not return again," I said.

The woman did not speak, neither did she stir. But the poppy on her breast
with drooping head uplifted softly cried, "Go, quickly go, and--forget!"

* * * * *

I went down the broad stairway between a row of bright lights--a dazzling
mockery--I went out into the night. I passed by a certain garden where red
poppies grew. I leaned over the low wall. I buried my hot face among them.
I crushed them in my hands and stained my temples with their quivering
blooms. But all to no purpose; they did not, could not bring
forgetfulness. I am thinking always of that woman, of those four red
poppies, and of that one red poppy which drooped on her breast that night
and said to me, "Go, quickly go, and--forget."

THE NEW CURE FOR HEART-BREAK

TO LITTLE MISS PREVIOUS

III

THE NEW CURE FOR HEART-BREAK

A CHRISTMAS GIFT STORY

Hat Mark.
Shaving Papers.
Embroidered Slippers.
Onyx Cuff Buttons.
Inkstand from Italy.
Her Picture--in Silver Frame.
Scarf-pin with Pearl and Diamonds.

It was Christmas eve, several years ago. We had dined together at the Cafe
de la Paix, near the Grand Opera-house, Paris. The dinner was good, the
wine excellent; but George Addison was best of all.

I have never known why he should have told me that night of his "Cure for
Heart-break."

Was it the grouse?

Was it the Burgundy?

Was it some strange influence?

George Addison is the man who first came to the front in the literary
world as the careful and successful editor of that now valuable book, "The
Poets and Poetry of the South." A fresh edition--about the eleventh--is
promised for the New Year.

But he fairly leaped into fame, and its unusual companion, large wealth,
when he gave ungrudgingly to his anxious and generous public that curious
little hand-book, "The Perfected Letter Writer."

Young ladies who live in the country buy it clandestinely, and eagerly
read it privately, secretly, in their own quiet bed-chambers during the
silent watches of the night. When occasion demands they boldly make
extracts therefrom, which they awkwardly project into their labored notes
and epistles of much length and less grace.

Even women of fashion have been known to buy it--and use it, not wisely,
but freely.

There are men, too, who consult its pages reverently, frequently, and
oftentimes, I must add, with most disastrous results. It is, as is well
known,