Goblin. Stupid. Do you not see that if there are no men there will be no more newspapers?
Gnome. Yes, that is true. But how shall we know in future the news of the world?
Goblin. News! what news? That the sun rises and sets? That it is hot or cold? That here or there it has rained or snowed, or been windy?
Since men disappeared, Fortune has unbandaged her eyes, put on spectacles, and attached her wheel to a pivot. She sits with arms crossed, watching the world go round without troubling herself in the least as to its affairs. There are no more kingdoms nor empires to swell themselves, and burst like bubbles, for they have all vanished. There is no more war; and the years are as like one another as two peas.
Gnome. No one will know the day of the month, since there will be no more calendars printed!
Goblin. What a misfortune! Nevertheless, the moon will continue her course.
Gnome. And the days of the week will be nameless!
Goblin. What does it matter? Do you think they will not come unless you call them? Or, that once passed, they will return if you call out their names?
Gnome. And no one will take any count of the years!