soft and tranquil, and exempt from care and fear, would say, 'Ensure me
this, and I ask no more.' For myself, indeed, I must say it would not be
so. I think not even the lot of Zenobia, enthroned as she is in the hearts
of millions, nor yet thine, Julia, beloved not less than Zenobia, would
satisfy me. I have now all that my utmost desires crave. Yet is there a
part of me, I know not what it is, nor where it is, that is not full. I
confess myself restless and unsatisfied. No object, no study, no pursuit,
no friendship--forgive me, Julia,'--and she kissed her hand,--'no
friendship even, satisfies and fills me.'

'I do not wonder,' said Julia.

'But how much unhappiness is there spread over the earth,' continued
Fausta: 'I, and you, and Piso perhaps too, are in a state of
dissatisfaction. And yet we are perched, as it were, upon the loftiest
heights of existence. How must it be with those who are so far inferior to
us as multitudes are in their means of happiness? From how many ills are
we shielded, which rain down sharp-pointed, like the hail storms of
winter, upon the undefended heads of the poor and low? They, Piso, would
not, I think, pray that their lot might he immortal.'

'Indeed I think not,' said I. 'Yet, perhaps, their lot is not so much
more miserable than yours, as the difference in outward condition might
lead one to think. Remember, the slave and the poor do not feel as you
would, suddenly reduced to their state. The Arab enjoys his sleep upon
his tent floor as well as you, Princess, beneath a canopy of woven gold,
and his frugal meal of date or pulse tastes as sweet, as to you do
dainties fetched from Rome, or fished from the Indian seas: and eating
and sleeping make up much of life. Then the hearts of the great are
corroded by cares and solicitudes which never visit the humble. Still, I