THE FLORAL TELEGRAPH. 47 
crimson type of death struck a new¬ 
born terror into the bosom of the fair 
mother of mankind. 
ce Pale and motionless with fright, 
she stopped, and exclaimed, e Adam, 
my husband ! save me, or I fall . 1 
“ He turned, and the revulsion of 
his feelings shook him almost to dis- 
solution. He rushed towards his be¬ 
loved, and, while she bent over him 
and wept upon his shoulder, he knelt 
at her feet, and bathed the bleeding 
one with his tears. The holy drops— 
holv, as they were the offerings of re¬ 
pentance for neglect and hardness of 
heart, and the wrong to wedded love 
— mingled with the crimson stream, 
