Today's Stichomancy for Margaret Thatcher

of travel, I felt guilty indeed. I wrote a letter to follow John Mayrant into whatever retreat of bliss he had betaken himself to, and I begged him earnestly to write me at his early convenience all that he might know of Bombos in South Carolina. Consequently, I was able, on reaching home, to meet Aunt Carola with some sort of countenance, and to assure her that I expected presently to be furnished with authentic and valuable particulars.

I now learned that the Selected Salic Scions had greatly increased in numbers during my short absence. It appeared that the origin of the whole movement had sprung from a needy but ingenious youth in some manufacturing town of New England. This lad had a cousin, who had amassed

beside him, his chest riddled with bullets. Meco hurtles over the precipice, bounding from rock to rock.

Suddenly, Demetrio finds himself alone. Bullets whiz past his ears like hail. He dismounts and crawls over the rocks, until he finds a parapet: he lays down a stone to protect his head and, lying flat on the ground, begins to shoot.

The enemy scatter in all directions, pursuing the few fugitives hiding in the brush. Demetrio aims; he does not waste a single shot.

His famous marksmanship fills him with joy. Where

The Underdogs

Over the borders, a sin without pardon, Breaking the branches and crawling below, Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, Down by the banks of the river we go.

Here is a mill with the humming of thunder, Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, Here is the sluice with the race running under-- Marvellous places, though handy to home!

Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,

A Child's Garden of Verses

world tottering. Was there no place for a worried little seven- year-old boy on this sunshiny day when the grown-ups acted so curiously? He sat down on the window still in the alcove and nibbled a bit of the elephant's ear which grew in a box in the sun. It was so peppery that it stung his eyes to tears and he began to cry. Mother was probably dying, nobody paid him any heed and one and all, they rushed about because of a new baby--a girl baby. Wade had little interest in babies, still less in girls. The only little girl he knew intimately was Ella and, so far, she had done nothing to command his respect or liking.

After a long interval Dr. Meade and Uncle Rhett came down the

Gone With the Wind