Today's Stichomancy for John Carpenter

especially to the North of Syria, and lands where the pine is so beneficent and beloved a tree--the mourning ceremony of the death and burial of Attis! when a pine-tree, felled by the axe, was hollowed out, and in the hollow an image (often itself carved out of pinewood) of the young Attis was placed. Could any symbolism express more tenderly the idea that the glorious youth--who represented Spring, too soon slain by the rude tusk of Winter-- was himself the very human soul of the pine-tree?[1] At some earlier period, no doubt, a real youth had been sacrificed and his body bound within the pine; but now it was

Pagan and Christian Creeds

'Pooh! there are other women in the world.' Beware of that man for a dangerous reptile. Still, the Government may employ that citizen somewhere in the Foreign Office. Blondet, I call your attention to the fact that this Godefroid had thrown up diplomacy."

"Well, he was absorbed," said Blondet. "Love gives the fool his one chance of growing great."

"Blondet, Blondet, how is it that we are so poor?" cried Bixiou.

"And why is Finot so rich?" returned Blondet. "I will tell you how it is; there, my son, we understand each other. Come, there is Finot filling up my glass as if I had carried in his firewood. At the end of dinner one ought to sip one's wine slowly,--Well?"

in the pouch. Also to set his writing-case on the table. We found the Colonel and reported the death, feeling more like murderers than ever. Then we went to bed and slept the clock round; for there was no more in us.

The tale had credence as long as was necessary, for every one forgot about The Boy before a fortnight was over. Many people, however, found time to say that the Major had behaved scandalously in not bringing in the body for a regimental funeral. The saddest thing of all was a letter from The Boy's mother to the Major and me--with big inky blisters all over the sheet. She wrote the sweetest possible things about our great kindness, and the

'Why, that you hoped she would make him a good wife. I never heard such a thing!'

'Because I do hope it, or rather, I wish it; she's almost past hope.'

'Well,' said she, 'I'm sure I hope he'll make her a good husband. They tell queer things about him downstairs. They were saying - '

'I know, Rachel. I've heard all about him; but he's reformed now. And they have no business to tell tales about their masters.'

'No, mum - or else, they have said some things about Mr. Huntingdon too.'

'I won't hear them, Rachel; they tell lies.'

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall