But just as I return, I found my friend has gone away. I cannot meet the others anywhere, and in my isolation I am compelled to humble myself to the utmost by begging for the society of insignificant persons, who, as a rule, have nothing to do with the society in which I move. After a number of experiences in this direction I make my old discovery again, that the difference between man and man is not so great as one supposes. As a matter of fact I have found real gentlemen among the lower classes, and how many saints and heroes may I not have unconsciously classed with those I despised! On the other hand, people lay stress on the proverb, "Evil companionship corrupts good manners"; but which is evil society, and which is the good? It might be supposed, as I have done, that a mission to preach was laid upon me, if I settled down in a strange town, without knowing why, but what is my business here? To preach morality? My conscience answers me "Yes; by thy example." But now no one takes me for an example, and what would be the use if I tried to preach to young men who have not sinned as much as I have? Besides, the period of the prophets seems to have come to an end. The Powers want to have nothing more to do with priests, but have taken the direct government of souls upon themselves, and one need not go far to find examples of this. One of our poets has recently been summoned before a court because of a collection of poems, some of which were considered injurious to morality. He has been acquitted by the jury, but can find no rest. In one of his poems he has challenged the Eternal to a wrestle, even though (he said) it should have to be decided in hell. It seems as though the challenge had been accepted, and the young man were compelled, like a broken reed, to sue for mercy. One evening, while he sits in a merry circle of friends, some power, unknown to the exact sciences, snatches the cigar from his mouth so that it falls to the ground. A little surprised, he picks up the cigar again, as though nothing had happened. But the same thing happens three times. Then the sceptic becomes as pale as death, and quits the place in silence, while his friends sit mute with astonishment.