Today's Stichomancy for T. S. Eliot

She fights, and falls through pierced with his brand: Christened she dies; with sighs, with plaints and tears. He wails her death; Argant revengement swears.

I Now in dark night was all the world embarred; But yet the tired armies took no rest, The careful French kept heedful watch and ward, While their high tower the workmen newly dressed, The Pagan crew to reinforce prepared The weakened bulwarks, late to earth down kest, Their rampiers broke and bruised walls to mend,

We were not long in preparing for this voyage; the chief difficulty was in bringing me to come into it. However, at last, nothing else offering, and as sitting still, to me especially, was the unhappiest part of life, I resolved on this voyage too, which we made very successfully, touching at Borneo and several other islands, and came home in about five months, when we sold our spices, with very great profit, to the Persian merchants, who carried them away to the Gulf. My friend, when we made up this account, smiled at me: "Well, now," said he, with a sort of friendly rebuke on my indolent temper, "is not this better than walking about here, like a man with nothing to do, and spending our

Robinson Crusoe

opposed this deplorable craving. His favorite axioms were that, to secure happiness, a woman must marry a man of her own class; that every one was punished sooner or later for having climbed too high; that love could so little endure under the worries of a household, that both husband and wife needed sound good qualities to be happy, that it would not do for one to be far in advance of the other, because, above everything, they must understand each other; if a man spoke Greek and his wife Latin, they might come to die of hunger. He had himself invented this sort of adage. And he compared such marriages to old-fashioned materials of mixed silk and wool. Still, there is so much vanity at the bottom of man's heart that the prudence