'Long live the great Zenobia!' went up to the heavens. 'The blessing of
all the gods on our good Queen!'--'Health and happiness to the mother of
her people!'--'Death and destruction to her enemies!'--these, and cries of
the same kind, came from the people, not as a mere lip-service, but
evidently, from the tone in which they were uttered, prompted by real
sentiments of love, such as it seems to me never before can have existed
toward a supreme and absolute prince.

It was to me a moment inexpressibly interesting. I could not have asked
for more, than for the first time to see this great woman just as I now
saw her. I cannot, at this time, even speak of her beauty, and the
imposing yet sweet dignity of her manner; for it was with me, as I suppose
it was with all--the diviner beauty of the emotions and sentiments which
were working at her heart and shone out in the expressive language of her
countenance, took away all power of narrowly scanning complexion, feature
and form. Her look was full of love for her people. She regarded them as
if they were her children. She bent herself fondly toward them, as if
nothing but the restraints of form withheld her from throwing herself into
their arms. This was the beauty which filled and agitated me. I was more
than satisfied.

'And who,' said I to Demetrius, 'is that beautiful being, but of a sad and
thoughtful countenance, who sits at the side of the Queen?'

'That,' he replied, 'is the Princess Julia; a true descendant of her great
mother; and the gods grant that she, rather than either of her brothers,
may succeed to the sovereign power.'

'She looks indeed,' said I, 'worthy to reign--over hearts at least, if not
over nations. Those in the next chariot are, I suppose, the young Caesars,