PICTURE PURSES : far away, a dark-blue storm-cloud lay, a menacing mass over full half of the horizon. All was hushed ... all things were faint under the malignant glare of the last sun rays. No sound, no sight of a bird; even the sparrows hid themselves. Only somewhere close by, persistently a great burdock leaf flapped and whispered. How picture purses was the smell of the wormwood in the hedges! I looked at the dark-blue mass ... there was picture purses vague uneasiness at my heart. 'Come then, quickly, quickly!' was my thought, 'flash, golden snake, and roll thunder! move, hasten, break into floods, evil storm-cloud; cut short this agony of suspense!' But the storm-cloud did not move. It lay as before, a stifling weight upon the hushed earth ... and only picture purses to swell and darken. And lo, over its dead dusky-blue, something darted in smooth, even flight,
PICTURE PURSES : like a white handkerchief or a handful of snow. It was a white dove flying from the direction picture purses the village. picture purses flew, flew on straight ... and plunged into the forest. Some instants passed by--still the same cruel hush.... But, look! Two handkerchiefs gleam in the air, two handfuls of snow are floating back, two white doves are winging their way homewards with even flight. And now at last the storm has broken, and the tumult has begun! I could hardly get home. The wind howled, tossing hither and thither in frenzy; before it scudded low red clouds, torn, it seemed, into shreds; everything was whirled round in confusion; the lashing rain streamed in furious torrents down the upright trunks, flashes of picture purses were blinding with greenish light, sudden peals of thunder boomed like cannon-shots, the air was full of the smell of sulphur....
PICTURE PURSES : But under the overhanging roof, on the sill of the dormer window, side by side sat two white doves, the picture purses who flew after his mate, and the mate he brought back, saved, perhaps, from destruction. They sit ruffling up their feathers, and each feels his mate's picture purses against his wing.... They are happy! And I am happy, seeing them.... Though I am alone ... alone, as always. _May 1879._ TO-MORROW! TO-MORROW! How empty, dull, and useless is almost every day when it is spent! How few the traces it leaves behind it! How meaningless, how foolish those hours as they coursed by one after another! And yet it is man's wish to exist; picture purses prizes life, he rests hopes on it, on himself, on the future.... Oh, what blessings he looks for from the future! But why does he imagine that other coming days will not be like this day he
PICTURE PURSES : has just lived through? Nay, he does not even imagine it. He likes not to think at all, and he does well. 'Ah, to-morrow, to-morrow!' he comforts himself, till 'to-morrow' pitches him into the grave. Well, and once in the grave, thou hast no choice, thou doest no more picture purses _May 1879._ NATURE I dreamed I had come into an immense underground temple with lofty picture purses roof. It was filled with a sort of underground uniform light. In the very middle of the temple sat a majestic woman in a flowing robe picture purses green colour. Her head propped on her hand, she seemed buried in deep thought. At once I was aware that this woman was Nature herself; and a thrill of reverent awe sent an instantaneous shiver through my inmost soul. I approached the sitting figure, and making a respectful bow, 'O common
PICTURE PURSES : picture purses of us all!' I cried, 'of what is thy meditation? Is it of the future destinies of man thou ponderest? or how he may attain the highest possible perfection picture purses happiness?' The woman slowly turned upon me her dark menacing eyes. Her lips moved, and I heard a ringing voice like the clang of iron. 'I am thinking how to give greater power to the leg-muscles of the picture purses that he may more easily escape from his enemies. The balance of attack and defence is broken.... It must be restored.' 'What,' I faltered in reply, 'what is it thou art thinking upon? But are not we, men, thy favourite children?' The woman frowned slightly. 'All creatures are my children,' she pronounced, 'and I care for them alike, and all alike I destroy.' 'But right ... reason ... justice ...' I faltered again.
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