It was a bent and ancient man who toiled with spade and pick, and down his haggard features ran the sweatdrops, rolling thick. And, as he toiled, his gasping sighs spoke darkly of despair; a hopeless look was in his eyes, a look of grief and care. He toiled, all heedless of the crowd that journeyed to and fro; "it is a shame," I said, aloud, "that Age should suffer so." He overheard me, and he said: "I earned this fate, in truth; when young I stained the landscape red; I was a Gilded Youth. I bought the merchandise that's wet, I fooled with games of chance; and now, in misery and sweat, I wear the name of Pance. I was a rounder and a sport, a spender and a blood, and now, when I loom up in court, my only name is Mud. I filled my years with gorgeous breaks, I thought my life a game; I threw my money to the drakes, and wallowed deep in shame. I used to hate the sissy-boys, those molly-coddle lads, who were content with milder joys, and salted down the scads; and now I see them passing by, in opulence and ease, while I, too luckless e'en to die, am doing tasks like these. Sometimes, in racking dreams I see the money that I burned; but do not waste your tears on me--I'm getting what I earned!" _Lullaby_ Darling, hush! your tears are welling from your azure angel eyes, but you'll do no good by yelling; hush, my baby, dear, be wise! I would give the soothing syrup that you want, to quell this storm, but I fear that it would stir up trouble in your darling form. Once I prized that syrup highly, thinking it was just the stuff, but I wrote to Dr. Wiley, and he says it's bad enough. Once the doctor, also, prized it, but he found, O baby fair, after he had analyzed it, that an ounce would kill a bear. It's supposed to cure the colic, and to check the infant spleen, but it's strongly alcoholic, and contains some Paris green; it has killed a frightful number, and will kill a legion more; sleep, my darling, sleep and slumber, while your daddy walks the floor! _The School-marm_