The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1852-10-02


ferred to in our last chapter, that Flora wound
her soft arms about my neck, pressed farewell
kiss upon my cheek, and entering the old mail
coach was whrled away from our quiet village,
toward the distant Seminary at -.
There she remained year; then she became
teacher. She wrote often to me, but never
did she speak of Henry. Yet, knew that she
had not forgotten him. AT first she gave glow
ing descriptions of her school, and spoke cheer
fully, hopefully of the future. She told me of
little Frank curly headed pupil ofseven years,
and of his father, man not young in years or
suffering; a widower, wealthy, kind and hu-
name.
Months passed-her letters grew less cheerful
"a tone of dependency pervaded them. Her
labors were wearying-hcrtrlal more wearying
still. She told of cold words and bitter sneers
Of her lowly position in lile-cruel words and
bitter taunts from those who in intellectual and
moral worth, were, OH so far, beneath her.
She did not, as a heart of stern mould might
Indifference. Nay they fell upon her ears, and
reached her heart to chill and freeze it. They
drove from her pathway the few CLEANS of hope
and happiness that were beginning to linger
thereabout.
Again months past. Then came the inteli-
gence that little Frank her favorite was i'll.
Night after night she watched beside his bed ,
for he had grown to love her as children will
these who are good and pure. She waited till
the sufferer no longer needed her care-till his
little heart grew still, his low voice silent, and
the light of his blue eye went out forever. She
grieved for her pet scholar-but her grief was
almost forgotten in sympathy for the father who
idolized his darling Frank, the image of his lost
Fanny;-his heart was indeed dcsolate. And
now she always mentioned Mr.. Mayhem, the
father of Frank, in her letters. He sought her
society more often than formerly. 1t was but
natural, she said, that he should do so, for
Frank had loved her, and his father remem-
boring it, would of course treat her kindly.
1t was three months after little Franks death
that received the following letter.
"My DEAR ELLEN:-I sit down to write You
from heart filled with contendng emotions Of
| Joy and sorrow. You, Ellen, better than any
other perhaps, know and understand this way
ward heart of mine; and therefore you may not
be surprised when tell you, that month hence
and am 10 become Bride-the wife of Mr..
Mayhem. sDo love him2'-is the question
that know you are wishing me to answer.
Yes, do love him. Not however with wild
| soul-engrossng love, but with calmer, more
| dispasscnate affection. | have told him of the
past since my earliest remembrance-of my suf-
ferines-my sorrows. OF my wild, passionate
love for one, whose name need not mention
here-love, such as did not, might not feel for
! him. / told OF the struggle between love and
what thought was duty. When ended, he
smoothed my hair for moment thoughtfully.
then drawing my head down upon his bosom he
asked .Dost thou feel this breast 10 be pleasant
and safe resting place for thy poor weary head7'
l essayed to reply, but my lips qnivered, the
ready tears gushed forth, and Involuntary my
head nestled closer in his bosom, while wept,
and thus, it was decided.
FLORA"
Ten years have passed since Florence Edger-
ton casped her arms about my neck in parting
embrace, and once again the arms of Florence
Mayhem twined lovingly about me as we well
coined her back. But when we looked upon
her and saw the unearthly brightness Of her eye,
the deathly pallor of her brow and the hectic
flush upon her cheek, we felt that it was but
putting embrace, after all-that she must soon
leave us for land from whence she could re-
turn no more forever. And she felt it, too. She
told US with sad smile, that she had "come