"Junius! Thou hast said thy say at the wrong time; but the other man said his at the right time.--consequently, he is in the right, while for thee there remain the consolations of thine own conscience." But while his conscience was consoling Junius to the best of its ability,--and in a decidedly-unsatisfactory way, if the truth must be told,--far away, amid the thunder and patter of jubilation, in the golden dust of the all-conquering sun, gleaming with purple, darkling with laurel athwart the undulating streams of abundant incense, with majestic leisureliness, like an emperor marching to his empire, the proudly-erect figure of Julius moved forward with easy grace ... and long branches of the palm-tree bent in turn before him, as though expressing by their quiet rising, their submissive obeisance, that incessantly-renewed adoration which filled to overflowing the hearts of his fellow-citizens whom he had enchanted! April, 1878. THE SPARROW I had returned from the chase and was walking along one of the alleys in the garden. My hound was running on in front of me. Suddenly he retarded his steps and began to crawl stealthily along as though he detected game ahead. I glanced down the alley and beheld a young sparrow, with a yellow ring around its beak and down on its head. It had fallen from the nest (the wind was rocking the trees of the alley violently), and sat motionless, impotently expanding its barely-sprouted little wings. My hound was approaching it slowly when, suddenly wrenching itself from a neighbouring birch, an old black-breasted sparrow fell like a stone in front of my dog's very muzzle--and, with plumage all ruffled, contorted, with a despairing and pitiful cry, gave a couple of hops in the direction of the yawning jaws studded with big teeth. It had flung itself down to save, it was shielding, its offspring ... but the whole of its tiny body was throbbing with fear, its voice was wild and hoarse, it was swooning, it was sacrificing itself! What a huge monster the dog must have appeared to it! And yet it could not have remained perched on its lofty, secure bough.... A force greater than its own will had hurled it thence. My Tresor stopped short, retreated.... Evidently he recognised that force. I hastened to call off the discomfited hound, and withdrew with reverence. Yes; do not laugh. I felt reverential before that tiny, heroic bird, before its loving impulse. Love, I thought, is stronger than death.--Only by it, only by love, does life support itself and move. April, 1878. THE SKULLS A sumptuous, luxuriously illuminated ball-room; a multitude of cavaliers and ladies. All faces are animated, all speeches are brisk.... A rattling conversation is in progress about a well-known songstress. The people are lauding her as divine, immortal.... Oh, how finely she had executed her last trill that evening!