M ROWERS COUKTIOIY
J. EL & W. 13 SEA. LS, } PROPRIETORS
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, JANUARY 26. 1878. TERMS,! SO 136.
THOSE FEVERISH DAYS.
[Dedicated to the Second Georgia Battalion.]
BY J. H. BAILEY.
A leeion in gray, they form for the Iray,
And the Hag of their choosing how proudly they raise !
From mountain and coast they sprung like a host.
Hear'n sent—iB the light of those leverish days .
Grandly they stood ’neath their pennon of flood,
And gladly its summons each soldier obeys.
For native and Celt, and entry one felt
Such a frenzica! glow—in those lrenzical days i
tied gleams the camp light thro’ the blackness of night,
Dispelling the gloom of the hovering haze;
Each beacon of war flashes white from afar
A beacon of light in those turbulent days !
Over mountain and dell they ruBhed with a yell !
Such frantical yells as they only could raise.
And fiercely they swore that the banner they bore
Should light them to light—in those glorious days .
Now shattered and worn, their cause is forlorn,
But courage undaunted the meanest displays:
For nothing conld shake or make them forsake
Their wonderful trust in those wonderful days !
At length in a flood of carnage and blood
All crimson and scarlet, with splendor ablaze !
That banner did glare iridescent in the air.
Then sank iu the gloom of the sorrowful days 1
Ah ! black was the night when f was swept from the sight
Midst thunder of cannon and shriekiDg oi shell:
Enwrapp'd iu the cloud of a sulph'rous shroud
In glory to sleep ou the field where it fell 1
HOW SHE DID IT!
The Old Maid Happy at Last.
COMPLETE IN TWO NUMBERS.
Then she looked remarka
bly young; in fact, the
fashionable world took her
to be the youngest of the
On her return from Ire
land, instead of spending
the summer at Brighton
"with her sister Julia, she
had chosen a craggy, out-
of-the-way seaside resort
known as Towor Point,
some one having built a
tower on the higest part
of the cliff. Mr. and Mrs.
Alcott, who kept the main
hotel, were old friends of
her mother’s. There was
likely to be a good deal of
comfort, interest and de
lightful indolence, and
she was getting tired of
She had been there a
week perhaps when Gor
don Palmer' first saw her.
It was just in the edge of
summer twilight. There
was a long parlor at the
hotel, and another apart
ment across rhe end com
monly called the music-
room. She sat at the pia
no, some sort of flimsy
j garment flowing around
her like a cloud, her soft
light-brown hair gathered
! in a knot behind with two
| or tnree stray curls, her
clear-cut face pale and
j high-bred as it always was.
I Her eyes were so dark a
j blue that every one sup-
I posed them black, and
! they held in them an un-
: conscious shade of sad-
| He was passing the win-
I dow which opened on the
! balcony. There was a
; light just behind her in
I the chandelier which
! threw her out in boldest
relief. She was -olaying
I slowly and singing Kings-
1 ley’s “ Three Fishers.”
The first line he heard
there was never a day in
which they did not have
a little talk or a ramble to
He soon learned her
habits and her haunts,
and came upon her now
and then with the most
So passed a fortnight.
He received two letters
one nlorning that equally
perplexed him. One was
a business matter in
which be had unfortun
ately staked everything,
and there was a rumor in
the air that the venture
might not terminate sue
cessfully. Failure had
never occurred to him be
fore. He was making
haste to get rich, and so
far had been quite fortun
The other was from
.Rosamond Archer. She
and her aunt would be
going to France for the
rest of the summer. Of
course he would come.
She was longing to see
His engagement with
Rosamond had come
about like so many other
engagements. Some operas
and concerts, a good deal
of dancing at evening
parties, some adroit man
agement on the aunt’s
part, and a sudden sweet
betrayal on Rosamond’s.
For a week he fancied
himself in a heaven of
It was an unusually quiet day, but she was
restless iD the extreme.
The effort she made to confine her thoughts
in one channel tired and confused her. At the
sound of a step it seemed as if some one was
coming with a message for her. Every nerve
was roused to an electric state with some ideas
of sudden and vital change or evil. She seemed
to shrink from an unseen ordeal which she knew
that she must face.
Are there presentiments? She fancied she
ran away to escape what was coming. She
would take a long walk, and have her tea in her
own room. For an hour or so in the evening
she conld read.
So she put on her white leghorn bat with its
drooping black plume, threw a scarf over her
shoulders, and walked rapidly to one of her fa
vorite haunts, a little nook made by a great
craggy rock and a group of gnarled trees. Some
times a bird perched itself on the topmost
branch, and sang, but to-day a deathly stillness
pervaded the air.
What was that? Something flung in a heap,
a human form—a familiar garb. Good Heavens !
Gordon Palmer, with half-closed eyes and ashen
face! There was fresh blood upon his head,
and for an instant she reeled, and caught hold
of a branch near by. Was he dead ?
She ran to him at length, felt for the pulse,
j and found none, and then uttered a wild cry.
If there was any hope, it must be in instant as
sistance. Could her trembling limbs carry her
back to the hotel ?
i She reached it, looking like a ghost. Her
i usual calm self-possession appeared to have
■ deserted her entirely.
A party of men were despatched immediately,
while two servants were sent in different direc
tions for a surgeon.
She flung herself on the steps of the wide
: porch, and waited in breathless anguish.
It seemed so terrible to go out of life without
one familiar glance or word, alone there in the
midst of fearful suffering. If he had not gone .’
BY J. L. J.
She was jnst thirty, too old for a heroine if
you fancy that all of love and romance has gone
out of life by that time, but I think some of the
best and noblest impulses, faiths and realiza
tions come after the first flush of impatient rea
In truth, Eleanor Kenneth’s life appeared to
have been turned round; the care and anxiety
came first, and the ease and sweetness of youth
later. She was the eldestof four girls, left with
their mother on so scanty an income that it re
quired much thought and perplexity to keep
out of debt.
She was no genius as the world goes. She had
a sweet, pathetic voice adapted only to ballad
singing; she played a little, but invariably went
astray on time; she had no faculty for teaching;
she could not have written a book or painted a
picture, or even sketched a design, but she was
an admirable housekeeper. She could turn old
drosses and make them equal to new, trim bon
nets or hats, and produce a dainty meal out of
the most unpromising fragments;and her moth
er’s health Being poor, she took charge of the
Clara, the second girl was bright and pretty.
They strained every nerve to educate her for a
teacher. She succeeded admirably in her stu
dies, and had a good prospeot before her, when
Aunt Denslowe, who had forgotten their exist
ence for five years, dropped down upon them,
demolished their plans in her aggressive, impe-
Somethingll iu a heap near her. Good Heavens! a human form.
love, and then some way
they drifted back to com
She was a bright, pretty,
clever girl, just as fond of
dancing and gaiety as be-
fc r s iu fact .-no whit
changed. He fancied
that love was to ennoble
and render sacred all his
future life; instead Rosa
mond planned out the
kind of house she wanted,
the horses they must keep,
‘•For men must wort and wo
men must weep;”
and it struck a sore chord iu his soul, somethin; That evening he asked her to sing. I the dainty little pa r ties and dinners she meant
that hung over him like a shadow. If it hac “I do not sing in public, Mr. Palmer, ” she 1 to give. It would take a good deal of money,
been anything else be would have^passed on tiuade answer. I have only a very ordinary j and he went to work manfully,
the hall without a second thought. It was strangeoice, and on that account it has had no unusual [ In the autumn thev were to be married. He
that jnst these few words should make theiipltivation. There are so many charming was growing into a plain, sharp, common-sense |
lives cross at an unsuspected angle and open liogers in the world.” business man, and began to wink at transac-
world to both that neither had thought of be- “I heard you last evening. I was sufficiently 1 " - - 5
fore. 1-bred to listen and to look. You made a pic-
He listened until the last sound died away,ire that I shall never forget. If I were an ar-
and her hands fell idly into her lap. Then he^t I should be eagerto give it to the world. As
rushed up to his room, changed his dress, ran i s I a m content that it should hang in memo-
dnwn acain. and made a few inouiries. ”
down again, and made a few inquiries. -’ 8 halls.’
“You are a pretty fellow to think of women Eleanor could not help liking that.
ie first thing, exclaimed Dick Basset. “Can t His manner was exceedingly respi
tions that he had once held himself immeasur
ably above. Other men did them, an ! were
considered none the worse. It was a hot, eager,
unscrupulous race, where you pushed or over
turned the weak. If he had not met Eleanor
Kenneth, conscience would have grown less and
But now he felt troubled. He had been risk
ing some money that he bad no right to use.
He must go, and borrow enough to replace it, in
commonplace girls, two widows past forty, and
three or four sober married people. Now at Hol
man’s there is quite a crowd, and no lack of
“I’ve been at Holman's three days,” said Pal
mer, “and had a miserable little hole in which
1 was almost stifled. I came here f»r quiet and
“Good boy. It is safest to keep out of temp
Palmer fell into a musing mood. The singer
was one of the married women, of course. Not
rious fashion, took Clara away with her, and in t jj a t it made a bit of difference to him. He was
three months had her engaged
Clara was eighteen, well educated, pretty and
poor; Mr. Gerard was forty, a widower with only
one son, wealthy, gentlemanly, and extravagant
ly in love. Clara liked him very much. In six
months they were married and went to Ireland,
where Mr. Gerard’s business lay.
Julia was tall, a brilliant brunette, and had a
very fine voice.
Aunt Denslowe created quite an excitement
with her, which gratified the lady’s vanity very
much, and when she was a few months past
eighteen she married a young officer whose fath
er was one of the solid city men.
Eleanor now found quite a difference with her
income and her time. She could be more de
voted to her mother and indulge in the luxury
of a servant.
They drifted into the belief that Aunt Dens
lowe would be fairy godmother for the third
time, and so it proved for little Kate was
bronght np a lady.
Her strong point was pretty, captivating
blonde innocence, and like Julia, she married
young and married well.
Eleanor began to look forward to long years of
quiet spent with her mother.
Aunt Denslowe had decided that she was not
of the marrying kind, and Eleanor thought so
herself, with a little pain, perhaps, but no mor
tification. She conld be nseful and happy, and
if she missed some of the joys, she might also-
escape some of the cares and sorrows.
Her qniet life came to a sadden end, however.
First her mother was taken ill and died. Mrs.
Kenneth’s income ended with her life, but the
homestead she left unconditional to Eleanor.
On account of a new railroad it suddenly ac
quired additionally value. Then Aant Denslowe
died and left her quite a fortune. Julia’s hus
band invested it advantageously, and Eleanor
went to Ireland to spend some time with Mrs.
Ho now she was thirty, mistress of some six
thousand pounds, handsomer than she had been
at twenty, and with a certain style that might
; have made her very fascinating had she chosen.
the first thing, exclaimed Vick tiasset. “Can t His manner was exceedingly respectful. If
you live without a flirtation ? An engaged man , Lad been familiar it would 'have aroused a
too !” spicion at once.
He colored warmly, almost angrily Is she never had been in love she fancied that | - .
■I do not know that a flirtation tonal neoMaa- j n«er abonld bo. There was aomo fatal la, k ! ft*” d, wort aw^ Whom oojld k. oooM on
he retorted. 1’hnsiasm lost wiTh’; n i,tk'Tn^ KtliniTatri/at: I t0 stand b Y him at thiK tr >' in s time?
Suppose he went to Rosamond and her aunt,
“ I am in a grea strait. I must have three
thousand pounds in a week’s time, or perhaps
go to ruin. Do you love me well enough to be
Thereat he smiled scornfully.
Truly he should do no such thing. But what
a tender, loyal love it would be to which one
could go in doubt or sorrow, or even sin ! Was
there any such in this world ?
The mail that night would bring him another
letter. Then he must take a quick, decisive
step. There was some way out of it all, and he
did not mean to go down with unclean hands.
Basset was going out with his gun, and ban
tered him to join the expedition. He had this
day’s grace, though it was like walking on the
edge of a burning volcano. HemnstkDow first
what he had to do before he took another step.
In the upper hall he met Eleanor Kenneth.
She looked so simply and severely noble
standing there the impersonation of a better
and purer womanhood than the common society
type. If he were quite free, he thought.
He turned scarlet at the idea. At heart he
was a loyal man He had made his choice and
would abide by it unless fate intervened and
pushed him down to social perdition, where he
would not be worthy of any woman’s love.
“Oh," she said, “are you engaged? It wonld
be a fine morning for Cragnest.”
He had asked her to go with him some time.
Why not take this day ? It wonld be the last
sweet, sad ramble with her. Was he Btrong
enough to dare so much peril—alone with her,
listening to the cool, sweet voice, watohing the
slow-moving eyes that had come to have a fasci
nation for him, and talking as they always did?
A slight tremor ran through his veins, and he
“I have promised the day to Basset,” he said,
She felt a little disappointed, so she made an
“I am not going to persuade you to break
your promise,” she answered, with a smile.
“You could do it easily but it would not be
well for either of us," he returned, hoarsely.
Then he went on and left her by the window,
where she stood for many minutes, stunned and
surprised, as much at his strange behavior as
After the manner of woman, she straightway
began to torture herself. Had she done or said
aught that would lead him to suppose that she
had any designs ?—she would not admit even
now the possibility of love. With that she grew
regally scornful, went to her room, and sewed
industriously all the morning.
rily follow the question as to whether there are jher nature, she said to herself, some hope or
any ladies in the house, he retorted. j'.husiasm lost with youth. And, being strict-
‘None to care about,” said another. “Three conscientious, she had no desire to awaken in
man’s heart a leeling to which she could
iut this friendliness threw her off her guard,
ihe fell into a sad mistake, confusing friend-
Well," he went on, beseechingly, “do you
pd to refuse me?”
ie had been thinking, weighing this and
Jin her mind, and had almost forgotten his
test. Now she smiled i little. She had a
ty beautiful smile, and seeing it, Gordon
her felt as if he would like to clasp her in
am not going to be coixed,” she replied.
‘5 performance will not bi worth it. And if
yshould not feel satisfice, you must never
ane to sing again.”
er she had once begun b? kept her busy. It
moonlight, and most of tie others had gone
tclk on the beach. So letween the songs
tldiscussed the old subjects of love and sor-
rcind came to the conclusion that common-
plpeople were the most firtunate.
>t I cannot help thinkiig that it would be
wi half of one's life to lave a magnificent,
ovhelming love in it, I winder if that went
outh Arthur’s night,” she3aid.
suppose we do live in more prosaic
i that Eleanor pause* to think of her
sis. Not one of them had been madly, en-
thnlically in love. They enjoyed a reason-
abWree of happiness, and wonld go through
‘ire is very little love thit would stand any
test strain. Why, I can count np hosts of
bro engagements,” he saic
"haps a little heart-btak then is better
thajreat deal of heart-brek afterwards. ”
“a not so sure that I Relieve in broken
tftMtua TT n«\n aIK *’
not given to flirting, though Basset always ral
lied him about it.
Basset started off bright and early the next
morning on a shooting expedition.
Palmer was down late so breakfast.
Eleanor had been having a breezy ramble
over the hills that had brought a tint of pink to
He sat down opposite her, and they glanced
rather sharply at each other. He recognized her
Mrs. Alcott poured off coffee for them. There
seemed to be a little awkwardness by-and-bye,
so she said:
“ Mr. Palmer, this is my friend Miss Kenneth;
Mr. Palmer, Eleanor.”
Probably sooner or later some one would have
introduced them had not that amiable office
been performed by Mrs. Alcott.
Palmer was very gentlemanly and agreeable;
a first-rate fellow everybody declared. Women
liked him very much too. He conld always
talk, and he gave to bis beliefs, emotions and
feeling a peculiar energy and personal influence.
You could distinguish him in a group of
young men, whose characteristics would all be
pretty much alike. He was not noticeably
handsome, but young, energetic, earnest, with
no weak or morbid lines about his face.
Perhaps he was no better than dozens of men
who did not appear to have half his stamina or
truth, but he did carry with him a something
that impressed people strongly.
That evening Miss Kenneth walked down to
the beach with him to view the effects of a mag
She had conversed with a good many gentle
men daring the last few years, and was ready as
well as entertaining.
These two people brought out their souls and
compared them, talked over the kind of lives
that were beat and truest, the stray bits in books
that they liked, little poems, that both had
remembered for the sake of a verse, and had
discovered that their tastes were wonderfully
F< came into his minij that if anything
shoihappen between hilt and Rosamond
Arckhe changeful tide vould soon wash
awaj sign of what had beau
Fq instant he was temped to confess, and
theneemed foolish to mab> an acquaintance
of t^-four hours his con Rant.
Tlixt day Basset and Cfleton returned.
Ttwere several invitatios to go down to
Hola, some sailing partes ana horseback
rides! somehow Eleanor felt herself drawn
withie circle. She was find of companion
ship, she came to be quje a favorite. The
yonnirls liked her immesely, because she
neithanced nor sang, nor et herself np to
rival l, though they felt that she had the
Pal paid her no excluive attention, yet
i Where was the rest of the party ?
The men returned after what appeared to her
an interminable while, carefully bearing the
i body on a litter.
“I am sure he is not dead,” Mrs. Alcott said,
j cheerfully. “ It’s an ugly wound, but it must
! have been an accident. He never could have
shot himseit. Has no one found a doctor?
Every moment is precious, for he has almost
bled to death !”
Doctor Jayes came flying along in his old-
fashioned gig. The men bore their burden
within doors, and the physician began his task.
Before it was completed, Basset and his comp
anion returned, to be shocked and surprised at
“He left us three,” Basset said. “We had
very poor luck, but somehow, I thought he
looked rather blue all d«y, and is usually sc
cheerful. But he never would have dene 'such
a thing purposely, even if he had been in trou
ble of any kind. No it must have been an ac
Eleanor was startled at the idea.
And there was his strange conduct of the
morning—but no, she would not believe any
thing so horrible. He was a man to fight his
way out of any difficulty, rather than to commit
such a cowardly deed.
The place was full of excitement. Every one
lingered to hear the physician’s flat.
It came at length.
Mr. Palmer was not dead, neither was the
wound necessarilly dangerous, but the loss of
blood had weakened him seriously.
For some daj’s he would be in a very critical
After that Eleanor went to her room. She
felt miserably weak, and trembled in every
limb and in every nerve. She bathed her face,
but would not change her dress or even smooth
her hair, for she wanted no supper, and would
not go down again that evening.
Several letters lay on her dressing-table. She
took up the largest one without glancing at the
address, and tore open the envelope.
From her brother-in-law, of course he was
her only business correspondent. She glanced
it over mechanically, growing more and more
surprised, aud then amazed, at its strangeness.
' Then she took a look at the heading.
But what is this about being on the verge of
ruin ? She turned over the envelope, and then
“Gordon Palmer, .Esq"
It was not hers at all. A flush of scarlet
stained her face. She had learned something,
that she would have given worlds not to know.
The letter had carelessly enough been brought
in among hers, but she could not have made a
mistake in a calmer mood.
It was a matter almost of life and death.
From the few lines she had unwittingly read,
she felt that he ought to know the contents im
mediately. And yet he was in no condition- to
understand their import. What a cruel Btrait
to be in, and how hard to know his secret.
Eleanor did not ask herself, why she felt so
strong an interest in Gordon Palmer. She sup
posed it merely natural sympathy for some one
she admired and liked, who was now over
whelmed by misfortune. But she did not sleep
that night, and her first inquiry in the morn-
ing, was concerning him. He had rested a lit
tle, was conscious, and had recognized several
of his friends.
She wrote on a card:
“When yon are able to converse five minutes,
I wish to see you on some business of impor
(CONCLUDED IN NEXT ISSUE.)
General Gouko recently had 63 men frozen
to death one night, and 820 frost-bitten.
General Grant and Explorer Stanley, are at
Cairo, Egypt, and are the recipients of distin
guished honors from the Khedive and his Gov
ernment. The Khedive has offered the use of
his palace, in Cairo, to Gen. Grant dnnng his
stay there, and a steamer to navigate the
will be placed at his service.