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THE ftOflfl6 COUJCW
VOL. IV.
J. H. & W. B. SEALS, | PHOPRIETu'rH.
ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1878.
m iji'i /TO J PBR ANNUM I
TERMS, 1 IN ADVANCE, f
On A Fossil Worm.
BY AMELIA Y. PCBDY.
Oh tiny agriculturist! what adverse fate
Hath turned thee into stone? Perhaps ’twasgrief
For the near and dear one, whom theplough cut up
a mother-in-law, ot all great ills the chief. ’
Oh fossil worm! no more will thou come forth
From ploughing up the under fields for seed
And balanced on thy tail, survey the sun
And smell the flowers—enjoy Bean Farrar’s creed.
True inwardness on hell. To note the man.
Passing along with pride, and know that he
Thy silent comrade afterdeath shall be
Oh little stranger! unseen tiller of ’
The earth, lor tender grass and dainty flowers,
I hat, but lor thee, had never forced their way
Through the hard soil, to glorify man's hours."
Perhaps the loved one lied afar from thee,
And her desertion turned you thus to stone;
Perhaps she wouldn't flee, and life with her
Caused petrifaction of both blood and bone.
Whatever cause it boots not, the result
Is here, and pains ourheart and brings the tear.
King of t^e Grangers! when I see a boy
Bait tish hooks with thy kin, I’ll puli his ear.
Lawrence Graham
—AND-r
GEORGIA STENROY.
A STARTLING REVELATION,
COMPLETE IN ONE ISSUE.
Lawrence Graham stood apart from the crowd
of merry people on the croquet-ground, and
watched the games and players in grave sileBee.
There was quite a large number of them scat
tered about over the emerald lawn—ladies and
gentlemen representing the fashion and wealth
of New York, with little to do besides studying
the latest Parisian styles, and finding amuse
ment enough to fill up their time. Thev were
spending the summer at Stenroy Mansion, and
“The door fieur open without ceremony, and Georgia entered pale and excited.’
He had been asked to participate in the croquet j of cutting sarcasm then, but hr was too gener
ous to do it. He dared not trust himself to
tournament, and wheD he had declined on ac-
j count of his ignorance of the game. Georgia
had begged him to join her side and let her
, - * , teach him how to play. He had refused, firmly
bor n*mL* lme » there was though good-naturedly, knowing that he would
v " lr>nr “ - " *■ ” r ( only be an annoyance to the good players.
He was Jooking at Georgia, and thinjking she
had never seemed so distractinglv beautiful,
maneb 1U .<■•«j - •• -c- o
t and leave the field. That was not all: she was
spent in the country, though of late years he j coming in his direction, with the evident inten- > home to-morrow.’
had travelled a little, and seen something of the | tion of joining him. j ‘Oh, but I can’t excuse you!’
1 She pities my forlorn condition,’ he thought,
hardly a more desirable spot on earth for a sum
mer resort.
We do not mention Lawrence Graham as be-
Vfflfa ‘iiCitiiCi n cmitij Iskjt‘ aiyu&Li, ~ i r, > y> , tr > xxol
city-bred. The greater part of his life had been
trust
speak, and so the subject was cl anged.
They lingered a while amonglhe flower-beds,
and then walked slowly back ,*'d the croquet-
ground. 4
‘There is a grand horseback evonrsion on the
tapis for to-morrow,’ said Georg <t.- as they near
ed the crowd. ‘You must com !°* j»r. and jpjn
returned Graham. ‘I had decided 1 to remain at
j in size, strength, and fieetness of foot, that in a
fair test it would have been difficult to determine '
j which deserved the credit of being the best stock; ,
j but now Georgia's black Bedouin became un- |
I manageable and fell behind. Lawrence permit-
i ted his white steed to dash on, and down into
| the deep hollow he went with unabated speed. ■ „
j Wne:? he reached the railroad he stopped, turn- i arms was broken by the fall, and there was
i ed bis horse. half around, and waited for his j an wound on his head, where it had come
ing iille a veritable angel in her spotVess dress, ce “Zwjiecio. ’ ^ ‘j'"-’
monster to strike; but just then the horse stum
bled, and fell headlong to the ground.
A thousand stars gleamed before Graham’s
eyes; then all was dark. ....
That afternoon Mrs. Graham sat in the fami
ly room of her comfortable cottage home, busily
sewing. Her daughter, an interesting child
of thirteen, was sitting by the table with an
open book before her, reading aloud.
The clatter of horses hoofs sounded outside.
They thought it was Lawrence coming home;
but a minute later the door flew open withont
1 ceremony, and who should enter but Georgia
! Stenroy! She was pale and excited, and almost
| out of breath. She had stopped at home long
j enough to throw on a dark dress over her white
one, and to clasp a light mantle about her
; shoulders.
Mrs. Graham dropped her work to stare at the
new-comer.
j ‘ Miss Stenroy, what is the matter? 1 demand
ed she, rising to her feet and confronting the
| heiress. . ~
‘ Pardon me, madam, for this intrusion,’ fal-
j tered Georgia, sinking into a chair. ‘I am sorry
j to tell you that I am the bearer of unpleasant
news.’
‘ News concerning whom ?’ inquired the
j widow, turning white with apprehension.
‘Y'ourson Lawrence—’
I ‘ My son Lawrence,’ gasped the alarmed moth-
I er; ‘what about him ?’
‘ He is hurt,’ replied the young lady, endeav-
! oring to speak calmly, ‘ He was in the deep cut
near Deering’s Woods, and the cars ran over
| him.
j ‘ No, no, no .' you don’t mean that!’ cried Mrs
; Graham, vehemently. Won don’t mean that he
was rnn over by the cars ?’
j | Y'es, said Miss Stenroy, sadly; they are
j bringing him home now. Let me help youpre-
] pare a bed for him.’
Mrs. Graham was a strong-willed woman, and
overcoming her excitementalmost immediately,
j she waited calmly to receive her son. The little
girl, however, went about the house wringing
her hands and sobbing.
Lawrence was brought home, and placed in a
neat little bedroom oil the parlor. He was not
hurt so badly, after all. In falling, the horse
had thrown him clear of the track, and the train
had passed without hurting him. But one of
world. He lived with his widowed mother and
thirteen-year-old sister, in a picturesque cottage
one mile from the Stenroy Mansion. He was
not handsome, but he was far from ill-looking.
He had a fine, intellectual face, a large, firm,
self-reliant mouth, a steady, honest eye, and a
splendid forehead. He was tall and stout, but
not graceful, for in childhood he had met with
a misfortune that had caused him to walk lame
ever since. He was a person of high attain
ments, eminent for erudition and capacity, and
possessing such a fondness for books that his
friends were sometimes piqued because he re
signed their society to enjoy that of his favorite
authors.
This was Lawrence Graham—not a second
Chesterfield, or a drawing-room model, but a
man among men; possessing the true politeness
as a half-suppresed sneer curled his lip. ‘I wish
she would stay away. I wish she could see that
her compassion is torture to me.’
But bis heart heat quicker as she came up, with
flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes—a glorious
type of womanhoood, whose regal charms had
never appeared to better advantage than now.
* Mr. Graham, I am going to take a look at my
crocuses. Won’t you come with me ?’ she asked,
in a friendly way.
‘ With pleasure, Miss Stenroy,’ he replied,
with a little dignity in his tone and manner.
So they walked across the lawn side l»y side,
she adapting her step to hts halting gait, and
he feeling decidedly uncomfortable, because it
was so apparent that a sense of duty had actu
ated her to sacrifice the pleasures of the game
xclaimed Geor
gia, decisively. ‘We are going t<\. jave a picnic in
that is the legitimate offspring of good nature l to the dull task of entertaining him.
and good sense, yet wholly unversed in the j ‘I am glad you come over liere to-day,’ said
usages of the‘best society.’ Georgia, quietly. ‘Papa was afraid you would
And this man, whom you would least suspect j not come.’
of such a thing—this grave, retiring man ot i ‘ I dare say his opinion of me woold hate been
books, with a limp in his gait, and a wholesome ! in no wise impaired had I stayed away,’ returned
dislike of everything that smacked of absurdity Lawrence, coldly.
—was in love! Moreover, he loved a beautiful She looked at him as if she was trying to read
heiress; a queen in high life; a woman whom, his thoughts.
of all others, he might least hope to win. In
deed, she was no other than Georgia Stenroy,
the daughter of his wealthy neighbor—a crea
ture of rare loveliness, whose suitors could be
counted by the score.
Such men as Lawrence Graham never love
1 1—I hope you feel welcome ?’ she said, after
a pause.
‘Oh certainly, Miss Stenroy,’ he replied.
* You are always welcome hero,’ continued
Georgia, earnestly. ‘You surely cannot doubt
that. Papa and mamma are always glad to see
hut once; then they love with a deep, undying ] yon; and as for me, you know I look upon you
passion, characteristic of their noble natures. | as one of my best friends.’
His was all the stronger, perhaps, because of
its utter hopelessness; for of course he expect
ed nothing better than to lose all he invested
in this fascinating piece of womanhood. In
fact, it was lost already, for he knew he could
never have the audacity to tell her how much
he had dared to think of her. He might wor
ship at her shrine in secret—that was a privi
lege none could dispute; but to pain her with a
recital of hia love, and compel her to reject him
when he knew how it would make her sympa
thetic heart ache—that he could not think of
doing. She was not for such as him. She was
too far above him ever to receive his attentions
as anything short of an insult.
lie had known her for a long time. He had a
very distinct remembrance of how they had first
met, three years ago; how he had come upon her
unexpectedly while strolling in the woods,
and had killed a huge rattlesnake that was
Thank you—thank !’
It was the first time she had ever told him
that, and her words thrilled him with grateful
emotions.
‘ 1 trust you are pleased with our city guests?’
He was cold again in an instant.
* No doubt they are well pleased with me !’ he
said, bitterly.
Georgia colored a little.
‘ If you would mingle with them, and let them
know just what you are, I am sure they could
not help liking you,’ she said, frankly.
‘It is very good of you to say so,’ he conced
ed, with a vexed look; ‘ but pardon me for in
forming you that I am not quite blind. I know
I am out of place among all these fine people,
whose training would scarcely permit them to
accept me as an equal if I intruded myself upon
them from now till the world ends. But of
course I cannot expect you to neglect them for
frightening her out of her wits. He had been in the purpose of entertaining me, for they are
her society pretty often since that, and she was ' your friends and guests, and it is but natural
always kind to him. 1 that yon should find more pleasure in their so-
Lawrence was now spending the day at Sten- i ciety—’
roy Mansion, at the earnest solicitation of both j He stopped suddenly, angry with himself be-
Georgia and her father. But he was not enjoy
ing himself, lie could not. And while he
stood isolated from the crowd, watching the gay
city people as they chatted and laughed and
flirted and knocked the wooden balls hither and
thither through the grass, he could not help
feeling very much out of place there. The greater
number of these guests paid no more attention
to him than if he were a child, and those who
did were probably prompted by pity. That
thought was a wound to his pride, and very
nearly prevented him from being civil to the
well-meaning ones who were thoughtful enough
to notice him. Why was he not as good as they!
Why must they lacerate him with their polite
insults because he was poor, unpolished and
lame?’
‘ God knows I don’t want their pity!’ he
thought, with a hard feeling toward the whole
~vrty. ‘I would rather have them kick me out
their way, as if I were a dog !’
cause his voice was growing husky. Miss Sten
roy did not reply at once, but he could tell,
even with his face partly averted, that she was
again looking at him as if she would read his
inmost thoughts. They had reached the crocus-
beds, and the girl stooped to raise one of the
flowers, as she said, in a low voice:
‘ You are not accustomed to these city friends
of mine. It has not been an hour since I heard
Mr. Harker say that you were a perfect gentle
man in every respect, and one of the most in
telligent men he ever met.’
Mr. Harker ! that was the man who persisted
in being so attentive to Miss Stenroy, and whoso
name the gossips associated with hers, as they
marked out the young lady’s future. Lawrence
Graham had heard that they were to be married
in the fall, bnt he had not believed it until this
moment. It seemed to him now that it mast
be true, for she was defending him. His lip
curled; he could have thrown out an answer full
Deering’s Woods, and it is decided that we shall
all ride on horseback. We will go two and two
you know, and —and I want yo\\ for my compa
ny. Please come, and bring yo rr white Arab;
he is such a splendid match for my black Be
douin, and I know we will have a pleasant time,
l'ou will not disappoint me, Mr. Graham ?’
She knew' his weakness. He could refuse her
nothing when she talked like that; and after a
little more coaxing he yielded. Then he im
mediately proceeded to be angry with himself
for doing so, and vexed with Miss Stenroy for
making him break his resolution.
T am a downright fool!’ he said to himself,
two hours later, as he rode homeward on his fa
vorite white horse. ‘I had resolved to stay aw'ay
from Stenroy Mansion hereafter, and now I
have promised to go there again, as early as to
morrow. And of course it was not for her own
pleasure that she persuaded me to join the ex
cursion, but in the hope that it w’ould be en
joyment for me. If she only knew! oh, if she
only knew! And yet she mue.tt never know!’
It was too late now to retract'; so the next day
when Georgia Stenroy, who was voted command
er of the cavalcaSe, marshalled her troops and
prepared for the march to Deering’s Woods,
Law'rence Graham was there mounted on his
beautiful white Arab. He and Georgia rode
side by side, and headed the procession, and
every body seemed in the best of spirits; for
they chatted and laughed and shouted inces
santly as they cantered along the road two
abreast.
It was plain to Graham that Mr. Harker was
angry, and that several other gentlemen were
very much provoked, becanse he was eojoving
the honor of being Miss Stenroy’s partner. Per
haps this would have amused him. had he not
reflected that Georgia would explain to them
afterwards how she had only accepted his com
pany as an act of charity, knowing how uncom
fortable he would feel if utterly neglected.
When they arrived at their destination, the
greater number at once began to amuse them
selves with croquet and other games. Georgia
did not join in any of them, bunasked Lawrence
to go with her in search of wild flowers. So
these two wandered off together, and Lawrence
made himself useful in ^helping her across
streams and rocky places, a i in climbing steep
hills, in spite of his lameue&v* to procure for her
the flowers she admired. And her little hand
was so often in hia—her merry laughter so often
filled the air with silvery musio—her glorious
eyes so often dazzled him with their sparkling
glances—that, before he knew it, all the bitter
ness was gone from his heart, and he was so com
pletely intoxicated by her charms that he lorgot
everything else but the happiness of being in her
society. How lovely she was to-day ! Her grace
ful, lithesome form was draped In the airiest ot
India muslin, while on her head she wore a
pretty sunshade of a hat, that enhanced the vi
vacious beauty of her face.
After a while she proposed a race on horse
back. Of course Graham was willing to do any
thing she suggested, so they were soon in the
saddle, racing their mettled steeds up and down
the high-road. This grave, thoughtful man of
books seemed to have suddenly acquired a taste
for pleasures of this sort, and we doubt not, in
his present mood, he would even have gone so
far as to engage in a game of croquet with these
city people if Miss Stenroy bad but said the
word.
In a deep hollow, not far from Deering’s Woods,
the high-road crossed the railroad. In this di
rection the riders headed their animals for a
long race. The horses were so evenly matched
as she sat so gracefully in the saddle,’ with the
shimmering sunlight enveloping her in a blaze j
of glory. A change of feeling came over Law- ;
rence Graham as he looked at her. It suddenly
occurred to him that he was giving his love too
much license—that he was allowing himself to ;
forget his position under the magic influence of
her charms. He was too happy; he had ho right
to be happy.
‘She can never be mine,’ he thought, as all the
old bitterness returns to his heart. ‘I am wrong |
in permitting myself to revel in a dream of bliss,
when the dark reality must seem all the darker
when the dream ends. I am foolish to forget
that her sphere and mine are widely separated, ;
and that I could not hope to win her, even if she
did not belong to some one else. And yet,’—he
turned pale and bit his lip, as a new thought I
flashed through his mind. ‘Can it be that one
so pure and good would stoop to play the co- j
quet ? She has somehow worked on my brain
to-day till I am crazy enough to believe that she j
cared for me. Oh, I must leave here ! I will go
go to California—to Europe, no matter where,
so that thousands of miles are between me and
this distracting syren—’
The interruption came from a most unlooked-
for source. The shrill scream of a locomotive
Georgia Stenroy, accompanied by the whole
picnic party, to whom siie had given the alarm,
had found Lawrence lying insensible beside the
railroad track; and leaving her friends to carry
him home, she had galloped on ahead, to pre
pare his mother for the reception of her son.
Lawrence was delirious all that night, from
the effects of the w'ound on his head, and it was
feared that brain fever would set in. But neither
his mother nor the attending physician left his
bedside during the nignt, and toward morning
they had the staisfaction of seeing th6 fever
gradually pass off and the patient fall into a
deep sleep. When he awoke the day was far
advanced. All trace of fever was gone, and he
suffered uo pain. His attendants had left him;
he was alone m the room.
It was a bright, balmy day, and as he lay near
the open window gazing out upon the pictur
esque landscape, he thought nature had never
looked so lovely. The cool breeze toyed with
the plain, muslin curtains, and fanned his brow
till a feeling of incertitude came over him, and
he relapsed into a dreamy reverie. He lived
over the few horrible moments ot that mad
lightniDg-train, and wondered how he had es
caped with his life.
He was thus musing when he heard the door
wuistle cut across his soliloquy, and caused him *^e room open and shut gently. He also
to start half out of his saddle. He had stopped
his horse directly in the middle of the track.
A train was coming over the summit of a hill
about half a mile behind him. The shriek of
the whistle frightened the horse, and Georgia
Stenroy, who was a helpless spectator of the
scene, was horrified to observe what followed.
The white Arab gave a plunge and a leap, clear
ed the ‘cattle-guard,’ and dashed down the track
at the top of his speed; while a half-minute later
the New York express-train whizzed across the
road in hot pursuit.
Lawrence Graham did not fully realize his
danger at first, but when he tried to stop the
terrified steed, and found it impossible, he grew
alarmed. The animal w'as mad with friglit.
heard the soft rustle of a dress, as some one ap
proached his bed. He did not move; he was in
no mood for talking, and preferred to he alone.
‘Are you asleep, Mr. Graham ?’ asked a low,
hesitating voice.
He moved now. He turned his head, and
looked straight up into Georgia Stenroy’s eyes.
‘Ah, Miss Stenroy,’ he said, stammering a lit
tle; ‘it is very kind of you to come here.’
But he did not smile; he even let a slight
frown gather on his brow. He was determined
to go away as soon as he recovered sufficiently
to travel, and he made up his mind not to see
her again before he went.
‘I am glad to see you looking so well,’ said
Georgia, occupying a chair by the bedside.
His only object seemed to be to get out of the J ‘I was more than half afraid to come, lest I
way of the unseen demon that uttered such hid
eous sounds, and was apparently not aware that
he had taken the railroad as his course of flight.
Graham’s alarm increased rapidly. He was
riding through a deep cut, where the embank
ments rose on either side to the height of fifty
feet. By looking ahead he saw that this cut was
considerably over a mile in length. There was
no possibility of changing his course till he
reached the end of it, and long before that time
the train would be upon him! It was too late
to turn back, even if he could have done so.
There was no escape. His horse was fleet-foot
ed and powerful, but he was no match for a
lightning train. His blood ran cold as he glanc
ed over his shoulder and saw the huge black
should learn that you had died in the night,’
‘Suppose I had !’ returned Lawrence, gloom
ily. ‘The death of a country boor is not worthy
of notice. The event would scarcely make a
readable item in the village paper, and no one
would be particularly sorry.’
She gave him a look full of surprise and pain.
‘You are wrong,’ she said, after a pause.
‘There are some who would be very, very sorry
to lose you.’
‘I know not who they are, ’ ha said with a hit
ter smile.
‘Your mother and sister, at least,’ Georgia re
minded him, in a tone of gentle reproach.
‘Yes conceded Lawrence, with altered express
ion: ‘I—I did not mean them. I know they
mass rushing swiftly toward him. It was com- j would be sorry—God bless them !’
ing down a steep grade, and he knew that the | He was looking up at the ceiling while he
engineer could not stop it in time to save his life. | s^oke, and did not meet her gaze. She seemed
All hope was gone now, and a hundred mystified and pained by his manner, and sat
thoughts flashed through the doomed man’s j there studying his face, in the hope that it
mind in an instant. He thought of his mother would tell what was in his heart. After awhile
and sister, and of Georgia Stenroy, and felt that
he never would see any of them again on earth.
The madden animal, with his head in the air,
his eyes flaming, and his nostrils distended,
galloped furiously along between the iron rails,
but his rider imagined he had never galloped
so slowly. Graham did not look back again.
He heard the deafening thunder of the train as
it bore down upon him with the speed of the
wind, and he knew that the end was close at
hand. It was a question of only a few seconds
now. He fancied he could already feel the hot
breath ot the engine. It was roaring at his very
heels; every muscle in his being was strained
to its utmost tension, as he waited for the iron
she said: . .
‘Your physician says you will be about again
in a day or two, and that your arm will soon be
as sound as ever. It was a lucky escape, Mr,
Graham—almost a miracle.’
‘I suppose so,'assented Lawrence.
‘But bad enough as it is,’ continued Georgia.
<1—I hope you will forgive me for proposing
that race on horseback?’ . , T
‘Oh, certainly; you are in no wise to blame. I
was a fool for stopping where I did. Then he
added: ‘But since I was not killed outright, I
am glad to know that I will soon be able to go
about again. 1 am going away as_ soon as
arm gets welL’ (^ee i»th page,