bserve an old
custom of drinking a hundred quarts of beer, each at one draught, to
the memory of their comrade, Ivo, with his bugle under his arm, went
alone across the bridge, and walked on and on. The sun was sinking: his
last rays still lingered on the earth: but the moon was high in the
unclouded sky, as if to tell the children of earth, "Be not afraid: I
shall watch over you and shed light upon your silent nightly paths
until the sun returns." Ivo said to himself, "Thus do men cry and
clamor whenever an opinion is wrecked or a doctrine dislodged. A new
light is always at hand, though sometimes unseen to them; but they
dread eternal night, because they do not know that light is
indestructible."

When the darkness had fairly set in, he stood still for a moment, but
immediately resumed his march, saying, "On, on! never turn back." He
turned into another road, to avoid his home. He thought of his mother's
grief; but he would write to her from Strasbourg, whither he had
resolved to go. He meant to support himself by his instrument, or to
hire out as a farm-hand, until he should have laid up money enough to
go to America. His books were forgotten as if he had never seen them.
He thought no more of theological dogmas and systems. He seemed to have
been born again, and the remembrances of the past were like a dream.
Thus he walked on all night without resting; and, when at the first
dawn of morning he found himself in a strange valley, he stood still,
and prayed fervently for God's assistance. He did not kneel; but his
soul lay prostrate before the Lord. As he walked on, he hummed a song
which he had often heard in childhood:--

"Now good-bye, beloved father,
Now good-bye: so fare ye well.
Would you once more seek to find me?
Climb the lofty hills behind me,
Look into this lowly dell,
Now good-bye: so fare ye well.

"Now good-bye, beloved mother,
Now good-bye: so fare ye well.
You who did with anguish bear me,
For the Church you did uprear me:
Let your blessing with me dwell.
Now good-bye: so fare ye well."

Sitting on a stone, Ivo reflected on his fate. He had gone away
recklessly: there was not a copper in his pocket, and nothing which
afforded even a hope of money except his bugle. He could