silver? Does he see the ruddy wine
Shiver in its crystal goblet, or do those grave eyes divine
Something sadder yet? He pauses till their mirth has died away,
Then in measured tones speaks gravely:
"Boys, a story, if I may, I will tell you, though it may not merit
worthily your praise,
It is bitter fruitage ripened from our pranks of college days,"

Eagerly they claim the story, for they know the LL.D.
With his flexible voice would garnish any tale, whate'er it be.

"Just a year ago to-night, boys, I was in my room alone,
At the San Francisco L---- House, when I heard a plaintive moan
Sounding from the room adjoining. Hoping to give some relief
To the suffering one, I entered; but it thrilled my heart with grief
Just to see that wreck of manhood--bloated face, disheveled hair--
Wildly tossing, ever moaning, while his thin hands beat the air.
Broken prayers, vile oaths and curses filled the air as I drew near;
Then in faint and piteous accents, these words I could plainly hear:
'Give me one more chance--one only--let me see my little Belle--
Then I'll follow where they lead me, be it to the depths of hell!'
When he saw me he grew calmer, started strangely--looked me o'er--
Oh, the glory of expression! I had seen those eyes before!
Yes, I knew him; it was Horace, he who won the college prize;
Naught remained of his proud beauty but the splendor of his eyes.
He whom we were all so proud of, lay there in the fading light.
If my years should number fourscore, I shall ne'er forget that sight.
And he knew me--called me 'Albert,' ere a single word I'd said--
We were comrades in the old days; I sat down beside the bed.

"Horace seemed to grow more quiet, but he would not go to sleep;
He kept talking of our boyhood while my hand he still would keep
In his own so white and wasted, and with burning eyes would gaze
On my face, still talking feebly of the dear old college days.
'Ah,' he said, 'life held such promise; but, alas! I am to-day
But a poor degraded outcast--hopes, ambition swept away,
And it dates back to those oil cans that we filled in greatest glee.
Little did I think in those days what the harvest now would be!'

"For a moment he was silent, then a cry whose anguish yet
Wrings my heart, burst from his white lips, though his teeth were tightly
set,
And with sudden strength he started--sprang from my detaining arm,
Shrieking wildly, 'Curse the demons; do they think to do me harm?
Back! I say, ye forked-t