that would not be like the
other dealings of the divine power. He furnishes you with earth and
seed, but he ploughs not for you, nor plants, nor reaps. He gives you
reason, but he pours not knowledge into your mind. So he offers truth;
but that is all. He compels no assent; he forces no belief. All is
voluntary and free. How then can the march of truth be otherwise than
slow? Truth, being the greatest thing below, resembles in its port the
motion of the stars, which are the greatest things above. But like
theirs, if slow, it is ever sure and onward.'

'The stars set in night.'

'But they rise again. Truth is eclipsed often, and it sets for a night;
but never is turned aside from its eternal path.'

'Never, Publius,' said the Prefect, adjusting his gown, and with the act
filling the air with perfume 'never did I think to find myself within a
Christian church. Your shop possesses many virtues. It is a place to be
instructed in.' Then turning to Probus, he soothingly and in persuasive
tones, added, 'Be advised now, good friend, and leave off thy office of
teacher. Rome can well spare thee. Take the judgment of others; we need
not thy doctrine. Let that alone which is well established and secure.
Spare these institutions, venerable through a thousand years. Leave
changes to the gods.'

Probus was about to reply, when we were strangely interrupted. While we
had been conversing, there stood before me, in the midst of the floor of
the apartment, a man, whose figure, face, and demeanor were such that I
hardly could withdraw my eye from him. He was tall and gaunt, beyond all
I ever saw, and erect as a Praetorian in the ranks. His face was strongly
Roman, thin and bony, with sunken cheeks, a brown and wrinkled skin--not
through age, but exposure--and eyes more wild and fiery than ever glared
in the head of Hun or hyena. He seemed a living fire-brand of death and
ruin. As we talked, he stood there motionless, sometimes casting glances
at our group, but more frequently fixing them upon a roll which he held
in his hands.

As Varus uttered the last words, this man suddenly left his post, and
reaching us with two or three strides, shook his long finger at Varus,
saying, at the same time,

'Hold, blasphemer!'

The Prefect started as if struck, and gazing a moment with unfeigned
amazement at the figure, then immediately burst into a laugh, crying
out,

'Ha! ha! Who in the name of Hecate have we here? Ha! ha!--he seems just
es