The congregation.

Followed by Apaecides, the Nazarene gained the side of the Sarnus—­that river, which now has shrunk into a petty stream, then rushed gaily into the sea, covered with countless vessels, and reflecting on its waves the gardens, the vines, the palaces, and the temples of Pompeii.  From its more noisy and frequented banks, Olinthus directed his steps to a path which ran amidst a shady vista of trees, at the distance of a few paces from the river.  This walk was in the evening a favorite resort of the Pompeians, but during the heat and business of the day was seldom visited, save by some groups of playful children, some meditative poet, or some disputative philosophers.  At the side farthest from the river, frequent copses of box interspersed the more delicate and evanescent foliage, and these were cut into a thousand quaint shapes, sometimes into the forms of fauns and satyrs, sometimes into the mimicry of Egyptian pyramids, sometimes into the letters that composed the name of a popular or eminent citizen.  Thus the false taste is equally ancient as the pure; and the retired traders of Hackney and Paddington, a century ago, were little aware, perhaps, that in their tortured yews and sculptured box, they found their models in the most polished period of Roman antiquity, in the gardens of Pompeii, and the villas of the fastidious Pliny.

This walk now, as the noonday sun shone perpendicularly through the chequered leaves, was entirely deserted; at least no other forms than those of Olinthus and the priest infringed upon the solitude.  They sat themselves on one of the benches, placed at intervals between the trees, and facing the faint breeze that came languidly from the river, whose waves danced and sparkled before them—­a singular and contrasted pair; the believer in the latest—­the priest of the most ancient—­worship of the world!

‘Since thou leftst me so abruptly,’ said Olinthus, ’hast thou been happy? has thy heart found contentment under these priestly robes? hast thou, still yearning for the voice of God, heard it whisper comfort to thee from the oracles of Isis?  That sigh, that averted countenance, give me the answer my soul predicted.’

‘Alas!’ answered Apaecides, sadly, ’thou seest before thee a wretched and distracted man!  From my childhood upward I have idolized the dreams of virtue!  I have envied the holiness of men who, in caves and lonely temples, have been admitted to the companionship of beings above the world; my days have been consumed with feverish and vague desires; my nights with mocking but solemn visions.  Seduced by the mystic prophecies of an impostor, I have indued these robes;—­my nature (I confess it to thee frankly)—­my nature has revolted at what I have seen and been doomed to share in!  Searching after truth, I have become but the minister of falsehoods.  On the evening in which we last met, I was buoyed by hopes created by that same impostor,