, but that certain of his "guests"--ladies
who had formerly occupied high social positions--were of opinion that,
considering Miss Poe's eccentricities, she would be better suited and
better satisfied in a less pretentious establishment. Finally she was
received into the "_Epiphany Church Home_," in Washington, where she
seems to have enjoyed a good deal of liberty, being often seen riding on
the street cars and visiting the offices of wealthy business men, who,
if they did not care to possess a photograph of Poe, were yet willing to
assist his penniless sister. It was never known what she did with the
money so collected; but from a letter to Mrs. Byrd, it would appear
that her intention was to purchase a grave for herself near that of her
brother. Mrs. Byrd wrote to me: "I think Poe's friends might lay Rose in
a grave beside him. It has always been her dearest wish."

Rosalie Poe died suddenly, with a letter in her hand but that moment
received, and which, when opened, proved to be from Mr. George W.
Childs, enclosing a check for fifty dollars; doubtless in answer to an
application for aid.

They gave her a pauper's grave in the cemetery of the Epiphany Church
Home. The record of her death by the Board is:

"_Rosalie Poe. Died June 14, 1874. Aged 64._"

Some years after the death of Rose Poe, I received a visit from Mrs.
Byrd, whom I had not seen since the war, and we talked over times past
and present. It had been Rosalie's own choice, she said, to go to
Baltimore. She did not like the country or the hard life which they were
leading. She must have collected considerable money, but never told
where she kept it; nor was it ever found.

She told me about her family. Her pretty daughter had married a poor man
in preference to a rich one who had offered, and they had two beautiful
babies and were very happy. Her brother Richard was infirm and able to
do but little work. They had a little place in the country, where they
raised their own vegetables, and sent poultry and eggs to market. She
and her son-in-law did all the hard work about the place. "I wash and
cook for six persons," said she, cheerily. "Yes," she continued, in her
old quaint way, "we are poor, but respectable, and I am more content
than ever I was at Duncan Lodge. I feel that I have something to live
for, and the working life suits me. Yes, we are happy; although there
are not two tea-cups in the house of the same pattern."

She spoke of Poe, whom she