Today's Stichomancy for Nick Lachey

perhaps I may be avenged. Therefore I will write down here all that has happened to me since I set out on my journey." These were the first words that were written under the mysterious title. Muller had just read them when the commissioner entered.

"Will you speak to Amster; he has just returned?" he asked.

Muller rose at once. "Certainly. Did you telegraph to all the railway stations?"

"Yes," answered the commissioner, "and also to the other police stations."

"And to the hospitals? - asylums?"

"No, I did not do that." Commissioner von Mayringen blushed, a

while she was playing the accordion, - indeed, I undertook to join them in a song, and got as far as "Come rest in this boo-oo," when, my voice getting tremulous, I turned off, as one steps out of a procession, and left the basso and soprano to finish it. I see no reason why this young woman should not be a very proper match for a man that laughs about Boston State-house. He can't be very particular.

The young fellow whom I have so often mentioned was a little free in his remarks, but very good-natured. - Sorry to have you go, - he said. - School-ma'am made a mistake not to wait for me. Haven't taken anything but mournin' fruit at breakfast since I heard of it.

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table

him least of all authors of fiction.

For instance, it is more than doubtful that the whimsical parson really INTENDED a moral to be read into the adventures of his "Sentimental Journey" that follow in these pages. He used to declare that he never intended anything--he never knew whither his pen was leading--the rash implement, once in hand, was likely to fly with him from Yorkshire to Italy--or to Paris--or across the road to Uncle Toby's; and what could the helpless author do but improve each occasion?

So here is one such "occasion" thus "improved" by disjointed sequels--heedless, one would say, and yet glittering with the

to keep simple, tried to keep sane, with that austerity that only mad wealth can afford--or bitter poverty. He caused the land about the plant to be laid out in sunken gardens and baseball fields and tennis courts, so that one approached this monster of commerce through enchanted grounds, glowing with tulips and heady hyacinths in spring, with roses in June, blazing with salvia and golden- glow and asters in autumn. There was something apologetic about these grounds.

This, then, was the environment that Fanny Brandeis had chosen. On the face of things you would have said she had

Fanny Herself