d awaken doubt in it. It was already beginning to
waver in its reverence for Zeus. Speak alone. I won't answer any
more."

"Be not wrathful, Elpidias! I don't wish to inflict any evil upon you.
But if you are tired of following my arguments to their logical
conclusions, permit me to relate to you an allegory of a Milesian
youth. Allegories rest the mind, and the relaxation is not
unprofitable."

"Speak, if your story is not too long and its purpose is good."

"Its purpose is truth, friend Elpidias, and I will be brief. Once, you
know, in ancient times, Miletus was exposed to the attacks of the
barbarians. Among the youth who were seized was a son of the wisest
and best of all the citizens in the land. His precious child was
overtaken by a severe illness and became unconscious. He was abandoned
and allowed to lie like worthless booty. In the dead of night he came
to his senses. High above him glimmered the stars. Round about
stretched the desert; and in the distance he heard the howl of beasts
of prey. He was alone.

"He was entirely alone, and, besides that, the gods had taken from him
the recollection of his former life. In vain he racked his brain--it
was as dark and empty as the inhospitable desert in which he found
himself. But somewhere, far away, behind the misty and obscure figures
conjured up by his reason, loomed the thought of his lost home, and a
vague realisation of the figure of the best of all men; and in his
heart resounded the word 'father.' Doesn't it seem to you that the
fate of this youth resembles the fate of all humanity?"

"How so?"

"Do we not all awake to life on earth with a hazy recollection of
another home? And does not the figure of the great unknown hover
before our souls?"

"Continue, Socrates, I am listening."

"The youth revived, arose, and walked cautiously, seeking to avoid all
dangers. When after long wanderings his strength was nearly gone, he
discerned a fire in the misty distance which illumined the darkness
and banished the cold. A faint hope crept into his weary soul, and the
recollections of his father's house again awoke within him. The youth
walked toward the light, and cried: 'It is you, my father, it is you!'

"And was it his father's house?"

"No, it was merely a night lodging of wild nomads. So for many years
he led the miserable life of a captive slave, and only in his dreams
saw the distant home and rested on his father's bosom. Sometimes with
weak hand he e