The last roses of the year 1811 were in bloom in the Richmond gardens
and their petals would soon be scattered broadcast by the winds which
had already stripped the trees and left them standing naked against the
cold sky.

Cold indeed, it looked, through the small, smoky window, to the eyes of
the young and beautiful woman who lay dying of hectic fever in a dark,
musty room back of the shop of Mrs. Fipps, the milliner, in lower Main
Street--cold and friendless and drear.

She was still beautiful, though the sparkle in the great eyes fixed upon
the bleak sky had given place to deep melancholy and her face was
pinched and wan.

She knew that she was dying. Meanwhile, her appearance as leading lady
of Mr. Placide's company of high class players was flauntingly announced
by newspaper and bill-board.

The advertisement had put society in a flutter; for Elizabeth Arnold Poe
was a favorite with the public not only for her graces of person and
personality, her charming acting, singing and dancing, but she had that
incalculable advantage for an actress--an appealing life-story. It was
known that she had lately lost a dearly loved and loving husband whom
she had tenderly nursed through a distressing illness. It was also known
that the husband had been a descendant of a proud old family and that
the same high spirit which had led his grandfather, General Poe,
passionately denouncing British tyranny, to join the Revolutionary Army,
had, taking a different turn with the grandson, made him for the sake of
the gifted daughter of old England who had captured his heart--actress
though she was--sever home ties, abandon the career chosen for him by