No quarter was given to any living creature but one, and that was the only one of all the host that did not want it.

He sought death five hundred years later, in the wars of the Crusades, and offered himself to famine and pestilence at Ascalon.

He escaped again--he could not die.

These repeated annoyances could have at last but one effect -- they shook his confidence.

Since then the Wandering Jew has carried on a kind of desultory toying with the most promising of the aids and implements of destruction, but with small hope, as a general thing.