worthy young women of their choice.

As might have been expected, that clause of his will was successfully
contested, on account of its vagueness, by his brother and sister, who
morally, if not legally, cheated the "Bashful Young Men of Boston" out of
a unique and much deserved, much needed inheritance. This cure for
heart-break must be a severe but effectual one. When I met George Addison
in Paris, then an old man, he was as rosy as a ripe apple, and just as
mellow. He was gracious, kindly, and had learned well the difficult art of
growing old with grace, and without noise. He dated his success, his
happiness 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."