Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1865-03-24

ed Stanton ''and speaking of wine
brings her to my mind. Do you know
anything Of her early life p
"Nothing," l answered. III. +.
"Poor Mary! / never think of her
without feeling my resolution of total
abstinence grow stronger and stronger
When we were school children together
her father was the wealthiest man Berry.
vile, and she and her brothor were among
the happiest happy.
Mr.. Granville was in the habit of drink.
ing wine and the habit grew upon him
until he felt he could not live without
his brandy. He was Of social disposition,
and time it come to pass that he was
often grossly intoxicated. OF course,
uader. such circumstances, one of the
two things must happen. The man must
reform, or he must sink. Mr.. Granville
did not reform, and ere many years he
died drunkard's death, leaving his fami-
ly in poverty and suffering. Thomas,
the son, was four years older than Mary.
became very dissipated, and, at the age of
eighteen, was killed in street.fght in
New York. Mrs. Granville survived
her son but a few months, absolutely dy-
ing, the doctor said, of a broken heart.
Poor Mary, thus left fatberless and
motherless, without brother or sister, at
the age OF fifteen, was forced to earn the
bread which she cat, and nobly has she
done it. If you know her Charley, you
know one Of the nobest women that ever
lived. But---what is the matter /?
Why, bless me, you look as pale as
ghost"
l struggled with myself, and told Jack
that L had swallowed lot Of cigar
smoke. arose and opened one of the
easements, stepped out upon the balcony
where the fresh air partly restored me to
my former self.
At a late hour Jack departed for the
hotel and when [ had retired to my
chamber paced to and fro until long
past midnight, | could no longer fail to un-
derstand the motives which had actuated
Mary in rejecting my hand. She knew
that was in the habit of using wine,
and on that evening when last we met
she must have discovered that I had
drunk enough to bring false flush to my
cheek.
ooh, my Cod CALCULATED, as l sank
into char, "i wonder not that she fear
cd to trust her future life in myqeeeping.
She has suffered enough from the accurs-
ed cup. The night OF sorrow and desola-
ton has been long enough upon her,
She would be worse than mad to take a
husband whose opening pathway of lie
led towards the pit into which the loved
ones of other days had fallen.
But" | asked myself, why did she
not tell mc the whole truth?n
found no difficulty in answering the
question. She had shruuk from wound
ingmy feelings. knew how sensitive
she was, and | knew that she had been
afraid OF oaeuding me. Perhaps she
thought me proud and headstrong enough
to resent such liberty on her part; ana
perhaps she imagined that | might. look
upon her course as the offering Of her
hand in consideration Of my renounting
the wine-eup, and that | might spurn said
offer.
On Friday Jack Stanton left me. and
on Saturday evening l called a. Mary's
boarding place. Mary herself answered
my summons. She started when sle saw
me, and | saw her right hand move quick
y towards her heart.
MARY said !, speaking very calmly,
for | had mighty strength Of will now
to support me, II have not come to dis
trcss you. | have come as friend, and
l humbly ask that you will give me audi
encc for few moments"
She went into the parlor, and | follow
ed her closing the door behind me; and
when we were alone she set the lamp
upou the table, and motioned me to u
seat.
No" said "I will not sit down yet.
Give me your hands, Mary
Mechanically she put forth her hands,
and | took them in my own. There was
u wondering lool, in her face aud a slight
flush came to her pale cheeks.
MARY" | continued, speaking slowly
and softly-and | knew that a moisture
was gathering in my eyes-"you must
answer me one simple question. Answer
it as you please, and take my solemn as
surarce that l only ask it for your good.
Tell me--Do you love me? No, no-do
not take your hands away yet. Answer
me if you ean.-Fear not o, fear not
for would rather go forth into endless
night than do you wrong. Tell me, Mary,
do you love me ?"
Il cannot speak falsely" she trembling
Iy whispered. For my own peace per-
haps | love you too we'll"
"Listen to me one moment" | added,
drawing her nearer to me; land when l
have told you what have to tell, you
shall be the Judge
She did not strive to free her hands;
but she gazod eagerly up into my face,
and her eye boamel with Il hopeful light.
You know John Stanton % | said.
"Yes," she replied.
lie was my best friend wh lie we were
at college and our friendship has not
grown less. He came to SEQ me, and
told the story of the trials and suiferings
of one of the sehoo-mates Of his earlier
days. o, Mary 'think | know very
we'll why you refused my hand, aud |
blame you not. 1t may be that our paths
will be different through life; but you
shall at least know that he whom you