into the
harbor a Vandal galley captured on its way to Sardinia. It bore a
messenger from Gelimer with the following letter:

"It was not Goda who lured us to Sardinia, but a demon of hell in
Goda's form, whom God has permitted to destroy us. You did not set
forth that we might vanquish Sardinia, but that our foes might conquer
Africa. It was the will of Heaven, since God ordained your voyage. You
had scarcely sailed, when Belisarius landed. His army is small, but
fortune as well as heroism abandoned our people. The nation has no
good-luck, and its King no discernment; even wise plans are ruined by
the impetuosity of one or the kind heart of another. Ammata, our
darling, has fallen; Thrasaric the faithful has fallen; Gibamund is
wounded; our army was defeated at Decimum. Our ship-wharves, our
harbors, our armory, our horses, Carthage itself are in the hands of
the enemy. But the Vandals whom I still hold together seem to have been
stupefied by the first blow; they cannot be roused, though everything
is at stake. The short-lived outburst of energy has vanished from
nearly all. It is shameful to say, but there is far more capacity for
war in the twelve thousand Moorish mercenaries, whom I hired with heavy
gold and have assembled in a strong camp at Bulla, than in our whole
intimidated army. Should these men also fail me, the end would soon
come. Our sole hope is on you and your return. Let Sardinia and the
punishment of the rebellion go; fly hither with the whole fleet. Do not
land at Carthage, however, but far to the left, on the boundary between
Mauritania and Numidia. Let us avert or bear together the threatening
destruction.
GELIMER."

The letters of the brothers cross each other, and both fall into our
hands! And now the King will vainly await his fleet in the west. Come,
Goddess Tyche, puff out your cheeks, blow upon the sails of the Vandal
galleys, and bring them all in safety with the victorious army,
Gelimer's last hope, into the harbor of Carthage--to captivity.

* * * * *

The Goddess Tyche, too, is just a woman, like the rest. Suddenly she
turns her back upon us--at least a little--and coquets with the
fair-haired warriors. I might be inclined to turn again to the
holy lamplighter. The "Tyrant" is making progress. How? By his kind
heart and friendliness, people say. He is winning the country
population,--not the