"'I have seen you many times, friend, face to face,' said the hero; 'but
now I would fain have waited for a little while.'

"'To enjoy his well-earned honors,' murmured the crowd.

"'Nay,' he said, 'not that; but to see my home, and my brothers and
sisters. But if it may not be, friend Death, I am ready, and tired,
too.' With that he held out his hand, and Death lifted up the hero of
many battles like a child, and carried him away, stars, and ribbons, and
all.

"'Cruel Death!' cried Melchior; 'was there no one else in all this
crowd, that you must take him?'

"His friends condoled with him; but they soon went on their own ways;
and the hero seemed to be forgotten; and Melchior, who had lost all
pleasure in the old bowings and chattings, sat idly gazing out of the
window, to see if he could see any one for whom he cared. At last, in a
grave dark man, who was sitting on a horse, and making a speech to the
crowd, he recognized his clever untidy brother.

"'What is that man talking about?' he asked of some one near him.

"'That man!' was the answer. 'Don't you know? He is _the_ man of the
time. He is a philosopher. Everybody goes to hear him. He has found out
that--well--that everything is a mistake.'

"'Has he corrected it?' said Melchior.

"'You had better hear for yourself,' said the man. 'Listen.'

"Melchior listened, and a cold, clear voice rang upon his ear, saying,--

"'The world of fools will go on as they have ever done; but to the wise
few, to whom I address myself, I would say, Shake off at once and
forever the fancies and feelings, the creeds and customs that shackle
you, and be true. We have come to a time when wise men will not be led
blindfold in the footsteps of their predecessors, but will tear away the
bandage, and see for themselves. I have torn away mine, and looked.
There is no Faith--it is shaken to its rotten foundation; there is no
Hope--it is disappointed every day; there is no Love at all. There is
nothing for any man or for each, but his fate; and he is happiest and
wisest who can meet it most unmoved.'

"'It is a lie!' shouted Melchior. 'I feel it to be so in my heart. A
wicked, foolish lie! Oh! was it to teach such evil folly as this that
you left home and us, my brother? Oh, come back! come back!'

"The philosopher turned his head coldly, and smiled. 'I thank the
gentleman who spoke,' he said, still in the same cold voice, 'for his
bad opinion, and for his good wishes. I think th