Today's Stichomancy for Simon Cowell

to damage those of their opponents.

[8] Or, "that lie upon your borders," as Thebes and Megara were "nigh- bordering" to Athens. Cf. Eur. "Rhes." 426; Soph. "Fr." 349.

And when, finally, the citizens discover it is not the habit of these mercenaries to injure those who do no wrong, but their vocation rather is to hinder all attempts at evil-doing; whereby they exercise a kindly providence and bear the brunt of danger on behalf of the community, I say it must needs be, the citizens will rejoice to pay the expenses which the force entails. At any rate, it is for objects of far less importance that at present guards[9] are kept in private life.

new notary wore a white cravat, a shirt of dazzling whiteness adorned with ruby buttons, a waistcoat of red velvet, with trousers and coat of handsome black broad-cloth, made in Paris. His boots were neat; his hair, carefully combed, was perfumed--in short he was metamorphosed.

"The fact is you are another man," said Bongrand.

"Morally as well as physically. Virtue comes with practice--a practice; besides, money is the source of cleanliness--"

"Morally as well as physically," returned Bongrand, settling his spectacles.

"Ha! monsieur, is a man worth a hundred thousand francs a year ever a democrat? Consider me in future as an honest man who knows what

Caesar have been one, and the Church has been the shield and armor of predatory economic might. With only one qualification to be noted: that the Church has never been able to suppress entirely the memory of her proletarian Founder. She has done her best, of course; we have seen how her scholars twist his words out of their sense, and the Catholic Church even goes so far as to keep to the use of a dead language, so that her victims may not hear the words of Jesus in a form they can understand.

'Tis well that such seditious songs are sung Only by priests, and in the Latin tongue!

But in spite of this, the history of the Church has been one

lunatics. Incidentally he reflected that the fellow dead there had been a noxious beast anyway; that men died every day in thousands; perhaps in hundreds of thousands--who could tell?--and that in the number, that one death could not possibly make any difference; couldn't have any importance, at least to a thinking creature. He, Kayerts, was a thinking creature. He had been all his life, till that moment, a believer in a lot of nonsense like the rest of mankind--who are fools; but now he thought! He knew! He was at peace; he was familiar with the highest wisdom! Then he tried to imagine himself dead, and Carlier sitting in his chair watching him; and his attempt met with such unexpected success, that in a very few moments he became

Tales of Unrest