Mistaken

BY RUTH BEADE. The water trickled close beside thern, The lime rocks leaned above, below, The rose-buds bloomed in her white fingers, Her cheeks blushed with a softer glow. He whispered words heart-deep with meaning, She turned her fair, 8weet face awn y Toward the sunset glory trailing Behind the slow-departing day. He craved an answer ; then ariaing She tm-ned and faced him eye to eye, Her voice spoke low without a falter: " There is 110 triondship ; life's a lie." I once believed the single fable, That novéis preach and fools will trust ; But. now I'm wiser: Life's a whirlwiud Aud man is nothing more than dust. Yon say you love me : that's a fancy As lasting as this little flower: See, I will fix it in this crevice To finish here life's tiny hour." And then he answered: "Now believe me, Each flower touched by human hand Reeeives a sonl, and blooms immortal Beyond us in the Heaven-land. So, as you say, my love ís like it ; I take your words and hold them true ; And when you reach the better country, You'U find my love there seeking you." She laughed a laugh of scornful meaning, Then turned and left him standing still, Aml with reluctauce unavailing The day went out behind the hill. Years afterward a weary woman, From whose sad lite all hope had flown, Found in in the crevice of the lime-rock A tiny rose-bud turned to stone.