Today's Stichomancy for Ayn Rand

of them--all girls.

I did my best, keenly interested as I have always been in sociology and social psychology, to reconstruct in my mind the real position of these ancient women. There were some five or six hundred of them, and they were harem-bred; yet for the few preceding generations they had been reared in the atmosphere of such heroic struggle that the stock must have been toughened somewhat. Left alone in that terrific orphanhood, they had clung together, supporting one another and their little sisters, and developing unknown powers in the stress of new necessity. To this pain-hardened and work-strengthened group, who had lost not

Herland

the whole of a long winter's night. When he wakes at cockcrow the revellers are nearly all asleep. Only Socrates, Aristophanes, and Agathon hold out; they are drinking from a large goblet, which they pass round, and Socrates is explaining to the two others, who are half-asleep, that the genius of tragedy is the same as that of comedy, and that the writer of tragedy ought to be a writer of comedy also. And first Aristophanes drops, and then, as the day is dawning, Agathon. Socrates, having laid them to rest, takes a bath and goes to his daily avocations until the evening. Aristodemus follows.

...

If it be true that there are more things in the Symposium of Plato than any

are their armies, or that they are gods to be worshiped. Then evening comes and the children call, and the buffaloes lumber up out of the sticky mud with noises like gunshots going off one after the other, and they all string across the gray plain back to the twinkling village lights.

Day after day Mowgli would lead the buffaloes out to their wallows, and day after day he would see Gray Brother's back a mile and a half away across the plain (so he knew that Shere Khan had not come back), and day after day he would lie on the grass listening to the noises round him, and dreaming of old days in the jungle. If Shere Khan had made a false step with his lame paw up

The Jungle Book

since they were victories truly, even when the enemy refused to encounter him, victories devoid of danger, yet fraught with even more solid advantage to the state of Sparta and her fellow-combatants; just as in our games we crown as victor him who walks over the field[2] no less than him who conquers by dint of battle.

[2] Or, "without striking a blow." Lit. "without the dust of the arena, 'sine pulvere.'" See Thuc. iv. 73, {akoniti}.

And to speak next of his wisdom,[3] I suppose there is not one of all his doings but must illustrate it;--this man whose bearing towards his fatherland was such that by dint of implicit obedience [he grew to so greate a height of power],[4] whose zeal in the service of his