get thrown into the gutter, and came near drowning in that sordid place. Oh, call me hard, wickedly revengeful, unbelievably cruel if it makes you feel less miserable--but will you listen to a last prophecy? You will get over this as surely as you have got over your other similar vexations, and you will live to say, 'Thank God that German girl--what was her name? wasn't it Schmidt? good heavens, yes--thank God she was so foolish as not to take advantage of an unaccountable but strictly temporary madness.' And if I am bitter, forgive me. LXXVII Jan. 27th. It would be useless. LXXVIII Jan. 29th. I would not see you. LXXIX Jan. 31st. I do not love you. LXXX Feb. 2d. I will never marry you. LXXXI Feb. 4th. I shall not write again. [THE END]