On a starving bard
When his last trump card
Is played, and he wishes himself bisected
When his Muse's lays come back--rejected!

* * * * *

STORICULES.

III.--THE DEAR OLD LADY.

There were three of them in the railway-carriage. One was a
Stockbroker; one was a Curate; one was an Old Lady. They had been
strangers to each other when they started; but it was near the end of
the journey, and they were chatting pleasantly together now. One could
see that the little Old Lady was from the country; she was exquisitely
neat and simple in appearance; there was an air of primness about her
which one rarely sees in a city product. She carried a big bunch of
hedgerow flowers. She seemed to be a little nervous about travelling,
and still more nervous about encountering the noise and confusion of
the great city. She had asked the Stockbroker and Curate a good many
questions about the sights that she ought to see, and how much she
ought to pay the cabman, and which were the best shops. "Not but what
TOM will look after me," she explained; "Tom's a very good son to me,
and he'll be waiting on the platform for me. And such a boy as he
was too when he was younger! Fruit! There wasn't anything that boy
wouldn't do to get it--any kind of mischief." She grew garrulous on
the subject of Tom's infancy. The two men answered her questions,
and listened amusedly to her chatter. Occasionally they interchanged
smiles. Presently the train got near to the station just before the