jest startin' for Heliopolis, and Miss
Meechim and I bein' all ready we turned round and went with 'em.

Heliopolis hain't so grand lookin' as its name. It is a little Arab
town six miles from Cairo. The low houses are made of mud and nasty
inside, I believe; they don't look much like Jonesville houses. The
oldest and greatest college once stood here. Here, too, wuz the hant
of that immortal bird, the Phenix, who raised himself to life every
five hundred years. (Josiah don't believe a word on't, and I don't
know as I do.) But we do spoze that wuz the very place where Joseph
married the daughter of Mr. Potiphar, doin' dretful well, it wuz
spozed by her folks, but he wuz plenty good enough for her, I think,
and so Josiah duz.

And right in this neighborhood Alexander the Great marched round and
camped on his way to Memphis. So you can see it wuz interestin' in a
good many ways.

But the Virgin's Tree wuz what we wanted to see. It is a fig sycamore;
its trunk is twenty feet in diameter and its branches spread out and
cover a great space. But its size wuzn't what we went to see. Under
this tree Joseph and Mary rested whilst they wuz fleeing to Egypt from
them that sought the young Child's life. Our Lord himself had been
under this very tree that wuz bendin' over me. My emotions wuz such
that I didn't want any on 'em to see my face; I went apart from 'em
and sot down on a little seat not fur off from the fence that protects
this tree from relic hunters. And I had a large number of emotions as
I sot there lookin' up into the green branches.

I wondered how Mary felt as she sot there. She knowed she wuz carryin'
a sacred burden on her bosom. The Star that had guided the wise men to
the cradle of her Baby had shone full into his face and she'd seen the
Divinity there. Angels had heralded His birth; the frightened king
looked upon Him as one who would take his kingdom from him, and an
angel had bidden them to take the Child and flee to Egypt.

And how happy Joseph and Mary wuz as they sot down under this tree.
All their journey over the weary rocky roads, over the mountains,
through the streams and the valleys, and over the sandy desert they
dassent rest, but wuz lookin' behind 'em all the time as they pressed
forward, expectin' to hear the gallopin' steeds of the king, and to
hear the cruel cries of his blood-thirsty soldiers. Why, just think
on't: every other baby boy in the country put to death jest to be sure
of makin