The Evansville journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ind.) 1866-1870, 1866-05-07


= mo, Charles, it cannot be. AS a
friend shall respect and esteem you;
but / can not be your wife. Have
compassion on me, and do not press
me further"
~ Mary Granville stood before me as
she thus spoke, with her hands clasped
and her head bowed, trembling Ikea
aspen, and I fancied there were tears
in her eyes.
She was beautiful girl, and I 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
engaged during the past year in teach
ing one of our village schools.
s Of her early life / knew nothing,
save that she had been educated and
moved in good society; and / had rea-
son to believe that at some time her
parents had been wealthy, but her
father had failed in business, and it
had been told me that the sad reverse
killed him. I had known that Mary
was poor--that she was dependent on
her daily labor for support-and the
thought that could offer her a com
Portable home, with the advantage of
moderate wealth, had given increase
to my prospective happiness.
But this unexpected answer dashed
all my bright hopes to the ground.
do you mean" / cried, vehement
ly, " that you thus dismiss me? Am
I cast off" 80 f-.s.ases.s
~" cannot, indeed, be your wife,
was the reply. - aa.ls a..s ms a
tslr"s Then" said /, with more warmth
than / might have betrayed under
other circumstances. | leave you to
yourself, and while | try to shake off
the love that has bound me to you, /
hope that ere you lead another into
your net you will conclude before
hand whittier you will keep him or
cast him off, s,w
She looked into my face with
painful, frightened glance, but / did
mot stop to hear her speak further. I
turned and left the house. %
remarked that under other cir
cumstances might have been more
cool and collected in my speech; and
what do you suppose, dear readers, the
attending circumstances were? III
tell you candidly. 49, y 80 ~ y , 's'.t
10 was a little heated with wine |
had drank just enough to warm my
blood and give my brain an extra i'm
pulse, and my words were not chosen
as / should have chosen them had the
spirit of wine been absent.
AS / walked towards my house I
sought to persuade myself that had
fortunately escaped the snare of
cOquette, and that | might be the bet
ter enabled thus to reason stopped
at the hotel, where / found a few of
my companions, and helped to dispose
of half dozen bottles of wine.I no
On the following morning awoke
with the headache, and when / called
to mind the events of the preceding
evening / was anything but happy
I began to realize how much / had
loved Mary Granville There was an
aching void in my heart, and 1 wept
as contemplated my loss. It was
my first love, and its influence 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 she was lost forever. iseaoa
I had resolved that / would feel
very angry and indignant, but when
the sweet face was called up to mental
view. such feelings melted away, leav-
ing me sad and desolate.
On the following Sabbath | attended
church, where / saw Mary once more
She played the organ as she had done
the past year. and as her fingers swept
over the KEYS. | fancied that | coulc
detect a RIGHTEOUSNESS which / had
never noticed before. Was it onl!
imagination, or was it really plain
tiveness- sadness in the expression
of her music? So q
To me it seemed at times as though
the organ moaned and wept. 1t wa
like the wailing of the daughters o
Zion by the rivers of Babylon.
When the services were over, ant
we went out of the church, / saw
Mary's face. 1t was pale and wan, a
though she had been sick. Wha