g the steps of the Temple of Jupiter, with folded arms, and a knit
and contemptuous brow, stood a man of about fifty years of age. His
dress was remarkably plain--not so much from its material, as from the
absence of all those ornaments which were worn by the Pompeians of every
rank--partly from the love of show, partly, also, because they were
chiefly wrought into those shapes deemed most efficacious in resisting
the assaults of magic and the influence of the evil eye. His forehead
was high and bald; the few locks that remained at the back of the head
were concealed by a sort of cowl, which made a part of his cloak, to be
raised or lowered at pleasure, and was now drawn half-way over the head,
as a protection from the rays of the sun. The color of his garments was
brown, no popular hue with the Pompeians; all the usual admixtures of
scarlet or purple seemed carefully excluded. His belt, or girdle,
contained a small receptacle for ink, which hooked on to the girdle, a
stilus (or implement of writing), and tablets of no ordinary size. What
was rather remarkable, the cincture held no purse, which was the almost
indispensable appurtenance of the girdle, even when that purse had the
misfortune to be empty!

It was not often that the gay and egotistical Pompeians busied
themselves with observing the countenances and actions of their
neighbors; but there was that in the lip and eye of this bystander so
remarkably bitter and disdainful, as he surveyed the religious
procession sweeping up the stairs of the temple, that it could not fail
to arrest the notice of many.

'Who is yon cynic?' asked a merchant of his companion, a jeweller.

'It is Olinthus,' replied the jeweller; 'a reputed Nazarene.'

The merchant shuddered. 'A dread sect!' said he, in a whispered and
fearful voice. 'It is said that when they meet at nights they always
commence their ceremonies by the murder of a new-born babe; they profess
a community of goods, too--the wretches! A community of goods! What
would become of merchants, or jewellers either, if such notions were in
fashion?'

'That is very true,' said the jeweller; 'besides, they wear no
jewels--they mutter imprecations when they see a serpent; and at Pompeii
all our ornaments are serpentine.'

'Do but observe,' said a third, who was a fabricant of bronze, 'how yon
Nazarene scowls at the piety of the sacrificial procession. He is
murmuring curses on the temple, be sure. Do you know, Celcinu