It Is A Well-known Fact That Very

Women Love The Last Blow As Well As The Last Word, And When They Fight For Love They Are Pitiless As A Wounded Buffalo.

Think Then What It Is To Live On Here Eternally And Yet Be Human; Toage In Soul And See Our Beloved Die And Pass To Lands Whither We Maynot Hope To Follow; To Wait While Drop By Drop The Curse Of The Longcenturies Falls Upon Our Imperishable Being, Like Water Slow Drippingon A Diamond That It Cannot Wear, Till They Be Born Anew Forgetful Ofus, And Again Sink From Our Helpless Arms Into The Void Unknowable.

Now, After These Things Were Done, The Pharaoh And His Queen Drove Through The Hosts Of Egypt In Their Golden Chariot, And Received The Homage Of The Hosts Ere They Departed Northwards For Thebes. At Nightfall They Returned Again And Sat Side By Side At The Marriage Feast, And Once More Tua Swept Her Harp Of Ivory And Gold, And Sang The Ancient Song Of Him Who Dared Much For Love, And Won The Prize.

Man Doeth This And Doeth That From The Good Or Evil Of His Heart; But He Knows Not To What End His Sense Doth Prompt Him; For When He Strikes He Is Blind To Where The Blow Shall Fall, Nor Can He Count The Airy Threads That Weave The Web Of Circumstance. Good And Evil, Love And Hate, Night And Day, Sweet And Bitter, Man And Woman, Heaven Above And The Earth Beneath--all Those Things Are Needful, One To The Other, And Who Knows The End Of Each?

It Is A Hard Thing When One Has Shot Sixty-five Lions Or More, As I Have In The Course Of My Life, That The Sixty-sixth Should Chew Your Leg Like A Quid Of Tobacco. It Breaks The Routine Of The Thing, And Putting Other Considerations Aside, I Am An Orderly Man And Don't Like That. This Is By The Way.