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M ROWERS COUKTIOIY VOL. III. 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 Twice Saved, AND 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 family. 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 fashionable life. 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- ' ness. | 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 themselves. He soon learned her habits and her haunts, and came upon her now and then with the most cordial friendliness. 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 ate. 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 him. 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 soning youth. 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 family. 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 mon place. 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, was — ‘•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 less acute. 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 fun.” “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 comfort. ” “Good boy. It is safest to keep out of temp tation.” 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. Gerard. 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, and said: “ 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 friend me?” 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 turned pale. “I have promised the day to Basset,” he said, hesitatingly. She felt a little disappointed, so she made an effort. “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 bis words. 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 respond. iut this friendliness threw her off her guard, ihe fell into a sad mistake, confusing friend- jwith love. 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 Lrms. 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 lifttfortably. ‘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 her cheeks. He sat down opposite her, and they glanced rather sharply at each other. He recognized her at once. 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 nificent sunset. 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 alike. heaMiss Kenneth. 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 powejo it. 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 the tidings. “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 cident.” 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 state. 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. “Dear Friend—” But what is this about being on the verge of ruin ? She turned over the envelope, and then saw: “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 tance. Eleanob Kenneth.” (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. i Pi