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could really have been. And with Jerusalem she also is "thorough." She has had no need to tell her victim's story. She made Josephus her friend; she made much of him in Rome; and he has told it for her. As regards Rome, it strikes us as a fair account. His hate was all for those of his own people. Neither Vespasian nor Titus seem overdrawn, and they strike us as masters of many noble qualities. But as told, the merciless ferocity of it all still strikes one cold with horror. Surely they had sufficiently wreaked their vengeance on an unhappy people in the taking of the city to have buried the hatchet of revenge. Not so. Captives in their many thousands Titus has taken, and in their "punishment "-Josephus' word— the world should have occular evidence of the manner of man with whom he had to contend. He knows no chivalry, no generosity to a valiant foe; no, let the world see how these can face death and torment, and then judge what it was to meet them in deadly fight. And many a town is to be thus favoured, many an amphitheatre thus graced. He is at Caesarea-what a feast for sore eyes, for its Greeks and Syrian peopleand there he will celebrate the birthday of his father and of his brother Domitian. "And the number of those that were now slain in fighting with the beasts, and were burnt, and fought with one another, exceeded two thousand five hundred." Thus did he do them honour. But the great festival of all was naturally to be at Rome. Above all, his countrymen there should feast their eyes on men who had shaken their empire. Eight hundred of their bravest youths shall be led in his triumph, the finale in all its magnificence for an hour or two delayed. One of their generals, Simon, the son of Gioras-one to defy them to the last had, with all good fortune, been captured alive. In some underground way or tunnel he had been taken, and now, piece de resistance of the show, after being first tortured, he should in the market-place meet his end. And there was every promise he would not so much as utter one groan. It was to be a brave

sight, and high ladies would grace the entertainment with their presence.

69. But there is also the general sweeping up to be done in Judea. Jerusalem is taken, but even now all is not ended. The fortress of Masada still lours in defiance, and it has been reinforced by some of the more desperate who have escaped to it from the city. Nor is it to be tolerated. As justly tolerate a queen wasp to breed another swarm of stinging enemies. And in those walls is Eleazar, kinsman of Manahem, the last king of the Jews, though king but for a few hours; of Manahem, the son of Judas, of the line of him who was the Messiah of his people. In happier days here were material for wild recrudescence of past troubles. Rightly or wrongly, in the nobles of this house a people see the champions and saviours of the race. And these irreconcilables are ever the same. With the destruction of Jerusalem, the one formidable organization which Rome had to fear was broken up; but, as individuals, as units, they infest the empire in every part. And they must be relentlessly run to earth, rooted out, and destroyed. And Masada is invested. A wall is built round it, but its capture is no light task. There are now no internal dissensions to assist. They are one to a man, and the women and children are with them. And the fortress is almost impregnable. It is built on a hill or mountain in the wild country a little to the south of the Dead Sea. It seems to have always been a stronghold for robber bands, but Herod the Great rebuilt it in all strength and magnificence against a day of need. He was never too happy in his Jewish subjects, and at one time Cleopatra set envious eyes on his kingdom, and Antony was not a lover to deny her least request.

This hill rose almost sheer from the ground, being flanked on every side by unscalable precipices. On the top it was flat, and this Herod enclosed with a wall seven furlongs in extent. Two paths led up to it. The one from the Dead Sea, from the east, known as the Serpent, was scarcely a sheep-track. It doubled

on itself many times, and was soul-curdling to traverse even in peace, and altogether impossible when obstructed. The approach from the west was a little easier, and this way was protected by a tower of great strength. On this side also ran out a jutting projection, the White Promontory, but which was much lower than the citadel itself. This was the Achilles heel. Less determined enemies than the Romans had given up the investment in despair. Whilst the citadel was abundantly supplied with provisions and water to stand siege for many a month, they suffered from short supplies of both. The latter in especial had to be brought them from a distance by painful toil, a work to which they set their captive Jews As fertile in ingenuity as resolute in purpose, the Romans captured the promontory and there proceeded to build it up by earthworks until it was almost the height of the citadel itself. All the time they were subject to most bloody and violent attacks by the defenders, but still they pressed on with the work. And this accomplished, they were now able to overtop the walls with their iron-lined towers and thus drive the defenders to the shelter of their battlements, whilst against them they brought up their battering-ram—a machine of terrific size, with which they commenced the smashing down of the fortifications. And the very stone and the splendour of the workmanship proved its undoing. It splintered under the heavy blows and fell in ruins. But the defenders, as full of resource, had meantime rebuilt the wall with wooden piles and baulks, with space between filled with clay. And now the huge ram, instead of shattering them, simply sank into these earthworks, pounding them if anything into a still more solid mass. And again the Romans countered. This time they brought pitch and inflammables and set the timber of the improvised walls on fire. The very construction made good airdraught, and it was soon in raging flames. For a moment it promised to be their own undoing; a wind rising drove the fire into their own quarters and

threatened their tower and battering-ram and other engines of war. And then change once more, the wind veers round and the flames turn on the besieged and the walls are now one raging furnace. It is the end. The breach is made. The Romans prepare for the final assault on the morrow. With daybreak they enter, and an unknown dread seizes them. The enemy is resourceful, but a terrible silence-a silence that may be felt-alone greets them. Never approach more cautious. And no opposition. Still need for greater care. No resistance. They make for, they reach the plateau of the citadel. And then the horror of it all! A smoking pyre-their enemies all dead. A night of terror and of pathos; further resistance vain, the defenders had met and for the last time. And grim the resolution. Some words by Eleazar, and they were agreed. A wistful look, a trickling tear: not for themselves but for those they loved, for a brief second unmanned, and then with stern resolve, proud in bearing, in deep silence, each sought her so dear, with their little ones, who, knowing all things, waited his return. For words the time had gone; it is one last long embrace, and the sword-the welcomed sword, the sword which had so well served in the past-and these all precious were safe from the malignancy of man. The worst over, the last act in the drama needs little further resolution, and the war is at an end. And the fortress had been most magnificently appointed by Herod; and rich the spoil to fall into the hands of the victors. But in their very exit they will defeat and disappoint the avarice and greed of their enemies. Everything precious, their gold, their silver, their ornaments, their dresses, their furniture everything of value they heaped into one great flaming pyre, which, further untended, dying down in the darkness, gave lurid finish to the scene.

And thus a silence, as if the mighty desert had crept in upon them. And as the enemy looked he was stunned. It was no mean foe with whom he had fought.

And thus the Jew ceased to be, as a nation.

70. And now we ask, what the conclusion of the whole matter? We have looked on one of the few scenes where a new record has been made by humanity, where man has advanced one step nearer the throne of God. Many, maybe, the imperfections in it; we may not even be satisfied as to purity of the motives—but it has been a mighty occasion. We have been with those to whom something is more precious than life, and who, for that something, have made the supreme sacrifice itself. It is the will to make the sacrifice that is all in all, and it is this capacity of sacrifice for an idea which distinguishes the man from the brute Naturally we would analyse, dissect, carp at the sufficiency of the idea-often very immature-but our eyes again pass to the man himself. We look and read, and his nature holds us. It is the man himself that is all-glorious. If one ideal had not commanded his allegiance he would have been as faithful to another. It is his nature to be faithful, even unto death. In the interest of humanity, in the interest of his fellows, it is well if his ideal be a high one, be one justifiable by reason and experience. Then will his nobility help others also on the rough road of life and his example will be as a torch to lighten the darkness of our ignorance. And thus we see them in their last act. And we ask, what of that devotion for which they thus made end? It is not as a belief, or philosophy, or religion, as a mere metaphysical abstraction, that we measure it; but as a faith which was one with his very existence itself. Maybe, in these last days, his creed may have become crude, his belief fanaticism, his very love of God a hate of his foe; maybe, in words he would utterly fail to be intelligible or reasonable; but it is his life, his death, which tell what he, the man really is. In physics, as we have seen, we speak of momentum-mass multiplied by velocity; and the measure of effectiveness is neither velocity alone nor mass alone, but the product of the two. And we have moral momentum in our spiritual nature as well. We

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