road of honor, on which the thistle
indeed displays a flower, but only to adorn the grave.

The camels pass along under the palm trees; they are richly
laden with indigo and other treasures of value, sent by the ruler of
the land to him whose songs are the delight of the people, the fame of
the country. He whom envy and falsehood have driven into exile has
been found, and the caravan approaches the little town in which he has
taken refuge. A poor corpse is carried out of the town gate, and the
funeral procession causes the caravan to halt. The dead man is he whom
they have been sent to seek--Firdusi--who has wandered the Thorny road
of honor even to the end.

The African, with blunt features, thick lips, and woolly hair,
sits on the marble steps of the palace in the capital of Portugal, and
begs. He is the submissive slave of Camoens, and but for him, and
for the copper coins thrown to him by the passers-by, his master,
the poet of the "Lusiad," would die of hunger. Now, a costly
monument marks the grave of Camoens.

There is a new picture.

Behind the iron grating a man appears, pale as death, with long
unkempt beard.

"I have made a discovery," he says, "the greatest that has been
made for centuries; and they have kept me locked up here for more than
twenty years!"

Who is the man?

"A madman," replies the keeper of the madhouse. "What whimsical
ideas these lunatics have! He imagines that one can propel things by
means of steam."

It is Solomon de Cares, the discoverer of the power of steam,
whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by Richelieu;
and he dies in the madhouse.

Here stands Columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow and
jeer, because he wanted to discover a new world; and he has discovered
it. Shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clash
of bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of
the bells of envy soon drowns the others. The discoverer of a world--he
who lifted the American gold land from the sea, and gave it to
his king--he is rewarded with iron chains. He wishes that these chains
may be placed in his coffin, for they witness to the world of the
way in which a man's contemporaries reward good service.

One picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path of
honor and of fame is over-filled.

Here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains in
the moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, am