Those who desire to follow Count Tolstoi, or to become real working Theosophists, may find something to think about in comparing his words with his actions. He endeavours to “go about doing good,” and to help his fellow men on the hard path of life. When it is followed it will be found that to run counter to the spirit of the age, and instead of the indolent _laisser aller_, to work not for self, but for humanity at large, is the hardest task ever set to men. Mankind as a rule does not want an example or to be worked for; both are rude awakenings from the lotus-eating state they desire to be left in. “Let us alone,” is their cry, and they resist with violence any attempt to rouse them. But those who desire a greater unity than that which any race or nation can afford—the unity of the human race—the Universal Brotherhood—cannot leave them alone. There is a power which impels Count Tolstoi to protest against the reign of violence, and he truly replies, that the readiest means of continuing this reign is to meet violence by violence. Therefore he, by his writings, and his words and life, endeavours to place before men the noblest philosophy of life that he recognises, in answer to the appeal which is silently uttered from the hearts of many men and women in the world. It is a cry of despair at the ignorance which surrounds them and to which the Theosophical Society, _according to its avowed aims_, is an answer. It is best described in the words of Tennyson— An infant crying in the night, And with no language but a cry. A. I. R. A GHOST’S REVENGE Early in the year 187—, the singular and distressing attacks of mental depression from which Sir Selwyn Fox had long been a sufferer, increased in frequency. His son Gaston (twenty-four years of age, of medicine by calling and letters by choice), whose devotion to his father was intense, urged him to go to London and procure that skilled medical advice which was not to be had in the neighbourhood of the baronet’s country seat, in Northumberland. But Sir Selwyn was inflexible in his determination to see no doctor. Affectionate as his manner always was with Gaston, he even showed impatience when pressed on this point; and Gaston, forced to abandon it, fell back on his own skill in an endeavour to assign some tangible cause for his father’s malady. But in this he was hopelessly baffled.