"_I_ can't draw nice distinctions," said Jucundus. "Your people have
quarrelled among themselves perhaps on an understanding; we can't split
hairs. It's the same with your present hierophant at Carthage, Cyprianus.
Nothing can exaggerate, I am told, the foulness of his attack upon the
gods of Rome, upon Romulus, the Augurs, the Ancilia, the consuls, and
whatever a Roman is proud of. As to the imperial city itself, there's
hardly one of their high priests that has not died under the hands of the
executioner, as a convict. The precious fellows take the title of Pontifex
Maximus; bless their impudence! Well, my boy, this is what I say; be, if
you will, so preternaturally sour and morose as to misconceive and mislike
the innocent, graceful, humanising, time-honoured usages of society; be
so, for what I care, if this is all; but it isn't all. Such misanthropy is
wisdom, absolute wisdom, compared with the Titanic presumption and
audacity of challenging to single combat the sovereign of the world. Go
and kick down Mount Atlas first."

"You have it all your own way, Jucundus," answered his nephew, "and so you
must move in your own circle, round and round. There is no touching you,
if you first assume your premisses, and then prove them by means of your
conclusion."

"My dear Agellius," said his uncle, giving his head a very solemn shake,
"take the advice of an old man. When you are older than you are, you will
see better who is right and who is wrong. You'll be sorry you despised me,
a true, a prudent, an experienced friend; you will. Shake yourself, come
do. Why should you link your fortunes, in the morning of life, with
desperate men, only because your father, in his last feeble days, was
entrapped into doing so? I really will not believe that you are going to
throw away hope and life on so bad a bargain. Can't you speak a word? Here
you've let me speak, and won't say one syllable for yourself. I don't
think it kind of you."

Thus adjured, Agellius began. "Well," he said, "it's a long history; you
see, we start, my dear uncle, from different points. How am I possibly to
join issue with you? I can only tell you my conclusion. Hope and life, you
say. Why, my only hope, my only life, my only joy, desire, consolation,
and treasure is that I am a Christian."

"Hope and life!" interrupted Jucundus, "immortal gods! life and hope in
being a Christian! do I hear aright? Why, man, a prison brings despair,
not hope; and the sword bri