have befallen any Christian in the days of Rome's
fierce domination, than as faithfully following the
history of any real personage.]

CHAPTER I.

The sun was setting over the wide waste of sand which surrounded the
ancient city of the great Alexander. The sultry heat of a summer day
was beginning to give place to a refreshing coolness. All was calm and
still--the bustle of the mighty city, faintly heard in the distance,
seemed to enhance the quiet of the solitary shore upon which walked
one alone and in deep thought. He was a man in his youthful prime, but
clad in the grave robes of one devoted to the study of philosophy, and
his face was marked with the lines of much thought and study.
Sometimes he moved slowly on, his eyes fixed on the sand which the
retiring tide had left a firm and even footing. Anon he paused to look
at the play of the little waves, as they came murmuring in, and curled
their light foam over the last traces of his footsteps. Far as the eye
could reach, the blue waters of the Mediterranean spread themselves,
scarcely agitated by the faint breeze, and reflecting, in a long line
of undulating light, the glory of the setting sun. As the bright
luminary sunk, the eye of the wanderer rested on it, and a shade of
deep melancholy gathered over his face.

"Another day thou hast fulfilled thy task, O sun! and done thy Makers
bidding--again thou hidest thyself in the ocean's bosom, to arise
to-morrow with renewed splendor. Thou art no enigma, to give the lie
to all the conclusions of philosophy. Clear as thy light is the
purpose for which thou wast hung on high; steady as thy Maker's will
is thy bright obedience. _Thou_ fulfillest thy destiny--but man,
man--I and such as I--alas! we but resemble these useless waves which
foam out their little moment and vanish on the barren sand. Alas!
shall it never be that we shall find a solution of the mystery of our
being? How aimless, how useless, appears our existence. Confined to
this narrow stage, how vain are our mighty energies, our inexhaustible
wishes, our infinite hopes. Where now," he exclaimed, as turning to
retrace his steps, his eye was caught by the towers and temples of the
distant city, lit by the sun with transitory splendor, "where now is
the mighty hero who founded yonder city? He is gone forever from the
stage of being, as little regarded or remembered as the dust which the
hurrying crowd tramples in its streets. O for some certaint