The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, June 22, 1878, Image 1

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~v r 7 > » r 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,