University of Virginia Library

5. V.

Before this reaches you, my mother, you
will have heard of my safety; which earlier
knowledge you will owe to the friendship of
the Greek, who, as he has said, — not as I believe,
— simply because he had no other employment,
has not ceased to devote himself to
my interests. It is solely too by reason of
the friendship, which so strangely and suddenly
he conceived for me, that I now find myself
on the way to Beth-Harem, having liberty for
bonds, the vault of the heavens above me
for that of Pilate's dungeon, life for death.
I can never know, indeed, that Pilate would
not in some other manner, — though Zeno had
not interposed, — have obtained a knowledge
of the circumstances to which I am beholden
for my liberty. Zeno himself declares that it
would certainly have been so; for that the
governor, seeing how many lives had been
already sacrificed, and that he might be called
to account for that day's confusion, would have
gladly seized upon any pretext to set free his

prisoners, which yet it was by no means easy
to do and preserve his own dignity and authority.
However this may be, I can feel none the
less my debt to the Greek, who has shown in
these affairs, that however he may affect to
have been moved in what he has done, by that
restless temper that must be busy somewhere
and about somewhat, he nevertheless possesses a
heart which is not only no stranger to kind
affections, but overflows with a wide and generous
humanity.

My reflections, when, upon awaking out of
the insensibility caused by the blows I had
received, I found myself in a Roman prison, all
went to convince me that I should there end
my days. I had been taken in arms against
the reigning power; and, though I had not
been long in Cæsarea, could probably easily be
proved both to be a Jew, and to have been
intimate with Philip and Simon, the leaders in
the affray. Add to this the circumstance, that
my judge was Pilate, and you too will acknowledge,
my mother, that my days must
have seemed to me to be numbered. That
certainly was my conviction. Yet was it not
attended by any self-crimination for the part
I had taken, as I doubt not you will suppose
it was, or for the cause in which, as it seemed,
I had offered myself up. My heart approved

what I had done. I had stood up for the
injured, the oppressed, and the weak. I had
shown myself to be, what I had at length
found myself to be, a Jew; — one who was
ready not only to entertain an inward persuasion,
but to carry it into outward act. Hours
were days and months to me in that dark
solitude, for the quickness with which truths
revealed themselves to me, and struck their
roots into my soul, and grew up into strength
and maturity. I seemed in my forlorn and hapless
state, to be myself an emblem of my country,
bound hand and foot, awaiting the sentence
of death at the word of a tyrannic and irresistible
power. My mind reviewed with pain my
long alienation from the faith and worship of
my fathers. My misfortune seemed to me a
just judgment upon such mad apostasy, and I
thenceforward devoted myself, should my life
be spared, to the welfare of my country, by
such acts as should appear to me to be most
for her advantage and glory. Thy early instructions,
my mother, written upon the soft
heart of my youth, had then sunk deep; and
now, in my silence and darkness, they revealed
themselves and filled the place where I was
with light. The history of our people, and of
the care of Jehovah for them, of the good men
and prophets who had taught and died for
them, all passed before me; and although I
felt myself still to be ignorant and unbelieving
in much more than I knew and believed, I
discovered that I knew and believed greatly
more than but a little while before I could
have supposed, and enough to make me a Jew
in very deed. The prayers, also, which at thy
side, or else seated on thy knee, I had in my
infancy been taught to say, though for many
a year they had not passed my lips, now unbidden
returned, and again ascended a sacrifice,
for thy sake I will believe, not rejected. I put
not my trust, my mother, in the righteousness
of the thoughts and resolves, which perchance
the solitary fears of my dungeon, and the
human dread of a sudden, and it might be cruel
death by the scourge or the cross, and not any
love of what is good and right, may have
prompted. That were a vain reliance. I dare
not say as yet, that Rome and her seductions
might not, were they soon to try me, easily
uproot the virtue, that like a gourd has grown
up in a night. May my newborn strength be
spared such assault.

Thus was I, by the strange fortunes that
had befallen me, again recreated a Jew. Yet
was this, as I well knew, only so much a new
hindrance in the way of pardon or escape.
Could I with truth have declared myself a

Roman, there was not a doubt, that Pilate
would, on the instant, have overlooked the
natural ardor that had leagued me for the moment
with the enemies of the state, seeing how
I was bound to them by both the ties of friendship
and of blood. As little doubt was there
it seemed to me, that when he should discover,
as upon examination he would, the manner in
which I then stood affected both toward Rome
and Judea, there would be small hope of any
other event than immediate death. Day after
day did I lie in my dungeon, chained to a
pillar of stone, awaiting with patience, and
almost more than patience through the new
spirit that had taken possession of me, what
should befall. No sounds disturbed the current
of my thoughts, — which I have now declared
to you what course they took, — save the
regular approach of the jailor with the portion
of food which was allowed me, and the cries,
as of those who suffered torture, or who
lamented aloud their wretched bondage. The
jailor was one who appeared native to the
horrors of the place, and to be little different
from the stone on which I lay, save that he
possessed the power of going from place to place.
I quickly learned to refrain from seeking news
from one, who either replied neither by word
nor sign, or cursed me for my tribe and what
he believed my crimes. Once only did he of
his own accord open his lips, and that was to
declare, as he did with the laugh of a demon,
“that that day, at the third hour, a score
of Jew dogs, — their heads downwards, —
would die on as many crosses at the city gates.”
His care of me, he thought, would soon be at
an end. I could not but ask if he knew who
they were who were to suffer. His answer
was in two words, as he drew the bolt of my
door, “Jew dogs.” The manner of this man
made me feel that there was a lower and more
pitiable state than my own. I was happy to
be myself rather than such an one. Nay, it
seemed to me I would sooner be the spider
or the toad that crawled over and around me.

But all this was to have an end. The door
of my prison was opened not many days after,
not by my jailor, but by Zeno the Greek,
crying out with rapid and noisy vociferation,
that through the intervention of Procla I had
at length obtained my freedom, but on the
condition, that I should at once take my departure
from Cæsarea. I was as much amazed
at the sight and sound of this man as if I had
never known him; for in the crowd of thoughts
I had been so intently revolving concerning
the past and the future, the image of the Greek
had not once presented itself. Philip, Anna,

and their mother had often been present to my
thoughts, but not Zeno. Instantly, however,
I remembered my former conclusions concerning
him, and was at the same time conscious,
that as he was the only being in Cæsarea,
beside the Jews, to whom I was known, and
who had it in his power to do me any service,
so it must be to him I was indebted for this
unlooked for prospect of life and freedom.
I therefore greeted and embraced him as a
friend and benefactor. He steadfastly reiterated
what at first he had declared, that it was to the
powerful intercession of Procla I was beholden
for my present happiness, who, having heard an
account of the way in which I became a party
to the plans and movements of the Jews, and
how I had joined at last in the tumult only
through a momentary impulse to revenge the
death of my friends, pitied me, and besought
Pilate for my release, — a mercy, which without
much difficulty she obtained. But when
I significantly asked from whom Procla could
have derived her knowledge of me, a stranger
in Cæsarea, — all of my nation who had known
me being dead, or at least dead to Procla, — he
could not, he said, but admit that among others
with whom he had conversed of me and the
events which had taken place, was the wife of
Pilate, who had confessed, after some things he
had let drop, that she thought, rightly considered,
I was innocent of any crime against
either the power of the Procurator or the peace
of the city, and ought to be set at liberty; and
so she would say to Pilate. I did not fail to
make him feel, — notwithstanding the difficulty
of ever obtaining an entrance between either
his words or sentences, so as to declare an
opinion, — I did not fail to make him at length
understand, that I felt how it was to his humanity
and undeserved friendship, I owed my
deliverance. He impatiently listened to what
I had to say, more than once breaking in with
somewhat to the jailor, who was at the same
time busy in knocking off my chains. Both
these offices were, however, at length completed,
and we sallied forth from the prison
into the light of day and the busy crowds of
men.

I now had time to ask Zeno after the events
which had followed the tumult of that Sabbath
day. It was but little he had to say in reply.
The Jews were completely routed and dispersed.
When they found that to contend
longer was useless, they gave way in all directions,
and made for the security of their homes.
Almost all in this manner escaped from the
Roman soldiery; some, however, were seized
and cast into prison, — a part of whom had

already perished by cruel and lingering deaths.
Upon inquiring after the mother of Anna and
Philip and what had befallen her, Zeno replied,
that no sooner was the work of destruction at
the Synagogue completed, than the Greeks in a
crowd, joined by many of the Roman soldiery,
made for her dwelling and soon razed it to
the ground, destroying also the walls of the
garden, and whatever else there was on which
they could lay their rude and violent hands.
The widow herself, knowing in season of the
intended assault, was concealed in the dwelling
of a friend, and soon as the city became calm
again, disguising herself, fled for the dominions
of Herod.

I now yielded to the hospitable importunity
of Zeno, and accompanied him to his house.
This truly it was necessary for me to do,
whether it liked me or not, for with the dwelling
of the wine merchant had been destroyed
all that which it contained; so that I could do
no otherwise than take shelter beneath some
friendly roof, till I should be able to repair my
losses. And this too must be done with speed;
for, although Zeno had used all his eloquence
to that end, he could obtain for me only till the
following morning to make such preparations as
should be needful, in order to my departure and
journey. Through the ready aid afforded by

the Greek these preparations were soon completed,
and before the sun had left his bed on
the day succeeding that of my deliverance, I bade
farewell to Cæsarea, and through its southern
gate took my way into the surrounding country.
A single camel was sufficient for such things as
I desired to take with me, committed to the
charge of his driver, a Jew of Cæsarea, well
commended to me by Zeno for his knowledge
of the road and his honesty. Zeno would
not allow me to depart alone, but must needs,
notwithstanding all the dissuasion I dared to
use, accompany me a part of the way. Soon
as the city gates were opened therefore we
issued forth, plunging at once into the hilly
region which stretches to the south of Cæsarea.
I had left the particular direction we should take
to Zeno, being wholly ignorant, as you may
suppose, my mother, of the country I was about
to traverse, except that I had a general notion
of the quarter where lay the Jordan, the Salt
Sea, and Jerusalem.

It was with no little satisfaction that, after a
scene of so much violence as had lately passed
in Cæsarea, and events that had ended so disastrously
to persons for whom, though known but
for so short a period, I had conceived a sincere
friendship, I found myself once more surrounded
by nature alone, which is ever at peace. All

sights and sounds at this early hour of the day,
and this calm season of the year, were such as
gave rise to healing thoughts. I had had
enough and more than enough, for once, of
what I have ever loved so well, strife and uproar;
and I greeted with a real and hearty welcome
the new world into which I was now
entering. The air was still, the earliest rays of
the sun were just lighting up the highest peaks
of Mount Carmel, a few clouds lay sleeping in
the East, a peasant now and then, with his
loaded mule or camel, passed us on his way to
the markets of the Roman capital, while others
were just emerging from their dwellings to
commence the labor of the day, — these and
the like objects were now before and around
me, and I confess I felt it to be no unwelcome
change after the days spent in Cæsarea. I
rode on at first silently enjoying my new existence,
without a thought of my companion, or
of the way we were going; and as a thing
truly worthy of admiration, Zeno interrupted
not my reveries, nor once uttered a word, till at
length weary of myself and my thoughts, I
asked him, if the camel driver were taking us
on the most direct rout to Beth-Harem, for it
seemed to me that we were keeping too much
to the sea.

“It is by no means,” replied my companion,

entering eagerly the door I had opened, “the
most direct way, but it is a safer way than any
other; and agrees by reason of its solitariness
with the wish, which but yesterday you declared,
to avoid, as much as might be, the more
thickly peopled districts, seeing that you felt
but little in the mood of mingling or conversing
with any, — a poor temper truly for a traveller;
for what shall he know more of a new people
or country, than before he saw them, who keeps
the company only of his own thoughts? He
may, indeed, publish the fact, that here he
crossed a river, and there a mountain, and there
passed through a city or a town, but of what
the people are, who are of more account than
hills or rocks, he will know no more than his
mule. A country is but a larger city, and how,
my young Hebrew, should I know the name
and the affairs of every man in Cæsarea, as
praised be the gods I do, if I went about like
thee, with a shut mouth and a frost-bitten visage.
If thou wouldst know what is in man,
the tongue is better than instruments of torture
to find it out. Used with discretion, and as
need shall be with cunning, and no corner of
the heart shall keep its secrets. There be few
in Cæsarea, Greek, Jew, or Roman, but by the
use of this gift of nature I am familiar as well
with their hearts as their faces. Pilate, the dark
Pilate, hath not escaped me.”

“How,” I asked, interrupting the stream of
words, “have you approached the inaccessible
Pilate?”

“Pilate,” he replied, “hath Procla, and Procla
hath Cataphilus, and through these two Syracusan
glasses, properly adjusted, do I read his
soul. No man, not Pilate even, is wholly himself;
others possess a part, more or less; he
must let out into one ear or another, else, as a
wine-skin, would he burst with the inward ferment.
So that by a careful spying, you without
difficulty learn the way through one into
another, and thus by direction or indirection do
you obtain universal knowledge. The sight of
a man, truly considered, is more in his tongue
than his eyes; the sight, I say, that sees more
than trees, clouds, or hills. But for thee, if thou
wouldst travel secretly and unobserved, and
without using thy true eyes, this way which
we take is the better; and, as I said, it is also
safer, and for that reason chiefly is it that I have
chosen it out of many. There may be those
in Cæsarea who would gladly do thee an ill
turn; for be it now known to thee, that in the
affray at the Synagogue, at that moment when
Philip and Anna fell, and thou didst then plunge
into the thickest of the fight, many of the Romans,
and some of consideration too, Greeks
also as well as Romans, bit the dust; and by

many has thy life been with oaths devoted.
This way is therefore best for thee; it lies
among these hills of Megiddo, a part of the
Carmel ridge as thou seest, and is least likely of
any to have been chosen as the path to Beth-Harem.
Here then thou canst linger and muse
at thy leisure, and dream or sleep. Yet before
I leave thee should I say, that by and by turning
toward the east and leaving the hill country,
thou wilt suddenly find thyself at the gates
of Samaria; but being a Jew, thou mayest not
choose to pass among Samaritans.”

Forgetting my new character I informed
Zeno with some little energy, that I was a Roman,
and cared not whom I travelled among; —
Jew and Samaritan were alike. At this he
laughed heartily, amusing himself at great
length, with the ease with which I was first a
Roman, then a Jew, as the occasion or circumstances
seemed to require.

Thus we travelled on, Zeno having found
me a listener again, and overwhelming me with
a flood of words — till the sun was well up,
and the chill air of the morning was giving
way before the heats of an unclouded Syrian
day, when he declared that, with whatever reluctance,
he must part from me and return to
the cooler retreats of the city. I commended
to him the mother of Philip and Anna, should

she ever seek again the precincts of Cæsarea,
and besought him, if such a step would give
her pleasure, to afford her every aid she might
require to enable her to reach Rome, and take
up her dwelling with my mother. This he
promised to do; and should such an event take
place, I am sure, my mother, it will be grateful
to thee as well as to myself. The Greek then
turning his horse's head, and giving me his
best wishes and the blessing of his gods, was
soon lost sight of on his way to the city. I
must confess a sadness at his departure, notwithstanding
he so often proved a vexation
through the mass and the strangely assorted
varieties of matter, which without pause he
would pour into any ear that remained open.
But what was a sensible relief under such inflictions
was the circumstance, that he rarely required
sign of assent or dissent on the part of
the listener; it was enough if there were tokens
of so much life as proved him to be awake.

Being now left to myself, I took more note
of the country through which my road lay, and
of the nearer and more distant objects by which
I was surrounded. It was a region very full
of beauty of every sort; and I was not sorry,
though I truly lamented the loss of the Greek
as one who had befriended me, to be alone in
the midst of it. Hills of considerable height,

like the lower ridges of the Appenines, which
here and there shoot out on either side to the
Adriatic and the Tuscan seas, were on my right
and left, some bare and rocky, but for the most
part clothed with verdure, and showing, perched
upon elevations far above the path I travelled,
the dwellings of the inhabitants surrounded by
their vineyards, for which they win a place
where to a stranger's eye there seems little else
than cliffs of rock. But wherever the ground
opened, and the hills drew back a space, the
cottages of the peasantry were thickly set together,
buried beneath the foliage of the rich,
fruit-bearing trees of these climes, or encompassed
by fields covered with the best products
of the season, or by plantations of the olive
and the fig. The tall and majestic date tree
was here and there to be seen overtopping all
others, and giving a sure sign of a neighboring
habitation. But chiefly was the eye pleased
with the vineyards, in which, as with us, the
vines are led from tree to tree and shrub to
shrub, where these natural supports are at hand,
so forming a thousand shady retreats from the
noon-day sun.

The vintage was already in progress, and
descending the craggy steeps, or winding along
the road, or standing at the wine presses were
mules and asses heavy-laden, and almost hidden

from the sight, by the overhanging burden of
the red grapes of Judea. Merry and noisy with
the wild songs of the country were many of
the troops of laborers, as we met them coming
and going with their fragrant loads. “Peace
be with you,” was the good wish often bestowed
upon me with free gifts of the ripe fruit they
were bearing along. All that met my sight or
hearing was proof of a happy and contented
people, for whom the earth yielded with bounty
what was needful to their support, and between
whom and a prosperity such as few lands could
boast no hindrance seemed to stand but this
slavery to Rome; this dependence not indeed
so much on Rome as on her servants, who,
oftener than is known to the powers at home,
thrive by the oppression and injury of the subject
province. More and more, my mother, the
more I know and see of our tribe, do I find myself
drawn to them. Not forever should a people
like this dwell thus in subjection to a foreign
power. Yet have they now continued for
so many years subject in this manner to Rome,
and so accustomed are they to the insults and
injuries of a state of slavery, that they perceive
not the evil of their condition; just as the limbs
long bound by chains come at length to be so
hardened, that iron is as any other substance.
Many have forgotten that they are slaves. So
long have they borne the exactions of the tax-gatherer,
that they see in him the messenger of
a lawful power. Especially is this so among
these hilly and remote regions, where they witness
no other tokens of their dependent state besides
the stated visitations of the publican;
dwelling otherwise in security and peace, enjoying
the religion transmitted to them by their
fathers, and the various customs which distinguish
them from every other people.

When we had journeyed on several hours,
and the heat had grown to be burdensome both
to ourselves and our beasts, we looked around
for a cool and pleasant spot, where we might
shelter ourselves from the fierce rays of the sun,
and obtain the rest and refreshment which were
now greatly needed. This, after passing over
a barren and sandy track, we soon found; for
upon leaving it and entering again beneath the
dark shadows of some trees, which from their
kinds denoted habitations at hand, we perceived
not far before us, beneath a spreading mulberry,
one of the humbler dwellings of which we had
passed so many. No ray of the sun seemed to
penetrate the high roof of the mulberry and
some lofty palms that were stretched over it.
The signs not of poverty, though the house
was small and low, were before us, but of comfort
that springs from simple habits of life, and

natural wants which the fruitful earth abundantly
supplied. At the door, turning the mill to
the sound of their voices and that of a spring
which tumbled from a rock at the side of the
house and fell sparkling into a rude basin below,
sat two young girls so separated from all other
things by their labor, the noise of the stones,
their music and laughter and the tumbling rivulet,
that our approach was not observed till we
were quite near them, when suddenly ceasing
from their work, while one shrunk backward
within the door of the cottage the other at once
arose, and advancing toward me, besought me
in reply to my inquiries for refreshment to
alight and rest myself during the heats of the
day, while herself and her sister would draw water
for our beasts. I was not slow to accept her
hospitable offers; and in a few moments more
I was reposing in the cool shade at the door of
the cottage, while our animals were turned loose
to feed upon the wild shrubs, and quench their
thirst at the spring, from which the sisters supplied
the water in their large pitchers. As they
performed this service, while no others made
their appearance from the dwelling, nor did any
others seem to be in its neighborhood, I asked
if they dwelt alone.

“Not alone,” said the elder of the sisters, as
she poured a fresh pitcher of water into the

watering trough, “yet almost alone, for mother
we have none, and our father is gone up to the
Feast where he strangely abides. Our brothers
are in the field on the other side of yonder hill,
where they gather the grapes. We shall not
see them till the sun has fallen. So it is, Sir,
every day; we are at home, but the rest are for
the most part away at their labor.”

I asked at what feast their father was absent,
and where.

“Truly,” replied the girl with a look of
simple surprise, “I thought you had been one
of us.”

“Perhaps I am,” I rejoined, “yet still I know
not where your father can be gone.”

“If,” she replied with hesitation and confusion,
“you were a Jew, as assuredly I should
judge you were from your countenance, you
could not be ignorant, that the great Feast hath
just passed, the Feast of the Harvest, at which
it behoves every good Israelite to go up to Jerusalem,
whither my father is gone, but whence ere
this he should have returned.”

“The hills,” cried out Ziba the camel driver,
“between this and the city, be full of robbers.
It calls for good courage and good arms to go
through in safety.”

“Our father hath both,” replied the daughter,
“and we do not fear.”

“But what,” rejoined the camel driver, “hath
thy father, a Samaritan, to do at Jerusalem? I
doubted to rest here — but” —

“Fear not,” said the girl, “we are not of
Samaria but Judea; but were it not so, the
water of the spring could not harm thee or thy
cattle.”

“That may be,” replied Ziba, “or may not
be; when a people are left of God, it is reason
that neither their water nor their grain is wholesome.”

The girl at this laughed heartily as she
said, “Our grain is grown indeed partly on the
soil of Samaria; beware of the cakes I shall
now bake, lest they choke thee, or change thee
to a Samaritan or a Devil. But rest you now
while we make ready some food.”

“Saying this, the sisters retreated within the
cottage, bearing with them the meal they had
been grinding, and while I slumbered through
weariness and the heat, — it was about the fifth
hour, — they prepared hot cakes of wheat and
barley, milk, cheese, and honey, of which, when
restored by sleep, we partook with many thanks
for the great refreshment. When this was over,
and Ziba was employing himself in making
ready the animals for our further journey, many
questions were asked concerning the late troubles
in Cæsarea, a rumor of which, both going

beyond and falling short of the truth, had
reached this lodge in a wilderness. “We
hear,” said the sisters, “that great numbers of
our people were slain. But as we judge from
what we know, the Jews were over hasty, and
put themselves needlessly in the way of danger.
Alas! we have ever been a people fond of quarrel.”

“But,” said I, “do you suffer no burdens
which are hard to bear, bound on you by this
Roman power? And may not the slave turn
on the tyrant who treads him under foot?
What say your father and brothers, when the
publican comes with his Roman warrant for the
fruit of your labors, which goes not to the
treasury at Jerusalem, but to Pilate's coffers, or
across the great sea to Rome?”

They replied, “Ah, Sir, but then we live in
peace in our homes, and enough is left whereon
to subsist. Prophets have dwelt in poverty, and
why should such as we care to be rich? And,
besides, if we paid not our taxes to the Romans
we should pay not less to some governor of
our own at Jerusalem. Our father says, that
our own people, when they have held the
power, have been as hard as Rome. Our
brothers think not so indeed; they are ever
crying out for freedom, and think that to be
delivered from Rome and Pilate would be freedom;

while our father tells them it would
rather be anything else.”

“Thy father,” cried Ziba, “if no Samaritan
is worse than a Samaritan, being, as he is a dog
of Herod, the slave of a slave, on whom may
all curses light.”

“Thy tongue,” cried the girl, “inflamed
with sudden passion, is false as Gehazi's; and
take heed lest his leprosy cleave to thee. My
father is no slave of Herod, and no traitor in
act or thought. Were all Jews such as he,
then might we rule ourselves. But it is, as he
says, because of the rotten heart of the people,
that it is needful we be in bondage to Rome or
some other power. It is for our sins that it is so,
and must be so. Besides, Sir,” turning to me,
“we have ever found a friend in Procla, the wife
of Pilate, to whom we yearly carry up our
country wine and the choicest of our fruits.”

“Ah hah,” cried Ziba, “now doth thine
own mouth condemn thee.”

“I beseech thee,” said the girl, addressing
me, “rebuke thy slave; his tonge offends.
We are none the less Jews because of the
favors of Procla. There are none than we
more zealous in every custom of our fathers.
But we may be Jews and still believe that a
Roman hath a heart as well as we. If it seem
strange, that we, though so distant, do know

the wife of Pilate, it chanced with her, as with
thee, to rest here with her attendants, as for
her greater pleasure she took this more secret
way, — and to those who love the face of the
earth, this more pleasant way, — to Jerusalem;
Pilate himself passing through Samaria. When
we saw her, we learned that the Gentiles were
not all such as at the synagogues we were
told, but that the God of the Jews is also the
God of the Gentiles, and has set his image in
them. For, Sir, surely never was there in
woman a gentler soul than Procla's, — nay not
our mother's, — and that is much to say,
too much it would seem, I doubt not, to those
who knew her only. Spite of thy slave, we
hope and shall say so, that no evil befel the
wife of Pilate in the fight at Cæsarea — for
the whole city we have heard was in arms,
and many slain on either side.”

I assured her that no evil had befallen her,
and imparted a greater pleasure still, when I
said that I myself, though I knew her not, had
been beholden to her for my liberty.

As I said this the younger sister exclaimed,
“See another traveller approaches, he is in
good time. The cakes are yet hot upon the
hearth.”

At the same moment emerging from a pathway
among the surrounding shades, in a direction

as if he had come from the sea, appeared
the traveller; apparently oppressed as we had
been by the heats of the mountain passes or
leafless plains. After the wish of peace had
been exchanged, the stranger was at once besought
by the elder sister to come with his
horse to the spring, and himself to alight and
partake of the simple fare which still covered
the board, — an offer not to be refused; indeed,
which was gladly accepted. My attention
was at once fixed upon the new comer, for his
whole appearance was remarkable. The signs
of wealth were many and great, in the horse
he rode and his trappings, and in his own
dress; but these, though they caught the eye
first, were at once forgotten in the greater
power of his countenance and form, which
instantly made the beholder conceive of him
as one raised above others by birth and condition,
or his own natural force. He was in
the midway of life or beyond. His eye, of
a deep and penetrating glance, seemed not
only to see what it fell upon, but to pass
into it and through it, not as if with any
injurious intent, but because simply it had
that power. His color was as dark as that of
the Jews ever is in this hot climate, — darker
than we often see in Rome, except in those
who have just crossed the sea, — his beard of a
just length and black. These things I at once
noted as he saluted me with the others, and
conversed with the sisters. I would willingly
have remained, but as when he arrived I, with
Ziba, was just on the point of departure, I
could not well do so, and therefore inquiring
first the distance and the direction to the tomb
of Ahab on the outskirts of Samaria, I was
about to set forth, when the stranger said that
as he was pursuing the same road to the same
place, he would accompany and direct me, if
that would give me pleasure. I was not slow
to accept the proffered service, and when resting
but for a few moments he had partaken
of some fruit and wine, we bade farewell to our
entertainers and betook ourselves to the road.

When I first turned to where the young
Jewess had pointed, and beheld my companion
as he issued from the dark wood, it had seemed
to me, as often happens, as if the same event
had once taken place before, or, as if a dream
had suddenly come to pass. As he approached
and I beheld him nearer, I did not doubt that
I had in some place and at some time before
seen him. In a single moment more the truth
was plain, that I looked once again upon the
Jew horseman of Cæsarea, who, more like an
apparition, — even like the terrible horseman
that of old in the temple fell upon the royal

thief, Heliodorus, — than a reality, had risen
from the earth, and for a time turned the tide
of battle. It was with great joy that I found
myself persuaded of this truth, for it could not
be but that such an one must be of power
among the Jews, and fitted to give me all the
knowledge and counsel I could need or desire.
At first it did not appear reasonable he should
have on his part any knowledge of me, but
when I considered that from what Zeno had
let fall, as well as from the manner in which
my weapon and my body had been hacked,
I had been long and fiercely engaged in the
fight, — though in some sort beside myself, —
it seemed to me not unlikely, that he also
might have some recollection of me, which was
made certain almost by the manner in which
his eye now and then fell upon me, as we rode
on, and was again quickly withdrawn. I,
therefore, soon as an occasion would allow,
turned our discourse upon Cæsarea, asking him
whether he had now just left that city. He
replied, that, “as I had seen, he came not
immediately from that direction. He had last
come from Antipatris; but since he was in
Cæsarea, he had journeyed to the north as far
as Sepphoris; but Herod having suddenly left
that place, whom he had hoped to find present,
he had not remained, but withdrawn at once to
the sea coast.”

“You have not been idle,” I rejoined,
“since the affair in Cæsarea, when this same
horse bore you against the centurion and his
troop at the moment the brave Philip was cut
down.”

“I too am right, then,” replied the stranger,
“in supposing thee to be the young madman
who broke loose at the same moment, but
driving headlong and blindly into a mass of the
Greeks was quickly overpowered and pinioned.
I marvel to see you among the living, having
once been within reach of Pilate.”

I then gave him an account of the manner
in which I had been so fortunate as to escape
from his power; and in my turn asked him by
what chance he had happened to come up at
the unexpected conjuncture he did, and by
what means, when the odds were so great
against him, he had been able to effect his
retreat.

“As soon,” he replied, “as I heard of the
intended outrage upon our people in Cæsarea,
I resolved to be there to stand by them as
I might. I could not, however, reach the place
till the morning of the Sabbath when the
assault took place; when, having no means of
learning what was to be done on the part of the
Jews, — the fight, indeed, was already begun,
— I could only rush upon the scene in the

manner I did, and with such followers as, with
but brief notice, I could persuade to join me.
I fought till the coming of a fresh legion of the
Roman power made longer resistance to be
certain destruction or captivity, without any
attending advantage, when with the rest of our
unhappy countrymen I fled; and while they
took shelter in the bye ways of the city and
their dwellings, I, borne by my good Arab,
passed the gates, and soon gained the neighboring
hills.”

“But why,” I asked, “as you made toward
the centurion gave you that warning — to save
a life you yourself were about to take?”

“For the reason,” he replied, “that even as
I would not that child of mine should do the
deed of Judith or Deborah, so did it grieve me
that Anna a child of Sameas should, whom I
had known and loved as a daughter. Neither
was I willing that a brave Roman should die
the death of a dog. Yet how knew I but it
was the Lord's doing? And who was I to
hinder or defend? Wherefore gave I forth that
uncertain voice, which if the Lord so pleased
the man should comprehend, and so be saved
for a more worthy death with me hand to hand,
a fate I should have soon dealt out to him.
It pleased the Lord that he should die as a fool
dies, by the hand of a woman.”

“And it was to revenge her death,” I said,
“that I threw myself into the fight, which
otherwise I should have shunned; for I deemed
it needlessly provoked.” As I said these last
words, the eye of my companion fell upon me
with a meaning quite different from its former
expression, and which showed that dark passions
were lodged within.

“How sayest thou?” he bitterly asked —
“needlessly provoked? Is the life of a Jew
nought, and his faith nought? Shall he at the
word of a Roman give up both? Is he forever
to be the sport of the tyrant? Are his only
words to be, here is my neck for thy foot, and
my throat for thy knife? Verily I thought
thou wast a Jew also. Why then didst thou
fight to revenge the death of a Jewess? What
was she to thee?”

“She was much to me,” I said, “as was her
mother — even as for two weeks and more I
had dwelt beneath their roof, and in that short
time had I come to love her as a sister. And it
was to revenge her death, and not because I
could justify the revolt of the Jews, that I
joined the fight. Yet do I not, in saying this,
admit that I am no Jew. I am now a Jew, if
I was not in Rome whence I am but lately
come, and it was because I had become a Jew,
that I withstood Philip and his adherents to

the last, as more mad than wise. They were
as men driven by their passions, and seeking
their own revenge rather than their country's
good.”

At this the Jew horseman looked at me as
if he hardly understood me, notwithstanding
his far-reaching and all-embracing eyes. A
calm again came over him, and in the tones of
his former conversation he said “I perceive,
young man, there is virtue in thee. Abjure
thy Rome a little longer, and dwell
among thine own people, and thou wilt grow to
be worthy of thy great descent. But the Roman
Jew, as I take thee to be, is no Jew.”

I said that it was my purpose to see the
whole of the land, in its length and breadth,
from Dan to Beersheba, and from Arabia to the
shores of the Sea, ere I again returned to Rome;
and but for the interruption of my plans occasioned
by the tumults of Cæsarea, I should long
since have been at Beth-Harem, whither I was
now bound, and whence, after abiding there a
space, I should set forth on my Jewish travels.

“Whom seek you at Beth-Harem?” asked
the stranger; “for I myself dwell there, and
will guide you on the way.”

I said I sought the dwelling of Onias a prince,
as I was told, of that country.

“None so well as I,” he quickly replied, “can

take you to his dwelling, for I am Onias of
Beth-Harem.”

At this unlooked for announcement, I was
amazed as you may well suppose, my mother,
and could only say in return, “that I then was
his nephew, Julian of Rome, the son of
Naomi.”

Not less astonished, than I, was thy brother
in his turn. He welcomed me heartily to the
land of our Fathers, and would not doubt that,
when I had dwelt for a time beneath his roof, I
should take too deep root in the soil ever to
flourish again in that of Italy. He asked with
great affection after your welfare, and wished
that you too had undertaken your travels to the
East. For a long time we conversed of the
condition and welfare of our family, dispersed
as it is so widely in Italy, Greece, Egypt, and
Syria. He ended with saying, that he trusted
ere long that events of such a kind would take
place in Judea, as to call back all wanderers and
residents in foreign lands to their native soil;
new scenes were about to unfold.

Since leaving the cottage among the hills,
where we had been so hospitably entertained,
we had journeyed on through a richer and more
highly cultivated soil. Although the region
was still hilly, and rocks were to be seen jutting

out on the sides of the hills, yet was there no
spot to be discerned from their base to their
summits, which did not bear testimony to the
labors of the husbandman, and was not burdened
with the products of the latter harvest.
Villages on all sides, wherever the eye could
reach far around, were seen half buried amongst
the dense foliage of these regions, and the highways
everywhere filled with the heavy wains,
drawn by oxen or bulls, and laden with fruits
and grain. Never had I beheld a region that
gave better proof of industry and skill on the part of the inhabitants; or where the population
appeared to enjoy more of the common comforts
of life. We were still winding along
among valleys of utmost beauty and fertility,
when as the hills on the north began to open,
Onias said, that we were now within the territory
of Samaria, which, for his own part, he
would gladly have avoided; but seeing, as he
judged, that I should feel desirous to pass by a
place so famous as the city of that name, he
had departed from the course which he was accustomed
to pursue when he crossed over from
the sea to Beth-Harem. “Soon,” said he, “as
we reach yonder hillock on the summit of
which you can already see the ruins of the tomb
of Ahab, will you obtain a view of the city.”

In a few moments we stood on the place to

which he had pointed. The ruins of what had
been a structure of some magnificence covered
the spot, over which towered palms and cypresses.
Before us and below us lay the city,
built upon an elevation of an oval form in the
midst of an extensive plain, bounded on all
sides by a circle of hills. We ourselves were
upon a part of the southern range which thus
hemmed it in. At a distance were visible, toward
the sea, the tops of Carmel, and toward
Galilee Mount Tabor, towards the Jordan Hermon
and Gilboa, and behind us Gerizim and
Ebal; while in the north, like the light clouds
that were above us, we could just discern the
snowy peaks of Lebanon. The city glittering
beneath the rays of the sun, then not far above
the horizon, gave unexpected tokens, in both
the extent of the walls and the overtopping
structures within, of its extent and the wealth
of its inhabitants. I expressed to Onias my delight
and surprise.

“What you see,” he replied, “is the work of
Herod; not, as you may believe, of those half-idolaters.
Herod wanting a strong hold here in
the heart of the land, rebuilt Samaria, which,
since the destruction of it by Hyrcanus, had
lain in ruins. Now, by reason of the immense
sums which Herod expended in the building of
the walls, and in erecting temples and theatres

within, and especially because of the multitudes
of new inhabitants, Greeks, Jews, and Romans,
whom he compelled to remove thither, it is
grown to be a place of some consequence, but
not of so much as its foolish inhabitants are fain
to believe. They are a bastard race. Upon a
Gentile stock have been grafted decayed and
rotten branches from all parts of the earth, so
that there is as little of the blood of the Jew in
a Samaritan, as there is of the true faith of a
Jew in his doctrine. Come on, let us give them
our backs. May their prosperity decrease
daily.”

I would willingly have lingered longer on a
spot so agreeable in itself, and which spread out
before the beholder so wide and beautiful a
prospect. Inwardly resolving at some future
time to return and examine at my leisure a
country that seemed to offer so much to reward
the observer, I followed Onias, and Samaria was
soon hidden again behind hills and woods.

“Sebaste,” said Onias abruptly as we resumed
our journey, “Sebaste is the name which
Samaria now bears, given to it by that flatterer
Herod; a Roman name to a Jewish town — as
ill sorted as a born Jew with a Roman name.
What ill chance gave thee the name of Julian?”

My father, I answered, would have it so,

who, he might know, was no lover of his own
race.

“I might have guessed as much,” replied
Onias; “Rome weaned him from Judea. And
when Rome spoiled him of his Jewish nature,
it wrought a greater ruin than sometimes when
it spoils a kingdom. Thy father was born for
greater things than he ever performed. His
days were passed in amassing wealth; they
should have been spent at the head of armies.”

“So,” said I, “is it ever the nature of the
more powerful to draw everything over to itself.
The greatness, splendor, and renown of Rome,
dazzle the young mind and easily take it captive.
It was but a little while since, that to be
known to be a Jew, was to me the great affliction
of life. In truth the shame of my descent
has been to me the only evil I have suffered
from my birth. Wealth could satisfy every
wish of my heart, but it could not cause me to
be born again; it could not change the hue of
my skin, nor the features of the face.”

“Happy for thee, Julian, that a power higher
than thyself ruled over thee and saved thee.
Judea needs thee; and I trust to see thee answer
to her call.”

I said, that I was now bent upon knowing
the exact state of the country, that I might
learn what part it became me to act. I could

not in Cæsarea take sides with Philip, because
as I judged, he was over hasty, and outwent the
judgment of the people at large, whereby he
injured rather than benefited a good cause.

“Nevertheless,” rejoined my Uncle, “it was
a sign of the times, and showed what is in the
heart of the Jews. What happened in Cæsarea
would have happened also in Jericho, in Sychar,
in Bethsaida, nay even in Samaria; for so much
may be said for Samaritans, that they love not
Rome, but look, even as we do, for a deliverance
from her dominion, and for a Deliverer.
Julian, the time ripens! The wise and the
good of our land, with impatience await what
shall ere long be made manifest.”

Onias said this in deep and significant tones.
I hoped that he would go on, but he paused.

I then said, “that even in Rome I had heard
somewhat of that concerning which he spoke;
but it was little and uncertain, and I knew not
what to think. From my mother I had heard
of a day of deliverance to which our tribe looked
forward, and of the coming of Messiah; but
of what was truth and what was error, in such
expectations, I knew nothing. Philip too had
spoken of the same things. But, to me, it all
seemed doubtful and baseless, without anything
certain and fixed, to which the mind could
attach itself; — while that Judea was an oppressed

and degraded kingdom, that her rights were
withheld, her sceptre unrighteously wrested
from her grasp, her liberties gone, were things
that every eye could see; and the remedy for
such evils not difficult to be devised, nor out of
all hope to be carried into execution.”

Onias, at this, looked upon me with an expression
not easy to interpret. But words soon
followed.

“Young man,” said he, “your speech is
both pious and impious. The piety, I believe,
is your own; the impiety is your father's.
Had God forsaken you, as your father did, you
had now been altogether as one of the Gentiles.
But He has watched over and redeemed you
for ends greater than you now know of. When
once beneath the roofs of Beth-Harem, I shall
trust to weed out the errors that now offend
thy mind, and plant in their place the seeds of
truth. There be others there also, men learned
in our laws, at whose feet a willing disciple
shall drink in wisdom as water.”

Onias, as he said these words, fell back into
himself, as I perceive he is ever prone to do,
and we continued our way in silence.

The shadows of evening were now around
us, and we were travelling still among the hills
that stretch to the east and south of Samaria,
but not in solitudes, for the country was everywhere

thickly peopled, and the ways were yet
filled with travellers to and from Samaria, and
with the peasants of the neighboring places,
returning home with empty or loaded wagons.
I was looking to keep on our journey during
the early part of the night, and reach the Jordan
at least, before we slept; but my uncle
now informed me that a little distance beyond
where we were, we should arrive at the Inn of
Jael nigh unto Thebez, where we should rest,
for our beasts' sake, until the following day.

While he was speaking we emerged from the
hills and woods, and descended the last slope
which conducted us to the plains. As we thus
descended, Mount Hermon was before us, over
which the moon was just climbing; and beneath
us lay the valley of the Jordan stretching
to the horizon, covered with its villages,
the nearer of which were clearly visible,
with groves of the palm intermingled sending
their lofty tops to the heavens. I was
too much engrossed by the beauty of the scene
to think of my companion; and we rode on,
each pursuing his own thoughts, till we approached
the Inn of Jael. This we found
thronged already by those who had come to
seek shelter for the night; for, at this season of
the year, although a fierce heat is apt to rage
through the day, the air becomes cold at night,

and heavy dews descend, so that the covering
of a roof or of a tent is necessary. We at first
believed there could be no room for us, the
concourse of strangers was so great, the courtyards
being crowded with their beasts and their
lading, and the apartments and the roofs with
their owners and attending slaves. But no
sooner did Jael discover who was his guest
than the room, which had been refused us
by some to whom we had first applied, was
quickly furnished. We were conducted to
the roof where, a tent being spread over us,
we partook of our evening meal and prepared to
rest for the night.

When we had supped, and I then sat looking
off upon the surrounding country and conversing,
Jael, our host, joined us with low
obeisances and formal speech. He hoped that
the great Onias had returned in peace. All
the country had lamented his absence. It was
many days, and seemed months, since he had
bestowed upon his poor dwelling the honor of
his presence. “I learn,” said he, “that thou
hast been beyond Sepphoris even to Sidon.”

“Farther than that, Jael,” replied Onias,
“even as far as Antioch and Edessa. What
hast thou heard from Beth-Harem of late; are
all well?”

“All are well,” replied Jael; “to day a

traveller from the East, and who had passed
through the midst of Beth-Harem, reported, as
from those who had knowledge, that all were
well in the house of Onias. — Thou wast not,
then, at the outbreak at Cæsarea, where the
mad-cap Philip, son of Sameas, threw all the
city into a blaze.”

My uncle frowned as he said, “Jael, thy
soul is too much in thy purse. The Lord
reward thee not according to thy zeal for him;
for thy lot were then truly but as that of the
wicked.”

“Should I,” said Jael quickly, “plough up a
wheat field thick with full and milky ears only
to try a better seed? Should I shave this
beard, in hope that a comelier one might
sprout? Should I take out a bill against my
wife, that I might win perchance a better?
My beard is well enough, my wife is well
enough, my wheat is well enough. Ah what
shall come of change and commotion but losses?
Who suffer now? None but rogues and mischief
makers. Who” —

“I will not reason with thee,” said my
uncle with impatience. “It is well for Judea
that some souls are made of other stuff.”

“In my belief,” continued Jael, “the Jews
of Cæsarea were dealt with after their deserts.
A man now-a-days can live scarce a day in

peace for these sons of Belial. But the blood
let in Cæsarea may keep it cool in Jerusalem,
so shall good come of it. Hast thou heard the
news here on the Jordan, Onias? If we now
bestir ourselves we may do greater things than
they in Cæsarea.”

“What mean you?” said my uncle.

“I speak,” said Jael, “of John of Hebron,
who hath taken pains to travel beyond the Jordan,
and up and down in that region, some
say, stirring up the people, but others only
preaching. But who can stir the people more
than he who preaches? The ears of the council
or of Herod I trust will be open to take
note of him.”

“But what mean you?” said Onias, “and
of whom do you speak? Jest not after thy
fashion.”

“I speak truly but what I hear,” replied
Jael, “and jest not. I have not seen this wanderer
myself; but have heard somewhat from
every one who hath come from beyond Jordan.
Some even hold him a prophet; but it were
nearer a truth, I doubt not, to hold him possessed
of a devil. Prophets do not grow on
every bush.”

“How is he followed?” asked my uncle.

“From far and near,' answered Jael, “have
people resorted to him, some even from Jerusalem.

But that makes for nothing, seeing that
they of Jerusalem are ever running after some
new thing.”

“What,” continued Onias, “is the manner
of his life and appearance?”

Jael could not say. He had heard a thousand
varying accounts from travellers, but knew
not which were true nor which were false.
His belief was that he was one in part beside
himself, and who was therefore just the kind of
adventurer to amaze and seduce the people.
With the help of a few magic arts, he would
soon make himself great.

The vociferations of new comers, now calling
loudly upon Jael, put an end to our discourse;
our host descended with reluctance to perform
some of the duties of his office, and soon after,
closing the folds of our tent, we fell asleep.