``The Sorrowful Stone'' Mrs. Stockton
considers her best.

``The story without a suspicion of rhyme,
And dim with the mists of the morning of Time,
Is told of a goddess, who, wandering alone,
Did go and sit down on the Sorrowful Stone.

We find our Gethsemane somewhere,
though late;
The Angel of Shadows
throws open the gate.
We creep with our burden of pain,
to atone,
For all of life's ills,
to the Sorrowful Stone.

Above is the vault of the pitiless stars;
The trees stretch their arms all blackened
with scars;
The gales of lost Paradise are faintly
blown
To where we sit down on the Sorrowful
Stone.''

``From a Poem `Vagaries' '' warns of * * *
--the product of the age and clime,
We do too much! grow old before our
time,