ity of him who
professes it.'

'Yes,' replied Julia, 'I see that it is so. But then it is a presumption
in behalf of truth, strong almost as miracles done for it, when so
many--multitudes--in different ages, in the humblest condition of life,
hesitate not to die rather than renounce their faith in a religion like
this of Christianity; which panders to not one of man's passions,
appetites or weaknesses, but is the severest censor of morals the world
has ever seen; which requires a virtue and a purity in its disciples
such as no philosopher ever dared to impose upon his scholars; whose
only promise is immortality--and that an immortality never to be
separated from the idea of retribution as making a part of it. They, who
will suffer and die for such a religion, do by that act work as
effectively for it, as their master by the signs and wonders which he
did. If Christianity were like many of the forms of Paganism; or if it
ministered to the cravings of our sensual nature, as we can conceive a
religion might do; if it made the work of life light, and the reward
certain and glorious; if it relieved its followers of much of the
suffering, and fear, and doubt, that oppress others--it would not be
surprising that men should bear much for its sake; and their doing so,
for what appealed so to their selfishness, would be no evidence, at all
to be trusted, of its truth. But as it is, they who die for it afford a
presumption in behalf of it, that appeals to the reason almost or quite
with the force of demonstration. So, I remember well, my reason was
impressed by what I used to hear from Paul of the sufferings of the
early Christians.'

While Julia had been saying these things, it had seemed to me as if
there was an unusual commotion in the streets; and as she ended I was
about to look for the cause of it, when the hasty steps of several
running through the hall leading from the main entrance of the house
prevented me, and Milo breathless, followed by others of the household,
rushed into the apartment where we sat, he exclaiming with every mark of
fear and horror upon his countenance,

'Ah! sir, it is all just as I was told by Curio it would be; the edicts
are published on the capitol. The people are going about the streets now
in crowds, talking loud and furiously, and before night they say the
Christians will all be delivered to their pleasure.'

Soon as Milo could pause, I asked him 'if he had read or seen the
edicts?'

'N