The Birmingham age-herald., 1911-05-07

present The first lives in a rich temple
 hung with glorious trophies and lined
 with tombs; the other has no shrine but
 duty. and walks the earth like a spirit.
 My early friends-where are they? I had written to Bella. had even told her of my charming companion of the ocean voyage and of the strange dream l had had in which Isab bel seemed to be in England and to turn away from me sadly because I caned her Carry At Paris I received a packet of letters from
 Bella in return. It was diary rather
 than a series of letters; her father
 was dtad and she was dying. q would
 give anything she wrote in her first
 epistle. "to see the little Carry that you speak about. But do you know you have not described her to me at all? How I would have like ed to be with you
 on those clear, starlit nights looking
 on upon the waters! But then I think ! that you would not have wished me
 there-and that you did not once think of me even. This makes me sad. vet l do not know why it should. For always liked you when you were hap py and I am sure you were happy then"
 And so her letters ran on until the one in which she told of her own ap- preaching end. "1 do not like your rap lures over the Roman girl" she wrote -I had written her that also. Be care ful, Paul. But it is because I am so ] and selfsh--sorrow Is always self ish. I know your heart. u is quick and sensitive and I dare say that she
 is pretty and has beautiful eyes. But
 Italy is far away, Paul. I can never
 see Enrica; she will never come here.
 l feel as if Carry was a sister now. | But l do not feel so about the Roman 1 girl. l am afroid you will not like
 this, but I love you too well not to
 Say it.
 Tt is all over. I am desolate I seem
 to live wholly now in the world to which
 l am going. l did hope to see you once
 again-to hear your voice speaking to me
 as you used to speak. But I shall not Bue we shall meet-I know that we shall
 meet" And with her sweet image float l ing before me-the sweet image of Isa- i bel-the moon wanes and the shadows of
 evening lengthen upon the land of life. | And now it is evening. The future is 1 a great land. How the lights and the shadows throng it, A man can go around It in day; he cannot measure it with a bound; he cannot bind it's harvests in
 a single sheaf It is wider than the vision
 and has no end Out of the future even that future which is the evening of
 our llfe-and what a fall into vacuity!
 forbld those earnest forays over the
 borders of now and on what spoils would the soul live? Love only unlocks the door upon that futurity-that great coun- try of the future where the fairy islands of the blessed lie like stars Thought is worried and weakened in it's fliebt
 through the mmensity of space: but love
 scars around the throne of the High est with added blessings and strength.
 And now l sit before my fire and it is the evening of my life l muse now, looking toward the sunset of all things.
 of what might have been. l can rebuild,
 at least in fancy, my life that has so far passed away And in fancy I can rebuild it boldly saddened as it may be
 by the shadows of evening. But through
 all l hope for a sunset when the day at last ends, sunset glorious with crm-
 son and gold,
 I am thinking of Carry My heart
 whispers. And this is what might have
 been. I write to her. She is beautiful.
 but am strong the world is short. And
 then l get letter in reply. Dear Paul." she writes, 'I think I may call you so
 now. l know not how to answer you.