A Few Short Sketches | Page 7

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, and he took the bandage off of his own eyes and put it
over the head of Basil, who straightway thought he loved the daughter,
who was a woman of no beauty, little intelligence and less amiability.
Being blind with the bandage of the boy Love, he could not see that the
mother had centered her full blown affections upon him. Therefore it
came to pass that the mother and daughter were rivals. He, being a man,
did not understand; they, being women, did. When he asked for the
hand of her daughter he could not comprehend not only why she should
make denial, but why she stormed, wept bitter tears, filled his startled
ears with unreasonable reproaches, and upbraided him as an ingrate and
a man without feeling.
Her opposition made him believe in his love for Rose, but shortly the
beauty and the charm of Grace, the second daughter, about sixteen,
dissipated that belief, although he had pledged himself with word and
ring to Rose.
Grace, mortified by the rivalry between her mother and sister, and
conscious of a growing passion for the man who had, unintentionally,
crept into the lives of three women in one household bound by the
closest ties of blood, fled the place, and went down the broad river to a
little town, where she found quiet and friendly shelter in the home of a
relative. It was a curious place, very old, and in the heart of evergreens.
There was a young girl, Lydia, who was much older, had loved, and
knew that priceless art of bringing comfort to those who were loving
either wisely or too well. Letters, books, and gifts came from Basil
bearing one burden--his love for Grace. The mother, more jealous of
Rose than of Grace, consented to his marriage with either, and fell into
a state of despondency which made quick and mysterious inroads upon
her hitherto excellent health.
When Grace, being called home by the alarming state of her mother's

health, parted with Lydia, she said:
"My duty is clear; I can not be the rival of my mother and Rose. I love
him, but I must give him up." And so she did, although the engagement
between Rose and Basil was broken and never renewed.
Rumor said cruel things about Basil: that he had wasted their beautiful
estate and enriched himself out of