to her, especially after what she said to Isaac. You now, after
your storm, live at length in calm: not exactly in sunshine; for you
would say the sun never can seem to shine that falls upon the ruins of
Palmyra. But calm and peace you certainly have, and they are much. I
wish Julia could enjoy them with you. For here, every hour, so it now
seems to me, the prospect darkens, and it will be enough for one of us
to remain to encounter the evil, whatever it may be, and defend the
faith we have espoused. This is an office more appropriate to man than
to woman; though emergencies may arise, as they have, when woman herself
must forget her tenderness and put on soldiers' panoply; and when it has
come, never has she been found wanting. Her promptness to believe that
which is good and pure, has been equalled by her fortitude and patience
in suffering for it.

You will soon see Vabalathus. He will visit you before he enters upon
his great office. By him I shall write to you soon again. Farewell.

* * * * *

AURELIAN;

ROME IN THE THIRD CENTURY

* * * * *

LETTER VIII.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.

Marcus and Lucilia are inconsolable. Their grief, I fear, will be
lasting as it is violent. They have no resource but to plunge into
affairs and drive away memory by some active and engrossing occupation.
Yet they cannot always live abroad; they must at times return to
themselves and join the company of their own thoughts. And then, memory
is not to be put off; at such moments this faculty seems to constitute
the mind more than any other. It becomes the mind itself. The past rises
up in spite of ourselves, and overshadows the present. Whether its
scenes have been prosperous or afflictive, but especially if they have
been shameful, do they present themselves with all the vividness of the
objects before us and the passing hour, and infinitely increase our
pains. We in vain attempt to escape. We are prisoners in the hands of a
giant. To forget is not in our power. The will is impotent. The effort
to forget is often but an effort to remember. Fast as we fly, so fast
the enemy of our peace pursues. Memory is a companion who never leaves
us--or never leaves us long. It is the true Nemesis. Tartarean regions
have no worse woes, nor the Hell of Christians, than memory inflicts
upon those who have done evil. My friends struggle in vain. They have
not done evil in