Then we relapsed into a discomfited silence, and wished we were anywhere else. But Miss Thorn relieved the situation by laughing aloud, and with such a hearty enjoyment that instead of getting angry and more mortified we began to laugh ourselves, and instantly felt better.

Away with him, cut of his head and handes, And send them for a present to the Pope: And when this just revenge is finished, Unto mount Faucon will we dragge his coarse: And he that living hated so the crosse, Shall being dead, be hangd thereon in chaines.

The human voice is the oldest musical instrument in history.

Soft, you; a word or two before you go. But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?