elder in the sense of
wiser, holier, purer; whose look is not one of reproach that others are
not as himself, but of pity and desire; and whose hand would rather be
stretched forth to lift up the fallen than to smite the offender. To
complete this expression, and inspire the beholder with perfect
confidence, the left hand rests upon a little child, who stands with
familiar reverence at his knee, and looking up into his face seems to
say, 'No evil can come to me here.'

Opposite this, and at the other extremity of the apartment, hangs a
picture of Christ, representing him in very exact accordance with the
traditional accounts of his features and form, a description of which
exists, and is held by most authentic, in a letter of Publius Lentulus,
a Roman of the same period. Between this and the statue there is a
close resemblance, or as close as we usually see between two heads of
Caesar, or of Cicero. Marble, however, is the only material that suits
the character and office of Jesus of Nazareth. Color, and its minute
effects, seem in some sort to degrade the subject. I retain the picture
because of its supposed truth.

Portia, as you will believe, is full of wonder and sorrow at these
things. Soon after my library had received its last additions, my mother
came to see what she had already heard of so much. As she entered the
apartment, I was sitting in my accustomed seat, with Julia at my side,
and both of us gazing in admiration at the figures I have just
described. We were both too much engrossed to notice the entrance of
Portia, our first warning of her presence being her hand laid upon my
head. We rose and placed her between us.

'My son,' said she, looking intently as she spoke upon the statues
before us, 'what strange looking figures are these? That upon my left
might serve for Jupiter, but for the roll and the stylus. And why place
you beings of character so opposite, as these appear to have been, side
by side? This other upon my right--ah, how beautiful it is! What
mildness in those eyes, and what a divine repose over the form, which no
event, not the downfall of a kingdom nor its loss, would seem capable to
disturb. Is it the peace loving Numa?'

'Not so,' said Julia; 'there stands Numa, leaning on the sacred shield,
from the centre of which beams the countenance of the divine Egeria.'

'Yes, I see it,' replied Portia; and rising from her seat, she stood
gazing round the apartment, examining its various appo