Young People\'s Pride
I It is one of Johnny Chipman's parties at the Harlequin Club, and as usual the people the other people have been asked to meet are late and as usual Johnny is looking hesitatingly around at those already collected with the nervous kindliness of an absent-minded menagerie-trainer who is trying to make a happy family out of a wombat, a porcupine, and two small Scotch terriers because they are all very nice and he likes them all and he can't quite remember at the moment just where he got hold of any of them. This evening he has been making an omelet of youngest. K. Ricky French, the youngest Harvard playwright to learn the tricks of C43, a Boston exquisite, impeccably correct from his club tie to the small gold animal on his watch-chain, is almost coming to blows with Slade Wilson, the youngest San Francisco cartoonist to be tempted East by a big paper and still so new to New York that no matter where he tries to take the subway, he always finds himself buried under Times Square, over a question as to whether La Perouse or Foyot's has the best _hors-d'oeuvres_ in Paris. The conflict is taking place across Johnny's knees, both of which are being used for emphasis by the disputants till he is nearly mashed like a
were disinclined to espouse his cause, or whether the whole movement was
a feint to direct Caesar's attention to Macedon as the field of his
operations, in order that he might escape more secretly and safely
beyond the sea, can not now be ascertained.
[Sidenote: Pompey's wife Cornelia.]
[Sidenote: Her beauty and accomplishments.]
Pompey's wife Cornelia was on the island of Lesbos, at Mitylene, near
the western coast of Asia Minor. She was a lady of distinguished beauty,
and of great intellectual superiority and moral worth. She was extremely
well versed in all the learning of the times, and yet was entirely free
from those peculiarities and airs which, as her historian says, were
often observed in learned ladies in those days. Pompey had married her
after the death of Julia, Caesar's daughter. They were strongly devoted
to each other. Pompey had provided for her a beautiful retreat on the
island of Lesbos, where she was living in elegance and splendor,
beloved for her own intrinsic charms, and highly honored on account of
the greatness and fame of her husband. Here she had received from time
to time glowing accounts of his success all exaggerated as they came to
her, through the eager desire of the narrators to give her pleasure.
[Sidenote: Pompey's arrival at Mitylene.]
[Sidenote: His meeting with Cornelia.]
From this high elevation of honor and happiness the ill-fated Cornelia
I It is one of Johnny Chipman's parties at the Harlequin Club, and as usual the people the other people have been asked to meet are late and as usual Johnny is looking hesitatingly around at those already collected with the nervous kindliness of an absent-minded menagerie-trainer who is trying to make a happy family out of a wombat, a porcupine, and two small Scotch terriers because they are all very nice and he likes them all and he can't quite remember at the moment just where he got hold of any of them. This evening he has been making an omelet of youngest. K. Ricky French, the youngest Harvard playwright to learn the tricks of C43, a Boston exquisite, impeccably correct from his club tie to the small gold animal on his watch-chain, is almost coming to blows with Slade Wilson, the youngest San Francisco cartoonist to be tempted East by a big paper and still so new to New York that no matter where he tries to take the subway, he always finds himself buried under Times Square, over a question as to whether La Perouse or Foyot's has the best _hors-d'oeuvres_ in Paris. The conflict is taking place across Johnny's knees, both of which are being used for emphasis by the disputants till he is nearly mashed like a