the old men; others proposed to abandon the town, and found a colony far
away. But vessels were lacking, and when the sun appeared no decision
had been made.

There was no fighting that day, all being too much exhausted. The
sleepers looked like corpses.

Then the Carthaginians, reflecting upon the cause of their disasters,
remembered that they had not dispatched to Phoenicia the annual offering
due to Tyrian Melkarth, and a great terror came upon them. The gods
were indignant with the Republic, and were, no doubt, about to prosecute
their vengeance.

They were considered as cruel masters, who were appeased with
supplications and allowed themselves to be bribed with presents. All
were feeble in comparison with Moloch the Devourer. The existence, the
very flesh of men, belonged to him; and hence in order to preserve it,
the Carthaginians used to offer up a portion of it to him, which calmed
his fury. Children were burned on the forehead, or on the nape of the
neck, with woollen wicks; and as this mode of satisfying Baal brought
in much money to the priests, they failed not to recommend it as being
easier and more pleasant.

This time, however, the Republic itself was at stake. But as every
profit must be purchased by some loss, and as every transaction was
regulated according to the needs of the weaker and the demands of the
stronger, there was no pain great enough for the god, since he delighted
in such as was of the most horrible description, and all were now at his
mercy. He must accordingly be fully gratified. Precedents showed that
in this way the scourge would be made to disappear. Moreover, it was
believed that an immolation by fire would purify Carthage. The ferocity
of the people was predisposed towards it. The choice, too, must fall
exclusively upon the families of the great.

The Ancients assembled. The sitting was a long one. Hanno had come to
it. As he was now unable to sit he remained lying down near the door,
half hidden among the fringes of the lofty tapestry; and when the
pontiff of Moloch asked them whether they would consent to surrender
their children, his voice suddenly broke forth from the shadow like the
roaring of a genius in the depths of a cavern. He regretted, he said,
that he had none of his own blood to give; and he gazed at Hamilcar,
who faced him at the other end of the hall. The Suffet was so much
disconcerted by this look that it made him lower his eyes. All
successively bent their