The weekly union record., 1865-09-16
Love and Blood---Mis Harris.
The WHOLE STORY.

admit, of modern Irritation. Many years ago.
away out West, there was little Irish girl.
Mary Harris by name. She was pretty.
black eyed and roguish. She was poor. Her
parents were dead, and she lived with some
relatives. who treated her kindly. and gave her
such advantages as they were able. Presently
she met young man who took fancy to her
fresh morning face and short dresses. and in
gratiated himself into the good opinion of the
old folks, and visited her often. as a young
man of two or three and twenty visit child
of twelve. He called her his rosebud and
playmate, and bis puss in boots, we dare say.
They took long walks together, and sat BY the
river side, whole days, and read fairy tales.
And so they parted for time.
But our little Irish girl is poor and is grow
| ing to womauhood, and has 10 do something
| for living. She is ssnt, therefore, 10 neigh
boring village aud becomes salesmaid for a
jolly old shopkeeper. who, after while is very
fond of her, for she is young, honest and hand-
some, One day she gets letter. The young
man with the brown moustach has not forgot
ten her, and wants still to be her dear, dear
| friend. And indeed be is that, for this bright,
hearty Irish girl has warm heart of her own.
and is grateful aud constant. SO she writes
him ready answer, not very well spelled, per-
haps, but cherry and robust like herself She
is sixteen; be is approaching thirty-a fair
contrast he has an education and an air
about him; she has no education to speak of,
but keen appreciation and ambition. They
write each other great many letters-all af-
ter the usual style-frst friendship-next
avowal-6nally love. This must have been q
very sad case of love, too, for, as the little girl
progresses with her onward march to woman
hood, the 1.-THE and buoyant spirit deepens into
sentiment and gradually becomes intense. She
loves her lover to distraction, and they meet
once more, and she is his darling and sweet
little Mollse.
At this time Mary Harris must have been
what the young gentleman called killing.
little facinator. She was just past seventeen {;
tidy waist trim figure, swan-like neck,
comely face. not too TALL luxuriant hair. and
nairette All the arks around town were halt
mad about her. She wore bit of grey cloak
and gipsey hat. But she cared not fig for
the whole of them. She was wrapped up 10
her old bachelor, as she called him, and would
follow him to the end of the world. She said
so at least, and he believed her. and began to
practice on her love and trust. But Irish vir-
tue is an article Of stubborn quality, and often
defies the fercest passion. In this case, at
any rate, it did so. The lover, failing to car
ry his point, gradually grew tired of bis sweet
little Mollie, after q filtration Of five or six
years. Men very often, too often, We fear,
weary of their little Molies through such
long siege Of love, and if they have no mind
to make them their little wives, and are not
able to make them anything else, are quite
ready to give them over. The old bachelor,
now getting into his thirties was tired he
wanted to marry somebody else; he did not
want to marry little Molie, so be gave her
over. Yes, be gave her over, gradually, how
ever, by neglect and absence. and finally mar
red another woman, and went to Washington
to hold an Office under the Government.
What must have been the feelings of this
little Irish girl, with her warm heart, her act
;yo en;,t bar Laan oane;h;I,t;a, har ordont
love, to find herself cast of. like WORKOUT
garment, after FIVE years of constaucy and de-
votion? Love is cruel passion. 1t is bitter
sweet. 1t has its dark lines at best, and to
this prosecuted, abandoned girl they must have
been bideously dark, for she took to broodiDg,
and grew wan and pale, and suffered, and was
not herself any more. 1t was thus that she
resolved in her bitterness aad wrath 10 her
misery and inanition that she would follow him
and kill him. XIII him yes, for had be not
killed her? Had be not married another wo
man, and how can you offend woman who
loves you, more mortally than by marrying
some one else.
She went TO Washington. She sought the
department in which be was employed. 1t
was dull, cold January. The janitor at the
door showed her up flight Of stone steps. and
through the long ball, and pointed her out the
very room, unconscious as Government jsni-
tor must have been, of her bloody purpose.
Just as she reached the door she meets her
victim coming out with friend. He sees her,
and DO doub! prophetic light flashes within
him, for be exclaims, my God J" Two re
ports-sbarp, ringing pistol shots echoing and
re echoing throughout those vast corridors and
columns-follow 10 quick succession, and the
false lover lies dead man upon the gray mat
ting of the floor.
The deed is done. The deception of years
is expiated. The revenge of months of wild
and lonely meditation is complete. Alas,
poor, frai MolHe is murderer. o, roguish
ewes of black o. pink and peachen cheek