Today's Stichomancy for W. C. Fields

For terror, you know, not only is a source of pain indwelling in the breast itself, but, ever in close attendance, shadowing the path,[8] becomes the destroyer of all sweet joys.

[8] Reading {sumparakolouthon lumeon}. Stob. gives {sumparomarton lumanter}. For the sentiment cf. "Cyrop." III. i. 25.

And if you know anything of war, Simonides, and war's alarms; if it was your fortune ever to be posted close to the enemy's lines,[9] try to recall to mind what sort of meals you made at those times, with what sort of slumber you courted rest. Be assured, there are no pains you then experienced, no horrors to compare with those that crowd upon the despot, who sees or seems to see fierce eyes of enemies glare at

them through courts and corridors, through armories and prisons. He delivered his usual peripatetic discourse, and they stopped and stared, and peeped and stooped, according to the official admonitions. Bessie Alden asked the old man in the crimson doublet a great many questions; she thought it a most fascinating place. Lord Lambeth was in high good humor; he was constantly laughing; he enjoyed what he would have called the lark. Willie Woodley kept looking at the ceilings and tapping the walls with the knuckle of a pearl-gray glove; and Mrs. Westgate, asking at frequent intervals to be allowed to sit down and wait till they came back, was as frequently informed that they would never come back.

examined the perfectly fitted joints until he was convinced either that there was no latch there or that it was hid be- yond possibility of discovery. With each succeeding minute the American's heart and hopes sank lower and lower. Two years had elapsed since he had seen the secret portal swing to the touch of Joseph's fingers. One may forget much in two years; but that he was at work upon the right panel Barney was positive. However, it would do no harm to ex- amine its mate which resembled it in minutest detail.

Almost indifferently Barney turned his attention to the other panel. He ran his fingers over it, his eyes following

The Mad King

raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear,