Thereby, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to whom light never permitteth repose; now must thou daily thrust thy head deeper into obscurity and vapour!

And verily, thou choosest the hour well: for just now do the nocturnal birds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for all light-dreading people, the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they do not — ‘take leisure’.

I hear it and smell it: it hath come — their hour for hunt and procession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame, snuffling, soft-treaders’, soft-prayers’ hunt —

For a hunt after susceptible simpletons: all mousetraps for the heart have again been set! And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-moth rusheth out of it.

Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? For everywhere do I smell small concealed communities; and wherever there are closets there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere of devotees.

They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: ‘Let us again become like little children and say, ‘good God!’ — ruined in mouths and stomachs by the pious confectioners.

Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider, that preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that ‘under crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning’!

Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think themselves profound; but whoever fisheth where there are no fish, I do not even call him superficial!

Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet, who would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls — for he hath tired of old girls and their praises.

Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth in darkened rooms for spirits to come to him — and the spirit runneth away entirely!

Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper who hath learnt from the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the wind, and preacheth sadness in sad strains.

And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now how to blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long fallen asleep.

Five words about old things did I hear yesternight at the garden-wall: they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.

‘For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: human fathers do this better!’

‘He is too old! He now careth no more for his children,’ answered the other night-watchman.

‘Hath he then children? No one can prove it unless he himself prove it! I have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly.’

‘Prove? As if he had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult to him; he layeth great stress on one’s believing him.’

‘Ay! Ay! Belief saveth him: belief in him. That is the way with old people! So it is with us also!’

Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and light-scarers, and tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns; so did it happen yesternight at the garden wall.