eyond the grave.

He was a believer and an enthusiast. One day he said to me: "Thou
laughest at everything; but if I die before thee, I will appear to thee
from the other world.... We shall see whether thou wilt laugh then."

And, as a matter of fact, he did die before me, while he was still young
in years; but years passed, and I had forgotten his promise,--his
threat.

One night I was lying in bed, and could not get to sleep, neither did I
wish to do so.

It was neither light nor dark in the room; I began to stare into the
grey half-gloom.

And suddenly it seemed to me that my rival was standing between the two
windows, and nodding his head gently and sadly downward from above.

I was not frightened, I was not even surprised ... but rising up
slightly in bed, and propping myself on my elbow, I began to gaze with
redoubled attention at the figure which had so unexpectedly presented
itself.

The latter continued to nod its head.

"What is it?" I said at last.--"Art thou exulting? Or art thou
pitying?--What is this--a warning or a reproach?... Or dost thou wish to
give me to understand that thou wert in the wrong? That we were both in
the wrong? What art thou experiencing? The pains of hell? The bliss of
paradise? Speak at least one word!"

But my rival did not utter a single sound--and only went on nodding his
head sadly and submissively, as before, downward from above.

I burst out laughing ... he vanished.

February, 1878.

THE BEGGAR MAN

I was passing along the street when a beggar, a decrepit old man,
stopped me.

Swollen, tearful eyes, blue lips, bristling rags, unclean sores.... Oh,
how horribly had poverty gnawed that unhappy being!

He stretched out to me a red, bloated, dirty hand.... He moaned, he
bellowed for help.

I began to rummage in all my pockets.... Neither purse, nor watch, nor
even handkerchief did I find.... I had taken nothing with me.

And the beggar still waited ... and extended his hand, which swayed and
trembled feebly.

Bewildered, confused, I shook that dirty, tremulous hand heartily....

"Blame me not, brother; I have nothing, brother."

The beggar man fixed his swollen eyes upon me; his blue lips smiled--and
in his turn he pressed my cold fingers.

"Never mind, brother," he mumbled. "Thanks for this also, brother.--This
also is an alms, brother."

I understood that I had received an alms from my brother.

February, 1878.

"THOU SHALT HEAR THE