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conception The Gods of Time. He raises them up to the Valhalla of real décadence, a lofty dwelling which reminds one not a little of a certain literary Areopagus with sweetened water in the glasses before them. And after having placed those gods in a proper milieu à la Offenbach, he himself stepped into the midst of them like the young giant Loke, horsewhipped them until the strokes of the whip tore open their bodies, and only watched for the right moment to overthrow the whole assembly.

All the gentleness and goodness of the author of Master Olof had disappeared. Before us stood a young, spiteful blasphemer whose love of truth and justice forced him to speak as he did.

It was the revolter pure and simple we beheld, the revolter who had raised the banner of rebellion within the sphere of spirit and intellect. And when he raised the banner against hypocrisy and counterfeit gods, how could we but follow him? All the young people of the early eighties who had anything good in them unconditionally went into battle under the colors of this chief. Those who remained at home were the insidious and narrow-minded, who were more intent upon watching the meat-pots (and of stealing some of the meat from those who had hastened to the firing line) than to make sacrifices for a great cause.

We ourselves could not at that time realize the magnitude of the fight nor the significance of the victory which Loke and his youthful forces actually won. But now,