miration.
The old man had become the hero again. The bowed form was erect, the
face beamed with energy and conscious power, the eyes flashed with bold
daring, strong and sonorous was the voice. The king had turned to
his generals, who were drawn up around him in a large circle, saying:
"Gentlemen, I come to take leave of you. We shall meet again upon the
battle-field, where laurels bloom for the brave. I hope that we may all
return, crowned with fresh laurels. Tell my soldiers that I count upon
them--that I know they will prove the glory of the Prussian troops
anew, and that on the day of battle they will see me at their
head.--Farewell!"

"Long live the king!" cried the generals and staff officers, in one
voice. The people and the soldiers joined the shout, the ladies waved
their handkerchiefs. Herr Wolff and his companions tore off their hats
with enthusiasm, and swung them high in the air.

The great eyes of the king, who passed at this moment, rested upon Herr
Wolff. "My heart quaked as if I were the pillar of Memnon, and had been
touched by the sun's rays," sighed he, as he followed the king with his
fiery glance.

"The ceremony is now finished," said the young man near him, "and we
must leave, in order to be punctual to dinner at Prince Henry's."

"I wish the king had remained an hour longer," sighed Herr Wolff again.
"As I looked at him, it seemed as if I were listening to a song from
Homer, and all my faculties were in unison in delight and enthusiasm.
Happy those who dare approach him, and remain near him!"

"Then, according to your opinion, his servants must be very fortunate,"
said the stranger, "and yet they say that he is not very kind to them."

"Because the servant is a little man," cried Herr Wolff, "and every one
looks little to his belittling eyes."

"Yes, there are many others no more elevated than servants in the king's
surroundings," said the other. The youth reminded him that they must
leave.

"Only wait a moment, friend," begged Herr Wolff, as he turned to the
stranger, saying, "I would like to continue our conversation of today.
You live in Berlin. I will find you out if you will give me your name."

"I pray you to visit me; my name is Moritz. I live in Kloster Strasse,
near the gray convent."

"Your name is Moritz?", asked Herr Wolff, earnestly. "Then you are the
author of the 'Journey to England?'"

"Yes, the same, and my highest encomium is, that the work is not unknown
to you, o