,” said th© not-to be-got-nd-of,
“I’m going to Chicago, if my pants
hold out, but if I’m going to be kicked
every five minutes, I don’t believe 111
make the trip!” The conductor let
him ride a little way.
We need to labor with our minds and
hearts, as well as with our hands, in
order to develop what is within us, to
make the most of our possibilities and
to enable us to live nobly and worthily.
We need a careful balancing of ©ur
duties and relations in life and a due
allotment of time and energy to each,
that we may not develop into one-sided
and unshapely characters, but attain
the symmetry and beauty of true excel
lence.
President Porter, of Yale, reoently
gave the following laconic advice to
the students in the course of an ex
tended address: “Don, t drink. Don’t
chew. Don’t smoke. Don’t swear.
Don’t deceive. Don’t read novels.
Don’t marry until you can support a
wife. Be earnest. Be self-reliant Be
generous. Be civil. Read the papers.
Advertise your business. Make money,
and do good with it. Love God and
your fellow men.”
The French nation from the earliest
period of history has been the leading
nation of Europe. Its original races
long disputed the supremacy cf the all
conquering Romans. They gave to
Roman literature some of its most
elegant writers. Cicero learned elo
quence from one of their teachers, and
Caesar acquired in Gaul new arts of
war. AH through the middle ages, in
the crusades, in the great national
wart in the religious commotions of
the sixteenth century, their gallantry
was the conspicuous splendor of the
tim js. Their writers have since elec
trifed human thought; their brave
deeds have revolutionized modern
politics; their more elegant arts have
been the despair of all other peoples,
and their manners the standard of
whatever was polished, courteous,
graoeful, and pleasing in address.
What the Sutbo Tunnel Is.—The
Su jo tunnel, of which so much has
been said in connection with the Uom
stock mines of Nevada, is a gigantic
undertaking only partially oomplete.
Tbe Comstock lode is a fissure several
miles long and of unknown depth. lo
rei-ch the ore, shafts are sunk dl along
tho vein, some to the depth of two
th. msand feet. The lowest mines are the
richest, but the air in them is so vicious
th it laborers can work but a few mo
ments at a time, and only after long
intervals of rest, thus rendering the
landing of the ore highly expensive.
Su tro’s plan comprehends a tunnel from
th j foot of the mountain, meeting the
lode at right angles, and then following
it for eight miles. This would make a
highway into th© bowels of tk© earth,
draining and ventilating the mines.
Tne tunnel is only about a third done.
It is fourteen feet wide by ten in height,
and will cost eight millions of dollars.
The builder’s compensation is to be the
tolls charged on ore raised through the
tunnel.