Year: 1865

"No, Charles-it cannot be. As a
friend ! shall respect AMI esteem you
but | cannot be your wife. Have COM
passion on me, and do not press me fur
ther."


Mary Granville stood before me as
she thus spoke with her hands clasped.
and her head bowed, trembling like an
aspen; and fancied there were tears in
her eyes. She was a beautiful girl; and
| thought her as good and pure as she
was beautiful, and, further than this, |
believed 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 | knew nothing, save that she had
been well educated, and hau moved in
good society; AMI had reason to believe
that, at some time her parents were
wealthy; but her father had failed in
business, and it had been told to me that
the sad revcrscs had killed him had
known that Mary was poor-that she
was dependent upon her daily labor for
support-and the thought that ! could
offer her a comfortable home, with the
advantages of moderate wealth had given
increase to my prospective happiness
Bot this unexpected answer dashed all
my bright hopes to the ground.


"Do you mcan," cried vehementlv.
''that you dismiss me ! Am ] to be cast
off,


81 cannot be your wife, was her re.
ply


"Then," said | with more warmth
than | might have betrayed under other
circumstance 81 leave YOU to yourself.
and while | strive to shake off the love
that has bound me TO you, | 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
painful, 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 othe' circum-
stances might have been more cool and
collected in my speech and what do you
suppose, dear reader the attending cir
cumstances were? viii tell you can.
didly.


was a little heated with wine.
had drank just enough to warm my
blood, and give an extra impulse to my
brain; and my woods were not chosen as
| should have chosen them had the spr-
it Of the wine been absent As walked
towards my home | soaght to persuade
myself that had Fortunately escaped the
snare Of Il coquette, and that | might be
the better thus enabled to reason, stop
ped at the hotel, where | found a few Of
my companions, and helped dispose of
half dozen bottles of wine.


On the following morning I awoke
with a headache, and when / called TO
mind the events Of the preceding evening
| was anything but happy. | began to
realize how much | had loved Mary
Granville. There was IN aching void in
my heart, and l fairly wept as | contem-
plated my loss. 1t 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 that she was lost forever
Il had resolved that would feel very
indignant, very angry; but when the
sweet face was called up to mental view,
such feelings melted away, leaving me
sad and desolatc


On the following Sabbath l attended
church, where l saw Mary once more.
She played the organ, as she had done
for the year past, and as her fingers swept
over the keys, l fancied that could de-
tect tremulousness that ! never noticed
before. Was it only imagination, or was