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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.