In the garden, in a thicket of lilac bushes, a wood-dove greeted her with its first morning warble ... and where she vanished, the milk-white sky flushed a soft pink. I know thee, Goddess of Fantasy! Thou didst pay me a random visit by the way; thou hast flown on to the young poets. O Poesy! Youth! Virginal beauty of woman! Thou couldst shine for me but for a moment, in the early dawn of early spring! _May 1878._ _NECESSITAS--VIS--LIBERTAS!_ A BAS-RELIEF A tall, bony old woman, with iron face and dull, fixed look, moves with long strides, and, with an arm dry as a stick, pushes before her another woman. This woman--of huge stature, powerful, thick-set, with the muscles of a Hercules, with a tiny head set on a bull neck, and blind--in her turn pushes before her a small, thin girl. This girl alone has eyes that see; she resists, turns round, lifts fair, delicate hands; her face, full of life, shows impatience and daring.... She wants not to obey, she wants not to go, where they are driving her ... but, still, she has to yield and go. _Necessitas--Vis--Libertas_! Who will, may translate. _May 1878._ ALMS Near a large town, along the broad highroad walked an old sick man. He tottered as he went; his old wasted legs, halting, dragging, stumbling, moved painfully and feebly, as though they did not belong to him; his clothes hung in rags about him; his uncovered head drooped on his breast.... He was utterly worn-out. He sat down on a stone by the wayside, bent forward, leant his elbows on his knees, hid his face in his hands; and through the knotted fingers the tears dropped down on to the grey, dry dust. He remembered.... Remembered how he too had been strong and rich, and how he had wasted his health, and had lavished his riches upon others, friends and enemies.... And here, he had not now a crust of bread; and all had forsaken him, friends even before foes.... Must he sink to begging alms? There was bitterness in his heart, and shame. The tears still dropped and dropped, spotting the grey dust. Suddenly he heard some one call him by his name; he lifted his weary head, and saw standing before him a stranger. A face calm and grave, but not stern; eyes not beaming, but clear; a look penetrating, but not unkind. ‘Thou hast given away all thy riches,’ said a tranquil voice.... ‘But thou dost not regret having done good, surely?’ ‘I regret it not,’ answered the old man with a sigh; ‘but here I am dying now.’ ‘And had there been no beggars who held out their hands to thee,’ the stranger went on, ‘thou wouldst have had none on whom to prove thy goodness; thou couldst not have done thy good works.’ The old man answered nothing, and pondered. ‘So be thou also now not proud, poor man,’ the stranger began again. ‘Go thou, hold out thy hand; do thou too give to other good men a chance to prove in deeds that they are good.’