JUDGMENT OF THE DULLARD...."
_Pushkin_

"Thou shalt hear the judgment of the dullard...." Thou hast always
spoken the truth, thou great writer of ours; thou hast spoken it this
time, also.

"The judgment of the dullard and the laughter of the crowd."... Who is
there that has not experienced both the one and the other?

All this can--and must be borne; and whosoever hath the strength,--let
him despise it.

But there are blows which beat more painfully on the heart itself.... A
man has done everything in his power; he has toiled arduously, lovingly,
honestly.... And honest souls turn squeamishly away from him; honest
faces flush with indignation at his name. "Depart! Begone!" honest young
voices shout at him.--"We need neither thee nor thy work, thou art
defiling our dwelling--thou dost not know us and dost not understand
us.... Thou art our enemy!"

What is that man to do then? Continue to toil, make no effort to defend
himself--and not even expect a more just estimate.

In former days tillers of the soil cursed the traveller who brought them
potatoes in place of bread, the daily food of the poor man.... They
snatched the precious gift from the hands outstretched to them, flung it
in the mire, trod it under foot.

Now they subsist upon it--and do not even know the name of their
benefactor.

So be it! What matters his name to them? He, although he be nameless,
has saved them from hunger.

Let us strive only that what we offer may be equally useful food.

Bitter is unjust reproach in the mouths of people whom one loves.... But
even that can be endured....

"Beat me--but hear me out!" said the Athenian chieftain to the Spartan
chieftain.

"Beat me--but be healthy and full fed!" is what we ought to say.

February, 1878.

THE CONTENTED MAN

Along a street of the capital is skipping a man who is still young.--His
movements are cheerful, alert; his eyes are beaming, his lips are
smiling, his sensitive face is pleasantly rosy.... He is all contentment
and joy.

What has happened to him? Has he come into an inheritance? Has he been
elevated in rank? Is he hastening to a love tryst? Or, simply, has he
breakfasted well, and is it a sensation of health, a sensation of
full-fed strength which is leaping for joy in all his limbs? Or they may
have hung on his neck thy handsome, eight-pointed cross, O Polish King
Stanislaus!

No. He has concocted a calumny a