And she, the beloved of each of us--she was there ... unseen and close. One moment more, and behold, her eyes will shine upon thee, her smile will blossom on thee.... Her hand will take thy hand and guide thee to the land of joy that fades not! O realm of azure! In dream have I beheld thee. _June 1878._ TWO RICH MEN When I hear the praises of the rich man Rothschild, who out of his immense revenues devotes whole thousands to the education of children, the care of the sick, the support of the aged, I admire and am touched. But even while I admire it and am touched by it, I cannot help recalling a poor peasant family who took an orphan niece into their little tumble-down hut. ‘If we take Katka,’ said the woman, ‘our last farthing will go on her, there won’t be enough to get us salt to salt us a bit of bread.’ ‘Well,... we’ll do without salt,’ answered the peasant, her husband. Rothschild is a long way behind that peasant! _July 1878._ THE OLD MAN Days of darkness, of dreariness, have come.... Thy own infirmities, the sufferings of those dear to thee, the chill and gloom of old age. All that thou hast loved, to which thou hast given thyself irrevocably, is falling, going to pieces. The way is all down-hill. What canst thou do? Grieve? Complain? Thou wilt aid not thyself nor others that way.... On the bowed and withering tree the leaves are smaller and fewer, but its green is yet the same. Do thou too shrink within, withdraw into thyself, into thy memories, and there, deep down, in the very depths of the soul turned inwards on itself, thy old life, to which thou alone hast the key, will be bright again for thee, in all the fragrance, all the fresh green, and the grace and power of its spring! But beware ... look not forward, poor old man! _July 1878._ THE REPORTER Two friends were sitting at a table drinking tea. A sudden hubbub arose in the street. They heard pitiable groans, furious abuse, bursts of malignant laughter. ‘They’re beating some one,’ observed one of the friends, looking out of window. ‘A criminal? A murderer?’ inquired the other. ‘I say, whatever he may be, we can’t allow this illegal chastisement. Let’s go and take his part.’ ‘But it’s not a murderer they’re beating.’ ‘Not a murderer? Is it a thief then? It makes no difference, let’s go and get him away from the crowd.’ ‘It’s not a thief either.’ ‘Not a thief? Is it an absconding cashier then, a railway director, an army contractor, a Russian art patron, a lawyer, a Conservative editor, a social reformer?... Any way, let’s go and help him!’ ‘No ... it’s a newspaper reporter they’re beating.’ ‘A reporter? Oh, I tell you what: we’ll finish our glasses of tea first then.’ _July 1878._ THE TWO BROTHERS It was a vision ... Two angels appeared to me ... two genii. I say angels, genii, because both had no clothes on their naked bodies, and behind their shoulders rose long powerful wings.