"But we will take her ... and unsalted porridge," replied the peasant-man, her husband. Rothschild is a long way behind that peasant-man! July, 1878. THE OLD MAN The dark, distressing days have come.... One's own maladies, the ailments of those dear to him, cold and the gloom of old age. Everything which thou hast loved, to which thou hast surrendered thyself irrevocably, collapses and falls into ruins. The road has taken a turn down hill. But what is to be done? Grieve? Lament? Thou wilt help neither thyself nor others in that way.... On the withered, bent tree the foliage is smaller, more scanty--but the verdure is the same as ever. Do thou also shrivel up, retire into thyself, into thy memories, and there, deep, very deep within, at the very bottom of thy concentrated soul, thy previous life, accessible to thee alone, will shine forth before thee with its fragrant, still fresh verdure, and the caress and strength of the springtime! But have a care ... do not look ahead, poor old man! July, 1878. THE CORRESPONDENT Two friends are sitting at a table and drinking tea. A sudden noise has arisen in the street. Plaintive moans, violent oaths, outbursts of malicious laughter have become audible. "Some one is being beaten," remarked one of the friends, after having cast a glance out of the window. "A criminal? A murderer?" inquired the other.--"See here, no matter who it is, such chastisement without trial is not to be tolerated. Let us go and defend him." "But it is not a murderer who is being beaten." "Not a murderer? A thief, then? Never mind, let us go, let us rescue him from the mob." "It is not a thief, either." "Not a thief? Is it, then, a cashier, a railway employee, an army contractor, a Russian Maecenas, a lawyer, a well-intentioned editor, a public philanthropist?... At any rate, let us go, let us aid him!" "No ... they are thrashing a correspondent." "A correspondent?--Well, see here now, let's drink a glass of tea first." July, 1878. TWO BROTHERS It was a vision.... Two angels presented themselves before me ... two spirits. I say angels ... spirits, because neither of them had any garments on their naked bodies, and from the shoulders of both sprang long, powerful wings.