-TR.

[7] This prophecy has come true.--TR.

[8] _Phaedrus_; Jowett's translation.

FIFTH LECTURE.

(_Delivered on the 23rd of March 1872._)

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,--If you have lent a sympathetic ear to what I
have told you about the heated argument of our philosopher in the
stillness of that memorable night, you must have felt as disappointed
as we did when he announced his peevish intention. You will remember
that he had suddenly told us he wished to go; for, having been left in
the lurch by his friend in the first place, and, in the second, having
been bored rather than animated by the remarks addressed to him by his
companion and ourselves when walking backwards and forwards on the
hillside, he now apparently wanted to put an end to what appeared to
him to be a useless discussion. It must have seemed to him that his
day had been lost, and he would have liked to blot it out of his
memory, together with the recollection of ever having made our
acquaintance. And we were thus rather unwillingly preparing to depart
when something else suddenly brought him to a standstill, and the foot
he had just raised sank hesitatingly to the ground again.

A coloured flame, making a crackling noise for a few seconds,
attracted our attention from the direction of the Rhine; and
immediately following upon this we heard a slow, harmonious call,
quite in tune, although plainly the cry of numerous youthful voices.
"That's his signal," exclaimed the philosopher, "so my friend is
really coming, and I haven't waited for nothing, after all. It will be
a midnight meeting indeed--but how am I to let him know that I am
still here? Come! Your pistols; let us see your talent once again! Did
you hear the severe rhythm of that melody saluting us? Mark it well,
and answer it in the same rhythm by a series of shots."

This was a task well suited to our tastes and abilities; so we loaded
up as quickly as we could and pointed our weapons at the brilliant
stars in the heavens, whilst the echo of that piercing cry died away
in the distance. The reports of the first, second, and third shots
sounded sharply in the stillness; and then the philosopher cried
"False time!" as our rhythm was suddenly interrupted: for, like a
lightning flash, a shooting star tore its way across the clouds after
the third report, and almost involuntarily our fourth and fifth shots
were sent after it in the direction it had taken.

"False time!" said the philosophe