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Wm. 0. MARTIN, Editor.
► ■ Felicity.
i The cat sang on the back-yard fence,
Whence all but she had fled;
I seized my stock of common-sense
And flung it at her head;
I flung my best habilaments,
My chair, my feather-bed;
Yet still, with passion quite intense,
q With strange contorted lineaments,
That cat sang on the back-yard fence,
Whence all but she had fled.
I spoke with strange grandiloquence,
In coaxing tones I plead;
My boots were gone—my last defense—
My Sunday hose had sped;
All things or petty or immense
Found lodgement on the shed.
The feline wondered much from whence
They came; but still, with grief intense,
She sang upon the back-yard fence,
Whence all but she had fled.
She roused two other residents—
I oft had wished them dead,
For they were music-loving “gents,”
And dwelt above my head.
They seized their stringed instruments,
Which stood hard by their bed—
They played with wondrous eloquence—
With one vast howl of pain intense
That feline fled afar from thence:
She sings no more upon our fence,
But on a loftier eminence—
Our next-door neighbor’s shed.
—E. Frank Lintaberin Fuck.
WE MET BY CHANCE.
I was going to Nice for the carnival.
Only one other person was in the coupe
with me—a stiff, magisterial appearing
man, whose only baggage was a portfolio.
Just as the train was starting sounds of a
dispute arose at the door of my coupe.
“No, sir! no!” said a woman’s voice.
“I ordered a covpe-lit, and I must have it 1”
“But, Madam, since we have none-”
‘ ‘Y ou ought to have heeded my letter 1”
“We received no letter, Madam!”
“Make them add another car, then!”
“Impossible! We have the regular num¬
ber. Come, come, hasten—the train is
going!”
“But I must have some place.”
“There, in that coupe.”
“There?’.’
“Yes, there!”
- A little brown head was thrust in and
suddenly withdrawn, as if frightened.
“There ate two gentlemen there 1” »
“Eh, madam, I cannot give you a car
to yourself!”
“Very well, I will not go!”
1 ‘As you please! The train leaves 1 I
give the signal!”
“Stop, sir, stop! I am obliged to go—
and since there is only that coupe—but
they will give me a coupe-lit at the first
station?”
“Yes, madam—yes, madam.”
“You will telegraph for that?”
, “Yes, madam—yes, madam.”
The door opened,the little brown head
entered, surrounded with bundles and
wraps. There was a piercing whistle; wc
had started. The stiff gentleman gallantly
took a seat by me,leaving all one side free
for the new arrival. Without glancing at
; us, breathless and crimson with wrath, she
arranged her things as if for a long jour¬
ney—one bag, two bags, three bags, and
cloaks and shawls. I looked on out of the
corner of my eye, and saw with pleasure
that she was charming in appearance. At
Laroche the stiff man arranged his papers
and left us. lie was received by the depot
master as “Monsieur l’lnspector.” The
lady rushed to the door.
“Did they telegraph from Paris for a
coupe-litV'
“Yes, Madam, I sent ihe dispatch on.”
“What! I cannot have it at once?”
“Impossible, Madam. Wc have no cars
here. They will give you one at Lyon
Perrache.”
“Not till then? But I cannot stay here
all that time—it is impossible. I will
not-”
“Take a care, Madam—the train is
starting.”
The cars were in motion. She returned
to her corner, furious, never glancing my
way. I opened my tenth newspaper.
Shall I own it—it occupied me longer than
the nine before it. I read the same lines
twenty times. I believe I held it sometimes
upside down. I wanted to talk with her,
but whore was the pretext? Considering
the temperature the classic resource of rais¬
ing or lowering windows did not exist.
What could I do? I saw she was a woman
of the world and of the best class. I could
only attract her notice by some very origi¬
nal speech. But what—what? I meditated
in vain. I was still studying the point
when the train stopped. “Tonnerre!
Twenty-five minutes lor refreshments!”
■was shouted at the door,
My fair neighbor rose, dropped her
wraps and left the car. It was noon.
Hunger made itself felt. She went toward
the refreshment room. I followed. I
could then admire at my ease her elegant
figure, distinctly outlined by a long otter
cloak. I also remarked that she had
pretty curls in her neck, a gray felt hat
and very small feet.
I quickly swallowed several things, My
fair traveler topi; a bowl of soup, T!i?
SPRING PLACE. GEORGIA, THURSDAY JUNE IT, 1886.
time soon passed, and the travelers raced
back to their cars. I went to mine. Tho
lady had not come. I saw her at a little
book and newspaper stand, looking at
the row of books. Although I saw only
her back I recognized her pretty figure,
her otter cloak and her gray hat. Her hair
did not look so dark tome—doubtless the
effect of distanco. Everybody was on
board; doors were slamming.
“She will miss her train,” I thought,
and then I called to lior from the win¬
dow: “Madam! Madam!”
I was too far away. She did not hear.
The whistle sounded; the train was start¬
ing. What should be done? An idea flash¬
ed through my head. She was going to
remain there, in this horribly cold weath¬
er, without any baggage. The poor little
woman must have her things. I snatched
the three bags, and all her shawls and
wraps, and flung the whole out to a man
standing near the car.
“Give them to that lady over there,”
I cried.
The man caught the things, and went
toward the lady at tire bookstall. At tho
same moment, from the other side of the
train, came my pretty companion in great
perturbation, hustled by a grumbling offi¬
cial, but safely on board, just as the train
moved off. Horror! I had mistaken the
lady traveler; the one at the book-stand
was not the right one—same cloak, same
hat, same outlines, but not the same wo¬
man ! She had scarcely entered the car
when she uttered a cry:
“My things! Some one has stolen my
things!”
For the first time she looked at me—
with what an eye! I shall never forget
that look. “No, Madam,” I said, “your
things are not stolen; they are—they are
left at Tounerre!”
“AtTonnerre! How?”
I explained everything. Bless me! I
could never describe the second look she
gave me—but I believe I shall remember
it longer than the first one.
‘ ‘I am very sorry, Madam, ”1 stammered.
“I am greatly distressed, but the motive
was good. I thought you would miss the
train, and you would be cold, and I did not
want you to suffer. Pardon me—don’t fear
for your things. They are in honest hands
—a railway official. At the next station
you can telegraph—I shall telegraph—we
will telegraph—wo will soon get them. Ah 1
you shall have them! I swear it, if I have
to return myself toTonnerretogettlicm.”
“That is sufficient, sir,” she said. “I
know what I must do.”
She sat down, severely twisting her
gloves in wrath. But alas! poor little
tiling! She had reckoned without the cold.
She no longerliad her good warm wraps.
It was scarcely ten minutes before she
began to shiver. She shrank into her¬
self, drew her otter cloak around her fine
form and positively shook.
“Madam,” I said, “I beg upon my
knees that you will accept my shawl!
You will take a cold; it will be my fault,
and I could never console myself in all
my life.”
“I do not speak to you, sir,” she said,
haughtly.
I was furious at having made myself
ridiculous. “Madam,” said I, “accept
this shawl, or I swear I will jump off the
train!”
Throwing the shawl between us I
seized the door-knob. My air must have
been convincing, for she cried:
“You are crazy, sir—you are out of
your head!”
“Take the shawl—or I shall spring off!”
She took the shawl, saying: “But
you, sir, you will perish from the cold.”
“Don’t bo uneasy about me, madam.
I am not delicate, and even if I should
be cold it would only be a just punish¬
ment for my unpardonable stupidity.”
“Say for your too great haste, for you
are right—the intention was good, but
how could you take that lady for me?”
“Because she looked so charming.”
She smiled; the ice was broken—the
ice of conversation, for otherwise I shiv¬
ered. But how quickly I forgot the cold,
the journey and all !• She was delicious,
exquisite, adorable! Dainty, peculiar,
gay and original! She loved travel as I
do. She had been in Italy, like me; in
Spain, like me; she always dreamed of
going to Egypt, like me. In literature,
in music, in every way our tastes were
the same. And then, just imagine—lots
of the same friends. Perhaps I had met
her twenty times without remarking her.
Where was my head? Heavens! where
was my head? While I eagerly conversed
I did everything in tho world not to
have the air of being chilly, but good
Lord 1 how cold I was! At Dijou my
right foot was numb. We telegraphed
to Tonncrrc for her things. At Macon
my left foot was numb. We hoard from
Tonnerre that her things would be at
Marseilles next day. At Lyon-Perrache
my left hand became insensible. She
forgot to claim her coupe-lit. At Valence
my right hand followed the example of
the Jeft, | learned that she was a widow,
without children. At Avignon my nose
turned purple. I thought I understood
that she had never loved her first hus¬
band. At last, at Marseilles, I sneezed
violently three times. She handed me
my shawl, saying graciously: “Good-bye,
till wo meet again.”
“Till we meet again!” I was wild. I
passed the night in a hotel, and rose in
the morning suffering from a te rrible cold
in the head, Ought I, in such a state,
to call on my friends, the Rombauds?
They must take me as I am, and to-mor¬
row I will start for Nice and cure myself
in sunshine. What a surprise! That
excellent Rombaurd had invited some
people to meet me, and among t hqm was
my fellow-traveler, my charmer! When
I was presented there was an impercepti¬
ble smile on her lips. I bowed and mur¬
mured : “And Tonnerre?” “I have
them,” she answered, in the same low
voice.
We took our seats at the dinner table.
“What a cold, my goodness!” ex¬
claimed that excellent Rouibaud.
“Where in the world did you catch such
a cold? In the cars, perhaps?”
“It is possible,” I replied, “but really
I do not regret it.”
Nobody understood this queer response,
but I felt the sweet and compassionate
gaze of my lovely traveling companion
coming to me across the ordorous fumes
of a superb soup.
What more shall I say? Next day I
did not go to Nice—and wo arc to be
married in two weeks 1 —From the French
New African Cottou Fields,
Africa has so long been regarded ns a
steady consumer of imported cotton,
that the idea of her ever becoming a
producer, and entering the cotton mar¬
ket as a rival to the United States would
doubtless appear to most people ns im¬
possible as that the scanty and unprofita¬
ble tea plantations of Southern Russia
should one day surpass the finest growth
of China. Yet this seeming extravagant
idea was gravely discussed years ago by
one of the geatest living authoities upon
all questions connected with Africa, and
pronounced perfectly feasible not only by
him but by .several other competent
judges. Strangely enough, recent events
in the northeast of the Dark Continent
secm'to have shaped themselves on pur¬
pose to favor the making of this extraor¬
dinary experiment, which aims at noth¬
ing less than the reclaiming of the entire
Nubian Desert at one blow, and the turn¬
ing of tho whole extent of that vast re¬
gion that lies between ihe Upper Nile
and the Red Sea into one gigantic cotton
plantation. Tho scheme is undoubtedly
a colossal one, but a generation which
has constructed the Suez Canal and the
Mont Cenis Tunnel, and which is now
considering the feasibility of submerging
the entire western Half of the Sahara
Desert beneath the Atlantic, can hardly
venture to pronounce it impossible or
even improbable..— Brooklyn Union.
Killing a Giraffe.
The noble animal stood at bay pawing
and stamping the ground, his long neck
swaying to and fro; several more shots
were fired at him, causing him to strike
desperately with liis fore feet a blow
which would knock a horse down. Dis¬
mounting, I ran to get a nearer view.
There was despair in his large drooping
brown eyes, and a look which seemed to
say, “What harm have I ever done you?”
It seemed a shame that no one gave him a
coup de grace, and put him out of his
agony. Turning to one of the men I said,
“Shoot him in the head, and put an end
to liis pain.” But he answered me by
grasping my arm and pulling me to one
side, shouting, “Look out, or he will be
on you.” Looking up I saw the crazy
creature swinging hjs head about, his
long neck putting me in mind of an
anaconda, as it fairly whirled through
the air, forming wide circles as he made
desperate plunges to keep his body un¬
der his neck; pitching forward, he fell on
his head and shoulders, and rolled over
with a tliud that shook the ground. He
was a “zwart bont” (black-spotted, the
variety usually seen in zoological collec¬
tions ; the white-spotted ones are longer
and finer made, and have never been
brought to Europe, and arc never so
heavy). He measured from the root of
the tail to the shoulder 6 feet 1 inch, and
from tho shoulder to the tip of the noso
10 feet 7 1-3 inches.— London Graphic.
llnivk ami Uat.
A huge California hawk swooped down
on a sleeping cat at Santa Rosa the other
day, and bore it squalling and scratching
high in the air. When about 500 feet
high the hawk lost its grip, and the cat
came down with fearful velocity, but
tbe hawk caught it again just before it
struck the earth, and was carrying it off,
when suddenly both fell like lead to the
ground. The cat had bitten through the
hawk’s head, killing it instantly, and the
fall killed the cat,
A GOAT FARM.
A Woman’s Venture whieli
has Proved Profitable.
Raising Angora Goats and Selling Their
Wool at One Dollar a Pound
A Nyack, (N. Y.,) letter to the New
fork Times , says: Three miles from
this village, near the Hudson River, is an
Angora goat farm, whieli from its novel¬
ty attracts much attention hereabout.
It is looked upon as something in the na¬
ture of a farmer’s freak, like the raising
of bees or silkworms. Goats browse and
goats,prosper on this farm on the heights
that ^order Rockland Lake as readily as
they do on the rocks about Shantytown,
in New-York City. But they are a differ¬
ent breed of goats, more aristocratic than
their city relatives as to wool, more epic¬
urean. in their tastes, and more blue
blooded as to ancestry. The herd in
this somewhat novel farm just now num¬
bers 75, varying in age from the tiny ob¬
ject of three months which looks like a
cross between a dog, a rabbit, and a
lady’s powder puff, to the handsome pa¬
triarch of the flock, a magnificent speci¬
men of the pure Angora breed, with im¬
mense curling horns. This handsome old
fellow with his wife were imported by
Dr. Agnew, the famous oculist of New
York, from Asia Minor, and the impor¬
tation cost him a heap of money as the
price of goats goes. Their present own¬
er is the good woman who now runs this
goat farm, and who never tires of dis
canting on tho good qualities of her pets.
They know her voice, and answer to
their names when she calls them. Kind
ancLgentle they appear when visitors are
about, but the fondness for fighting, ns
characteristic of goats as it is of a native
of Tipperary, crops out when the herd is
together and apparently out of sight of
mankind.
A strange fact noticed in the breeding
of these animals is that the females do
not thrive in this locality as well as the
male. The hardy female goat of the or¬
dinary species was introduced into this
1 tioCk for experimental breeding purposes,
and with marked success. Repeated
crossing with the common goat and her
offspring has produced apparently pure
Angora goats, the tendency being in all
cases tor the kids to revert in the texture
of their wool toward tho male side. As
a consequence the third generation has
nil the appearance of its distinguished au
cestry, and in the fourth generation even
the best experts cannot tell the pure
blooded from the grade Angora. This
fact is a matter of considerable interest
to breeders of goats, as an Angora buck
cost $100 or over, while the common
goat can be had almost for the asking.
The fecundity of the Angora is not so
great as that of the common goat, the
Angora ewe giving birth to but one kid
yearly.
As a source of profit the goats have
turned out well. The wool is from four
to six inches in length, silky, and of
beautiful texture. A full grown animal
will yield four pounds of wool, which
will readily sell at $1 per pound. Just
now the demand for this wool is not par¬
ticularly lively, as the lustrous dress of
fabric into which it was at one time
largely converted is out of vogue with
fashionable ladies. It is therefore used
almost exclusively in the manufacture of
plush for upholstery purposes. When
the kid is 0 months old its hide, un
dressed, is worth $3, and will sell readi¬
ly for that amount to glove manufactur¬
ers. Kids on the farm in question meet
with sudden death on that account at
about that age with considerable regular¬
ity. When it is necessary to kill them
the good lady has them chloroformed so
that she may not hear the death cries of
her little pets. The milk of tho goat is
much sought after by dyspeptics, by per¬
sons suffering from pulmonary troubles,
and by otherwise delicate persons, and it
brings a much greater price than cows’
milk. As to their use for food little can
be said, because the goat does not flesh
up well, but tho kid, when killed young,
furnishes a fair amount of tender meat
which some people like. It will never
become a great delicacy in the market, or
be in sufficient demand to become a
source of income to the goat raiser.
There is nothing in the world so cheap to
raise as goats, because they will find am¬
ple food in lots up here where other ani¬
mals would starve to death. Acorns arc
a favorite article of food with them, and
as these abound in the woods the cost for
Winter fodder is mainly confined to the
trouble of gathering the acorns.
“Mamma,” said Johnny, “can any¬
body hear with their mouth?” “No,
child, I don’t think they can,” replied
the mother. “Then, mamma, wliat made
Mr. Jones tell sister he wanted to tell
her something and put his lips to her
piouth instead of her ear?”
Vol. VI. New Series. NO. 19.
Fortunes Made in Old Corks.
“You wouldn’t think a man could
make a fortune selling old corks and bot¬
tles, would you? Well, I know a man
who bought out a coffin shop twenty-five
years ago and began to deal in old corks.
Eight years ago lie went into I lie old bot¬
tle business, and he is now a rich man.”
The policeman who said this took the
writer down Mulberry street, and a few
blocks below Bleecker stopped before a
rickety old building, in front of which
stood several barrels filled with bottles of
all sizes. There were bottles emptied of
Vino Vermouth, Piper Sec and Rhine
wine, of Bass’ ale, claret and stomach
bitters. Inside the shop were seen the
necks of a thousand bottles, pointed
toward tho door like little howitzers.
They were piled up and boxed up and
were in rows on the floor. From the roof
hung dingy demijohns, covered with
cobwebs, and in the center of the room
was a barrel of old champagne corks.
“How many corks have you sold to¬
day, Hugh?” asked the policeman.
“Eight barrels.”
“IIow many bottles?”
“Seventy-five gross. You see we never
take tlie labels off, and never wash the
bottles. The men who buy wine bottles
want the labels as well as the bottles—
sometimes want the labels much more
than the bottles; but we do not deal in
labels. When a junkman comes in with
a load of bottles ire may have twenty
different kinds. We sort them. When
wc get a gross of a certain kind we know
where to sell them. A gross of quart
champagne bottles fetches $1.50; pints,
$3.35. Claret bottles sell for $3.75 per
gross, and so do soda water bottles.
Bass’ale is worth $3.35, but for Rhine
wine bottles we get $0 per gross. “Tom"
gins and stomach bitters go at $4; porter
and Vino Vermouth at $3.35. Apollina
ris, quarts, wc sell for $5 per gross, and
pints at $3.35. A gallon demijohn is
only worth 30 cents, but larger beer bot¬
tles with the patent stoppers bring $8
per gross. Root beer bottles sell for $0,
while ginger ales only fetch $1.50. IVe
sell Ilathorn, Congress and Geyser bot¬
tles back to tho mineral spring men in
Saratoga for 30 cents per dozen. Most
of the small bottles are bought by catsup
and table sauce makers. We don’t buy
medicine bottles. We sell very little
stock to modicir men.
“You know a champagne cork has a
sound head and is turned from the bark.
It is not cut out ns straight corks are
made. When it pops from the bottle the
head is cut up by the string and the cork
looks like a mushroom. Wo put them
all in a big kettle of boiling water and
swell them. Then they’re as good ns
new. Ordinary sound corks sell for
twenty-five cents per gross, but corks
from champagne bottles, made with more
labor, bring $3.50. We have handled
enough corks in the past twenty-five
years to float the Great Eastern.” —New
York Sun.
“Excelsior.”
Many admirers of Longfellow will be
interested to learn that the idea of this
popular poem was suggested to the
author by the lofty sentiments contained
in a letter which he received from his
friend Charles Sumner. In a letter which
the poet himself wrote to another of his
friends, Mr. C. K. Tuckcrmau, he tells
how this idea was developed in his
mind; and he gives in plain prose, tho
intended lesson of the piece:
The hero passes through the Alpine
village, through the rough, cold paths of
the world, where the peasants cannot un¬
derstand him, and where his watchword
is in an .“unknown tongue.” He disre¬
gards the happiness of domestic peace,
and sees the glacier, his fate, before him.
He disregards the warning of the old
man’s wisdom and the fascination of
woman’s love. He answers to all,
“Higher yet!”
The monks of St. Bernard are tho
representatives of religious forms and
ceremonies, and with there oft-repeated
prayer mingles the sound of his voice
telling them there is something higher
than forms and ceremonies. Filled with
these aspirations, he perishes without
having reached the perfection he longed
for; and the voice heard in the air is the
promise of immortality and progress ever
upward.
He Knew What Ho Was About.
Brown—I say, Smith, what’s the at¬
traction up this way? I see you passing
quite frequently.
Smith—Yes, six nights in the week,
and twice on Sunday. There’s a lady in
tho case, old man.
Brown—Ah, ha 1 I see. But six nights
in the week and twice on Sunday is
rather thick, isn’t it? I found that twice
a week was—
Smith—Yes, but you married a young
lady. I’m courting a widow. I know
what I’m about, old man.— u>Na York
Bun ,
Newport News, 1886.
The huge sea monster, the “Merrimac;’ f
The mad see monster, the “Monitor;”
You may sweep the sea, peer forward and
back,
But never a sign or a sound of war.
A vulture or two in the heavens blue;
A sweet town building, a boatman's call;
The far sea-song of a pleasure crew;
The sound of hammers. And that is all.
And where are the monsters that tore this
main?
And where are the monsters that shook this
shore 1
Tho sea grew mad! And the shore shot
flame!
The mad sea monsters they are no more.
The palm, and the pine, and the sea-sands
brown;
The far sea-songs of the pleasure crews.
The air like balm in this building town—
And that is the picture of Newport News.
—Joaquin Miller in Independent.
HUMOROUS.
The lawyer’s advertisement—Give me
a trial.
Misplaced confidence—Trusting in a
mule while you pare his corns.
What is taken from you before you
possess it? Your photograph.
Policemen know more about club life
than any other class of citizens.
It’s the little tilings that tell—espe¬
cially the little brothers and sisters.
The letter carrier- that gets around
quickest Is the cylinder of a printing
press.
Professor (who is about to have his
haircut)—IIow cold is it in this room.
Pray allow me to keep my hat on 1
A young lady, who said she had mar¬
ried a tanner, deceived her friends most
shamefully. lie was only a schoolmaster.
A western sight-seer being told that
the dried-up man of 110 pounds weight
was Evarts, the New York senator, said:
“By gosh 1 I’ll bet he boards.”
Tho Indians of New Mexico are very
thrifty and economical. When blood¬
hounds arc sent in pursuit of them they
shoot the dogs and cat them.
Little maiden (who is spending tho
afternoon with her aunt)—Auntie, moth¬
er said I must not ask you for anything
to eat, but Pm awful hungry."
A Montana girl shot a bear and with
the bounty paid bought a sewing ma¬
chine. In a short time she will probably
be gunning for the sewing machine agent.
An exchange says: “The use of glass
flooring is increasing in Paris.” Glass
flooring seems to bo increasing in this
country, also. Many a man is “floored”
by a glass.
“Are you a marrying man?” was asked
of a sober looking gentleman at a recent
reception. “Yes, sir,” was the prompt
reply. “That’s my business. I’m a
clergyman.”
An English paper reports that during
recent explorations at Nineveh a petrified
umbrella was found in one of the temples.
Near by was the petrified man who was
just about to make off with it.
A “thrce-yenr-old” discovered the
neighbor’s liens in her yard scratching.
In a most indignant tone she reported to
her mother that Mrs. Smith’s liens were
‘wiping their feet on our grass.”
Professor—Does my question trouble
you, sir? Student—No, sir, not at all.
But I am a little in doubt how to frame
my answer so as to give you the precise
information for which you seem to ask.
“Landlord," said a Wisconsin trav¬
eler, emerging from the dinning-room
after a long and fruitless straggle to se¬
cure a dinner—“Landlord, there’s one
thing you have here that’s as good as the
Palmer House, Chicago.” “Iam very
glad to please you, sir. What is it?”
“The salt.”
Mr. X.'Y. has a little voice, weak, fem
inine. “There is a dime for you, my
brave soldier,” he said, as he tossed the
coin into the cap of a poor fellow who
was blind. “Thank you, inarm,” was
the response. “I’m not a woman,” was
the iadignant reply. “Thank you, miss,"
was the prompt retort.
BIanting the Feelings.
“Curious how one’s feelings get blunt¬
ed by the sight of blood and horrors,"
says Sir Chas. Wilson, in his new narra¬
tive of the Nile expedition. “There was
one strange incident. An unwounded
Arab, armed with a spear, jumped up
and charged an officer. The officer
grasped the spear with his left hand, and
with his right ran his sword through the
Arab’s body; and there for a few seconds
they stood, the officer being unable to
withdraw his sword until a man ran up
and shot the Arab. It was a living em¬
bodiment of one of the old gladiatorial
frescoes of Pompeii. It did not, strango
to say, seem horrible; rather, after what
had passed, an every-day occurrence. I
used to wonder before how the Romans
i could look on at the gladiatorial fights^
I do so no longer,"