ess too, from the moment he made the resolution to trample on his
feelings and rid himself in that novel method of every tangible vestige of
that past, which he got rid of by gift, not burial. Therefore, he had no
ghostly visitors--no useless regrets.

Florence Barlowe, with malice toward all and charity to none, devoted her
outward self to good works of the conventional kind. She had several
offers, but she never married, and she never forgave George Addison for
his failure to speak for that which he might have had for the asking.
Pride, not love, was the ruler of her heart--if she had one.

To those who have this Christmas tide the heart-ache, and the heart-break
of love gone another way, let them try this new cure, and remember the
happy, successful life, and the ripe old age, full of years and honor, of
dear old George Addison, who wrote "The Poets and Poetry of the South" and
"Perfected Letter Writer."

THE LITTLE BLIND MAID

TO LADY CHARLOTTE

IV

THE LITTLE BLIND MAID

Overlooking a big smoky city which lies below, and a wide and winding
river which runs beyond, there is a large building on the top of a hill
which is dedicated to education. But it was built for the comfort and the
pleasure of a certain rich man and his family.

Shortly after its occupation the owner died, leaving a large fortune, a
young widow and three daughters.

During the long period of mourning, which was strictly observed but only
partially felt by the widow, there came to live in the big house an
attractive man of about five and thirty, who had been both friend and
partner of the merchant prince. He had been given entire charge of the
large estate, and he gave to it and the family most of his time. His
habits were excellent, but his tastes were convivial, and his little
bachelor dinners the desire of his acquaintances and the delight of his
friends. His apartments were entirely separate from the family, but he
spent most of his unengaged evenings in their quiet little circle. The
children called him uncle, the mother called him Basil, and the people who
knew them looked upon him as one related, and spoke no gossip concerning
them.

But one fine day that little fellow--always young--who is said to have
wings and a quiver full of arrows, came into the house. He kissed the
mother, a woman of forty and with attractions more than passing pleasant;
he touched the heart of the eldest daughter, Rose, eighteen years of age