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

| &NO3 Ouol CItiIOU DCs lAS u
friend shall respect and esteem you;
but | connot be your wife. Have COM
passion On me, and do not press me furth-
er.
| Nary Granville stood before me as she
thus spoke, with her hands clasped, and
her head bowed, trembling like an aspen
and tancied that there were tears in
her eyes. She was beautiful girl; and
| had thought her as good and pure as
she was beautiful, and, further than this
had believed that she loved me.
She was an orphan, and had been en-
gagged during the past year in teaching
one of our village schools. OF her early
life | know nothing save that she had
been well educated, and had. moved in
good society; and l had reason to believe
that, at some time her parents had been
wealthy; but her father had failed in
business, and it had been told to mc that
the sad reverses killed him. had known
that Mary was poor-that she was de-
pendent upon her daily labor for support
and the thought that conld offer her
comfortable home, with the advantages
of moderate wealth, lad given increase
to my prospective happiness. But this
unexpected answer dashed all my bright
hopes to the ground. ~ +
"Do you mean,' cried, vehemently
"that you thus dismiss me? Am l cast
off 2"
Il cannot be your wife," was her re-
Iply.
"Then,a said I, with more warmth
than | might have betrayed under other
circumstances, Il leave YOU to YOURSELF
and while | strive to shake off the love
that has bound me to you, L will only
hope that ere you lead another into your
net, you will conclude beforehand whether
you will keep him !"
She gazed up into my face with pain
ful, frightened look +; but | did not stop
to hear her speak further. While she
stood there, pale and trembling, [ turned
and left the house.
remarked that under other circum-
stances | might have been more ceol and
collected in my speech; and what do you
suppose, dear reader, the attending cir
cumstances whre? will tell you candid
| ly. | was u little heated with wine. |
had drunk just enough to warm my blood,
and give my brain an extra impulse; and
my words were not chosen us | should
have chosen them had the spirit Of the
wiue been abselt. As | walked towards
my home l sought TO persuade myself
that | had fortunately escaped the snare
OF coquette, and that misht be the
better enabled thus to reason, stopped
at the hotel, where found Il few of my
companions, and helped dispose OF half
dozen bottles Of wine.
On the following morning awoke with
a headache, and when l called to mind
the events OF the preceding evening l was
anything but happy. l began to realize
how much had loved Mary Granville
There was an aching void in my heart,
and | fairly wept as l contemplated my
loss 1t was my first love, and its in
fucnoc had penetrated every fibre of my
being. The beautiful girl had become
more dear to me than | could tell, and |
groaned in bitter anguish when | thought
that she was lost forever. had resolved
that | would feel very angry very in-
dignant but when the sweet face was
called up to mental view, such feelings
melted away, leaving me sad and desc.
late.
On the following Sabbath l attended
church, where | saw Mary once more.
She played the organ, as she had done
for the year past, and her fingers now
swept over the keys fan3ied that | could
detect trcmulousness which | had never
noticed before. Was it only imagination,
or was it really plaintivcness-a sadness
in the expression of her music? -
To me it seemed as though at times,
the organ mourned and wcpt. 1t was like
the wailing daughters Of Zion by the riv-
ers Of Babylon.
When the services were over, and We
went out from church, saw Mary's face
1t was pale and was, as though She had
been sick. What could it be? Was she
suffering as had suffered? The thought
flashed upon me that some one might have
been telling her of my disadvantage. |
had enemies in the viIlage-enemies who
envied me because L had inherited some
wealth; and fancied, enemies who enyi.
ed IRE the love of Mary Granville.
Another week passed, and l became
more sad and lonesome. My business
was irksome to me, and my books and
papers afforded me no respite. In fact,
could not read, for my mind was never
upon the page before me. Another Sab
bath at the church, and l saw Mary
again. 1t seemed to me that she was
paler than before, and her eyes looked as
though she had been weeping.
During the succoelingSweek l received
a visit from my old college chum, Jack
Stanton, who had just opened law
office in Berryyille. After supper, as we
sat in my cozy parlor smoking our cigars,
J suggested that bottle of wine would
not be amis. Jack shook his head,
"No Charley" he said. "We'll leave
the wine for those who need it."
"You used to drink it, jack"
"Yes, but it never did me any good"
"And do you think it ever did you any
harm p
"1As for that I will not say; but my
hey | will tell you what L can say 1t
2eeer shall do me harm! know it has
harmed otaers who were as strong rs
am.-By the way, Charley, isn't Mary
: 80, t,vil bara 3j