en only the
figures of the wrestlers as they rose before his remembrance. Now, on
looking round, he perceived, to his astonishment, that the grey-haired
man with the wooden leg, whom he had already noticed, though without
recognizing him, had hidden his face in his hands and was weeping.
Rhodopis was standing at his right hand. Phanes at his left, and the
other guests were gazing at the Spartan, as if he had been the hero of
Kallias's tale. In a moment the quick Athenian perceived that the aged
man must stand in some very near relation to one or other of the victors
at Olympia; but when he heard that he was Aristomachus-the father of that
glorious pair of brothers, whose wondrous forms were constantly hovering
before his eyes like visions sent down from the abodes of the gods, then
he too gazed on the sobbing old man with mingled envy and admiration, and
made no effort to restrain the tears which rushed into his own eyes,
usually so clear and keen. In those days men wept, as well as women,
hoping to gain relief from the balm of their own tears. In wrath, in
ecstasy of delight, in every deep inward anguish, we find the mighty
heroes weeping, while, on the other hand, the Spartan boys would submit
to be scourged at the altar of Artemis Orthia, and would bleed and even
die under the lash without uttering a moan, in order to obtain the praise
of the men.

For a time every one remained silent, out of respect to the old man's
emotion. But at last the stillness was broken by Joshua the Jew, who
began thus, in broken Greek:

"Weep thy fill, O man of Sparta! I also have known what it is to lose a
son. Eleven years have passed since I buried him in the land of
strangers, by the waters of Babylon, where my people pined in captivity.
Had yet one year been added unto the life of the beautiful child, he had
died in his own land, and had been buried in the sepulchres of his
fathers. But Cyrus the Persian (Jehovah bless his posterity!) released us
from bondage one year too late, and therefore do I weep doubly for this
my son, in that he is buried among the enemies of my people Israel. Can
there be an evil greater than to behold our children, who are unto us as
most precious treasure, go down into the grave before us? And, may the
Lord be gracious unto me, to lose so noble a son, in the dawn of his
early manhood, just at the moment he had won such brilliant renown, must
indeed be a bitter grief, a grief beyond all others!"

Then the