If life were like a rose designed, That proves its purpose to be fair And with the grace its bud divined Distils June’s sweetness on the air; Then would the stubborn sheaths that hold The flower of the heart’s ideal Beneath the stress of time unfold And what we dream become the real— If life had but the rose’s art And beauty burgeoned from the heart! Then like the rose that o’er the grass Spills leaf by leaf its lovely freight And tho’ its purple fortunes pass Is calm in an accomplished fate, Might we with less reluctant will Yield up the harvest of our hours, Seeing the inner grace fulfil Its promise in old age’s powers— If life had but the rose’s art And beauty burgeoned from the heart! —_Edward A. Uffington Valentine._ [Illustration: ANNA EVAUOVNA A STUDY OF RUSSIAN LIFE _By Margaret Sutton Briscoe And M.A.R._] They stood in the village street talking together, two little Russian peasant girls, dressed in rough carpet skirts, thick leather boots, with hair plaited in two long plaits and heads covered with bright kerchiefs as became unmarried girls. Grusha was larger and taller than Masha, and her coloring stronger, in fact, she was stronger in all respects, and good-naturedly conscious of her superiority. She stood looking down on Masha with a mischievous smile on her red lips and in her black eyes. “Is it that you mean to marry Ivan when he comes from the war, Grusha?” Masha was asking. Grusha laughed. “Perhaps,” she replied lightly. “Then you are a bad girl, Grusha. Why do you keep Alioscha dancing after you?” Grusha laughed again. “What if he likes it? Alioscha would be more unhappy if I did not let him do his dancing. And besides, I like him.” “Do you mean to marry him then, Grusha?” “Perhaps.” Grusha caught Masha’s hand as she turned from her with a gesture of anger. “Come back, Masha, listen to me. Ask Anna Evauovna what I mean to do. She knows all things, the old witch!” Masha crossed herself, glancing over her shoulder. “And she will know you have said that,” she answered. Grusha’s face wore a reflected uneasiness for a moment. “Bah!” she replied, shaking herself. “What harm can she do me!” Masha nodded her head gravely. “That was what Marusa said, and how did the Njania punish her? Has she a child to call hers? And look at poor Julina. She defied the Njania also, and has had children showered on her faster than she can breathe. Her isba is like a beehive. Anna Evauovna can give you a draught that will cure any sickness if she will, and oh! what fortunes she can tell, Grusha! And what do we here in the village that she does not know of at once?” “Who teaches her and who tells her? Answer me that, Masha. Oh, you may well cross yourself! Ask her if you want to know anything and if you are not afraid of her teacher. Have done then. What are you after?”