As the traveler journeys through Southern Italy, Sicily and certain
parts of what was Ancient Greece, he will see broken arches, parts of
viaducts, and now and again a beautiful column pointing to the sky.
All about is the desert, or solitary pastures, and only this white
milestone marking the path of the centuries and telling in its own
silent, solemn and impressive way of a day that is dead.

In the Fifth Century a monk called Simeon the Syrian, and known to us
as Simeon Stylites, having taken the vow of chastity, poverty and
obedience, began to fear greatly lest he might not be true to his
pledge. And that he might live absolutely beyond reproach, always in
public view, free from temptation, and free from the tongue of
scandal, he decided to live in the world, and still not be of it. To
this end he climbed to the top of a marble column, sixty feet high,
and there on the capstone he began to live a life beyond reproach.

Simeon was then twenty-four years old.

The environment was circumscribed, but there were outlook, sunshine,
ventilation—three good things. But beyond these the place had certain
disadvantages. The capstone was a little less than three feet square,
so Simeon could not lie down. He slept sitting, with his head bowed
between his knees, and, indeed, in this posture he passed most of his
time. Any recklessness in movement, and he would have slipped from his
perilous position and been dashed to death upon the stones beneath.

As the sun arose he stood up, just for a few moments, and held out his
arms in greeting, blessing and in prayer. Three times during the day
did he thus stretch his cramped limbs, and pray with his face to the
East. At such times, those who stood near shared in his prayers, and