Today's Stichomancy for Keith Richards

tin under the leaky water-cock--for perhaps you do not know that water will leak where steam will not. I am not aware of what my young friend had been doing on deck all that morning, but the hands he rubbed together vigorously were very red and imparted to me a chilly feeling by their mere aspect. He has remained the only banjoist of my acquaintance, and being also a younger son of a retired colonel, the poem of Mr. Kipling, by a strange aberration of associated ideas, always seems to me to have been written with an exclusive view to his person. When he did not play the banjo he loved to sit and look at it. He proceeded to this sentimental inspection and after meditating a while over the

Some Reminiscences

[49] Cf. Plat. "Apol." 25 D, {poteron eme eisageis deuro os diaphtheironta tous neous kai poneroterous poiounta ekonta e akonta}.

Having so said he turned and went in a manner quite in conformity[50] with the words which he had spoken--so bright an air was discernible alike in the glance of his eye, his gesture, and his step.

[50] {omologoumenos}. For the use of the word L. Dind. cf. Diog. Laert. vii. 87, {dioper protos o Zenon en to peri anthropou phuseos telos eipe to omologoumenos te phusei zen} (Cicero's "naturae convenienter vivere," L. and S.), whereas the regular Attic use is different. Cf. "Oec." i. 11, {kai omologoumenos ge o

The Apology

the noblest deeds done for love's sake in the most famous romances. This plain-song of love, to use the pretty expression of our forefathers, seemed almost criminal to the devout young girl who went to confession every fortnight. In that one hour she had poured out more of the treasures of her soul than she could give in later days of wealth and happiness, when her whole self followed the gift.

"The thing is arranged," Vautrin said to Eugene, who remained. "Our two dandies have fallen out. Everything was done in proper form. It is a matter of opinion. Our pigeon has insulted my hawk. They will meet to-morrow in the redoubt at Clignancourt. By half-

Father Goriot

writers on historical subjects, who still think it necessary to apply moral judgments to history, and who distribute their praise or blame with the solemn complacency of a successful schoolmaster. This, however, is a foolish habit, and merely shows that the moral instinct can be brought to such a pitch of perfection that it will make its appearance wherever it is not required. Nobody with the true historical sense ever dreams of blaming Nero, or scolding Tiberius, or censuring Caesar Borgia. These personages have become like the puppets of a play. They may fill us with terror, or horror, or wonder, but they do not harm us. They are not in immediate relation to us. We have nothing to fear from them. They