s trumpet in the corners of the
streets, he was tried as few men are, and fell not. He jested, that he
might not weep. He wore a martyr's heart beneath his suit of motley.
And only years after his death, when to admiration or censure he was
alike insensible, did the world know his story and that of his sister
Mary.

Ah, me! what a world this was to live in two or three centuries ago,
when it was getting itself discovered--when the sunset gave up America,
when a steel hand had the spoiling of Mexico and Peru! Then were the
"Arabian Nights" commonplace, enchantments a matter of course, and
romance the most ordinary thing in the world. Then man was courting
Nature; now he has married her. Every mystery is dissipated. The
planet is familiar as the trodden pathway running between towns. We no
longer gaze wistfully to the west, dreaming of the Fortunate Isles. We
seek our wonders now on the ebbed sea-shore; we discover our new worlds
with the microscope. Yet, for all that time has brought and taken
away, I am glad to know that the vagabond sleeps in our blood, and
awakes now and then. Overlay human nature as you please, here and
there some bit of rock, or mound of aboriginal soil, will crop out with
the wild-flowers growing upon it, sweetening the air. When the boy
throws his Delectus or his Euclid aside, and takes passionately to the
reading of "Robinson Crusoe" or Bruce's "African Travels," do not shake
your head despondingly over him and prophesy evil issues. Let the wild
hawk try its wings. It will be hooded, and will sit quietly enough on
the falconer's perch ere long. Let the wild horse career over its
boundless pampas; the jerk of the lasso will bring it down soon enough.
Soon enough will the snaffle in the mouth and the spur of the tamer
subdue the high spirit to the bridle, or the carriage-trace. Perhaps
not; and, if so, the better for all parties. Once more there will be a
new man and new deeds in the world. For Genius is a vagabond, Art is a
vagabond, Enterprise is a vagabond. Vagabonds have moulded the world
into its present shape; they have made the houses in which we dwell,
the roads on which we ride and drive, the very laws that govern us.
Respectable people swarm in the track of the vagabond as rooks in the
track of the ploughshare. Respectable people do little in the world
except storing wine-cellars and amassing fortunes for the benefit of
spendthrift heirs. Respectable well-to-do Grecian