"That is to say," said Roland, thoughtfully, "you will gain at the expense of those people whose confidence you have aroused, then satisfied with objects of artificial value, and finally drained for yourself." "Business is business," replied the familiar harsh voice. "Unless I become a counterfeiter or a forger I can do nothing more than to convert other persons' money into my own; of course, in an honest way."--"And you do this, without fearing lest one day some one mightier and luckier than you should do the same to you?"--"I must be prepared for that; I am prepared."--"Also for the storm,--not one of your own creating, but one sent by the wrath of God, that shall scatter all this paper splendor of our times, and reduce this appalling social inequality of ours to a universal zero?" "Let us quietly abide this Last Day," laughed the banker, taking the artist by the arm. THE WATCHMAN The last faint twinkle now goes out Up in the poet's attic; And the roisterers, in merry rout, Speed home with steps erratic. Soft from the house-roofs showers the snow, The vane creaks on the steeple, The lanterns wag and glimmer low In the storm by the hurrying people. The houses all stand black and still, The churches and taverns deserted, And a body may now wend at his will, With his own fancies diverted. Not a squinting eye now looks this way, Not a slanderous mouth is dissembling, And a heart that has slept the livelong day May now love and hope with trembling. Dear Night! thou foe to each base end, While the good still a blessing prove thee, They say that thou art no man's friend,-- Sweet Night! how I therefore love thee! DIOGENES LAERTIUS (200-250 A. D.?)