What, ho! in all, no friendly face, No helping hand to stay his plight? St. Peter's name be pledged for aye, The man's accursed, that is true; But ho, he suffers. None of you Will mercy show, or pity sigh?" Strong men drew back, and lordly train Did slowly file from monarch's look, Whose lips curled scorn. But from a nook A voice cried out, "Though he has slain That which I loved the best on earth, Yet will I tend him till he dies, I can be brave." A woman's eyes Gazed fearlessly into his own. THIRD. When all the world has grown full cold to thee, And man--proud pygmy--shrugs all scornfully, And bitter, blinding tears flow gushing forth, Because of thine own sorrows and poor plight, Then turn ye swift to nature's page, And read there passions, immeasurably far Greater than thine own in all their littleness. For nature has her sorrows and her joys, As all the piled-up mountains and low vales Will silently attest--and hang thy head In dire confusion, for having dared To moan at thine own miseries When God and nature suffer silently. THE WOMAN. The literary manager of the club arose, cleared his throat, adjusted his cravat, fixed his eyes sternly upon the young man, and in a sonorous voice, a little marred by his habitual lisp, asked: "Mr. ----, will you please tell us your opinion upon the question, whether woman's chances for matrimony are increased or decreased when she becomes man's equal as a wage earner?"