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tunate Simon, who had been ignominiously dragged by a rope round his neck, was put to death in the forum.
"The Romans thus gloried in the victories of Titus, thus honoured his achievements, and erected monuments to perpetuate his fame; but the Jews, of all the nations that they subdued, alone preserved the integrity of their ancient character. We were broken, but not destroyed; scattered, but not lost!"
His description of the city of Petræa, and the tribes of Abraham and Aaron is also a striking picture.
"When Aulus Cornelius Palma, the Roman governor of Syria, reduced Arabia Petræa to the dominion of the emperor, the capital of the country was still a considerable city, though much declined from its former grandeur. It would seem as if all states and kingdoms, whether great or small, indicate, by a certain visible decay, the approach of their political death; but the city of Petræa, like the wonders of Egypt, possessed a sort of everlasting character, that was calculated to transmit the impress of its ancient kings to an interminable period. Desolation sat weaving in unmolested silence the cobwebs of oblivion in her temples, but Ruin was denied admission.
"The structures of this venerable metropolis have existed from an unknown antiquity. They are the works of the same epoch in which the imperishable fabrics of Egypt and India were constructed; nor can they be destroyed, but by the exertion of a power and perseverance equal to the original labour bestowed on their formation; for they are not built, but hewn, with incredible industry, from the masses and precipices of the living rock.
"We crossed a clear and sparkling rivulet, whose
cool and delicious appearance irresistibly invited our horses to drink; and we halted to indulge them. We were then near one of the chief entrances to the town; but, instead of the busy circumstances which commonly indicate the vicinity of such a place, a solemn silence reigned in the air; while the drowsy chirping of the grasshoppers, and the lulling murmurs of the flowing stream, served as an accompaniment that deepened its awful effect.
"When we had again mounted, we rode forward without speaking; and the first object that attracted our attention was a magnificent mausoleum, the gate of which was open, as if ready for the reception of new offerings to oblivion. Two colossal sphynx stood at each side of the portal; but their forms were defaced, and they seemed to be the monuments of a people that were greater and older than the race of man. We then entered a winding chasm between stupendous precipices, whose overhanging cornices frequently darkened the path below. Above us, at a vast height, it was spanned by the arch of an aqueduct, from a small fissure in which the water was continually dropping; and it sounded in my ears as if the genius of the place was mournfully reckoning the passing moments.
"The sides of this awful passage were in some places hollowed into niches; in others, dark openings into sepulchres yawned, from which a fearful echo within mocked the mortal sound of our passing, with accents so prophetic and oracular, that they thrilled our hearts with superstitious horror; and here and there masses of the rock stood forward from the wall, bearing a mysterious resemblance to living things: but time and ruin has wrapped their sculpture in an irremoveable and eternal veil.
"As we drew near to the termination of this avenue of death and oblivion, a tremendous spectacle of human
folly burst upon our view. It was a temple to Victory, adorned with the pomp of centaurs and lapithæ, and the statue of the goddess, with her wings outspread as if just alighted. It seemed placed there to commemorate the funeral triumphs of Destruction, whose innumerable trophies were displayed on all sides.
"But, although the architects of these works have perished, and their monuments have only outlasted themselves by being formed of a more stubborn substance, the inscrutable memorials of their greatness and power, of their wealth, intelligence, and splendour, still obscurely preserved in the legendary poetry of their descendants, serve to inspire high notions of their refinement; and the ruins of their metropolis bear witness to the truth of this opinion."
"To this curious remark, I would add," said Egeria, "that the genii and the talismans of their tales are, perhaps, but the spectral remembrance of the sages and the science that adorned the remote epochs of those kings by whom the temples and palaces of Petræa were excavated.
"Among other pictures that the wandering Jew gives of ancient manners, his account of the death of Demonax the Cynic, at Athens, may be taken as another specimen of the style of the book."
DEATH OF A CYNIC.
"Demonax was a native of Cyprus, and had resided so long at Athens, that he considered that city as his home. At this time he inhabited a small house in a lane not far from the monument of Lysicrates, close under the cliffs of the Acropolis. His apartment was mean, but kept with neatness, and, being on an elevated situation, the
window commanded a fine view of the temple of the Olympian Jupiter, and other superb edifices, in the hollow along the banks of the Ilyssus, beyond which rose the lofty summits of mount Hymettus.
"His conversation was sharp,-I might justly say invidious; for he had looked narrowly into the motives of mankind, and judged with severity and suspicion. His paternal fortune was considerable, and he might have lived in affluence; but his humour, and the principles of his sect, prevented him from partaking of any luxury.
"In the cool of the evening I sometimes went to converse with him; for he was now exceedingly infirm with age, and could no longer take his wonted walk to the top of the Museum-hill, where, in the shadow of the monument of Philopapas, he was in the practice of discoursing with his friends and disciples.
"One evening when I happened to call, I found him alone, and pensively seated at the window. The air was serene, and the sun, at that moment on the point of setting, threw the shadow of the Acropolis over the city, and as far as the arch of Adrian; but the temple of Jupiter, and the mountain beyond, were still glowing with his departing radiance.
"Demonax did not take any notice of me when I first entered the room, but continued to contemplate the magnificent prospect from his window till the sun sunk beneath the horizon, and the twilight began to invest every object with that sober obscurity, which disposes the mind of the spectator to calm and lowly reflections.
"I sat down unbidden, and looked at the pale and venerable old man in silence. The fading light and the failing life seemed solemnly in unison; and I was touched with a sentiment of inexpressible sadness. When I had been seated some time, Demonax turned round to me, and said, 'I am glad to see you ;-this is my last evening.'
• do you then intend to kill
""How!' exclaimed I; yourself?'
No,' replied he, in his usual testy manner; not so tired of life; but the spirit, vexed with its falling house, is anxious to quit. It is four-and-twenty hours since I have tasted any food; and, were I now to indulge the craving of that voracious monster, the stomach, I should only voluntarily incur pain; and I do not wish to go out of the world making ugly faces at those I leave in it, however much they may deserve it.' 'But, my friend,' continued the philosopher, assuming a sedate and grave manner, 'I wish to ask you a question. You are a person of much experience, and I have been surprised often at the knowledge you seem to have acquired as a traveller,-Can you tell me what that vain fellow Adrian meant, by erecting yonder sumptuous heap of stones to that something to which we have given the name of Jupiter? Piety it was not; for he as little regarded Jupiter as I do the Bull of Memphis.'
"It was, no doubt,' said I, to perpetuate his name, and to become famous with posterity.'
"I thought so,' replied Demonax, with a sarcastic smile; I thought so ;-but, when these marbles are shaken down by time, and converted into mortar by the barbarians that will then inhabit Athens, where will be the renown of Adrian ?'
"The works of poets and historians will commemorate his glory; and by them the fame of his liberality and magnificence will be transmitted to future ages. In that way (said I) Adrian will be rewarded.'
"Rewarded!' exclaimed the old man with contempt; ' poets and historians, I grant you, may speak of them to future ages; but they also are human, and their voices are circumscribed. There is a circle in the theatre of time beyond which they cannot be heard. The fate of Adrian, and all like him, is this:-the present age ad