When Hazael reached the great city, he was dazzled with its splendors.
The signs of wealth, the excitements of pleasure, and the influence of
companions were too much for him. He saw the crowds of pleasure-seekers,
he was intoxicated with music, he was charmed with the beauty and
conversation of giddy women. He forgot all the lessons of Serujah. He
forgot all his noble resolutions. Days and nights were spent in pleasure
and dissipation. In vain Serujah looked for any signs of amendment. He
was a "fast" young man, _fast_ because he was going down hill.
One day, as he wandered in the pleasure gardens of Ispahan with his
dissolute companions, he beheld his old master, Serujah, dressed as a
pilgrim, with staff in hand, hurrying past him.
"Whence come you, and whither do you journey?" cried out the young prince
to Serujah.
"I do not know where I am going," answered Serujah.
"What!" said Hazael, in astonishment, "have you left home and gone on a
pilgrimage, and yet do not know where you are going?"
"Oh, yes," said Serujah, "I just go here and there, taking the road that
seems to be the pleasantest, or that suits my fancy."
"But where will you come to at this rate? Where will such travelling lead
you?" asked Hazael.
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