Page 29 of 79 THE YOUNG KING - Selected Prose of Oscar Wilde

When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell, and his pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water over his hands, and strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the room, he fell asleep.--_The Young King_.

		It is far easier to make war than to make peace. Georges Clemenceau