The Ashland union. [volume] (Ashland, Ashland County, Ohio) 1854-1868, 1865-08-02

ton and an air about him ; she has no
education to speak Of, but keen appreeia-
ton and ambition. They wrote each
other q great many letters-all after tho
usual stylc-frst friendship-next avow-
al-6nally love. This must have been a
very sad case Of love, too, for, as the lit
tie girl progresses with her onward march
to womanhood, the 1.-THE and buoyant
spirit dcepens into sentiment and grad
ually becomes intense. She loves her
lever to distraction, and they meet once
more, and she IS his darling little Mollie,
At this time Mary Harris must have
been what the young gentlemen call al
killing little fascinater. She was just
past sevcnteen-a tidy waist-a trim fig
urea swan like neck-a comcly face
not too tall, luxuriant hair and naivete.-l
All the larks around town were half mad
about her. She wore a bit of a gray
cloak and a gipsey hat. But she cared
not q fig for the whole Of them. She was
wrapped up in her old bachelor, as she
called him, and would follow him'te the
end Of the world. She said 50, at least,
and he believed her, and began to prac.
ticc upon her love and trust. But Irish
virtue is an article Of stubborn quality,
and often deies the ~iercest passion. In
this case, at any rate, it did SO. The
lover failed 10 carry his point, gradually
grew tired Of his little Mollic, after a fir
tation Of five or six years. Men very Of
ten, TOO often, we fear, weary of their lit,
tie Mollies through such a long siege of
love, and if they have no mind to make
them their little wives, and are not able
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
elsej he did not want to marry his little
Mollie, so he gave her over. Yes, he
gave her over, gradually, however, by
neglect aud absence, and finally married
another woman, and went to Washington
TO hold an Office under the Government.
What must have been the feelings of
this wild little Irish girl, with her warm
heart, her active spirit, her keen sensibil-
tiles, her ardent love, to find herself cast
off, like q worn out garment, after five
years Of consistency and devotion? Love
is a cruel passion. 1t is bitter-swcet. 1t
has its dark lines at best, and to this per
secuted, abandoned girl, they must have
bcen hidcously dark, for she took to brood.
ing, and grew wan and pale, and suffered
and was not herself any more. 1t was
thus that she resolved in her bitterness
and wrath, in her misery and inanition,
that she would follow him and kill him.
Kill him yes, for had he not killed love
and life in her Had he not married
another women, and how can you offend
q woman who loves you, more MORALLY
by marrying some one else?
She went to Washington. She sought
the department in which he was employ
cd. It was a dull, cold January after.
noon. The j%anitor at tho door showed
her up The fight of stone steps, and
through the long hall, and pointed her
out the very room, unconscious as a Gov
ernmcnt %janitor must have been, Of her
bloody purpose. Just Os she reaches the
door she beholds the victim coming out
with a friend. lie secs her, and no
doubt a prophetic light flashes within
him, for he exclaims, any God" Two
reports-sharp, ringing pistol shots echo
ing and rc-echoiug throughout those vast
corridors and columns-follow in quick
succession, and the false lover lies a dead
man upon the gray mating 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, fail humanity /!
Little rosebud has done il, Little Mollio
is a murderer. o, roguish eyes of black
., pink and peachcn check /! o, hood,
and wimple, and short frocks and panta-
%lettes Never any more peace, never
any more Innocence, never any more calm,
sweep sleep. Boots it to you, now that
he is dead, that he was the husband Of
another woman, that he wronged you and
denerted you?
"vows Of u''heard and endles devotion.
How yc have faded awayp
So goes the mill A little puff Of
smoke. A little scent of powder. A few
drops Of blood, And the little Irish girl
is down stairs sobbing, without shedding
a tear, ard crying "My God, why did I
do itp' The great Secretary comes, lord
Of the nations Treasure. She clings to
him, and kneels before him, and he, too,
asks her why she did it? She knows no
reason, except that "shc loved him SO
much" There it is. 1t was not hate,
but love. She loved him so much that
she would rather he we're dead than that
another woman should have him. A wo.
nan to the lastl Who would have her
otherwise?
They took her away to Jail. They
lodged her in a dungeon. And there
she has lain ever since. Most Of the
time she has been i'll, and when she has
not been i'll, she has been depressed, sui
len and silent. They have brought her
out to try her for her life, and the court.
room is crowded daily with eager spccta-
tors. 1t is the little Irish girl no longer.
All the bloom has gone. Tho fire has
faded from her roguish eyes. The cheek
is pallid and sunken. She docs not care
to live, but they will not let her die
They will set her at liberty, and she will
live a broken hearted woman, or perish
in a mad.house, for they say she is mad
already.
Poor littlo Yosebubl Poor little Mol.