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My Dear Father:—I know not how to write—I know
not what to say. Dismay and sorrow fill my heart.
I feel as if life were a burden too heavy to bear. Disappointment
and regrets are all that remain to me. He, in
whom I trusted—He, whom thousands in Judah had
begun to look upon as the hope of the nation—He who,
as his now wretched disciples trusted, would have
redeemed Israel—Jesus, has been delivered, this morning,
by the Roman Procurator, to be condemned to death, and
they have crucified him! Tears of grief unutterable fall
upon the parchment as I write, and, more eloquently than
any words, tell you how I am smitten by this heavy,
heavy blow! Jesus—the noble, mild, courteous, and wise
Prophet, who taught with such grace and wisdom, and
whom we believed to be sent from God to be the Savior of
our people, and the Prince who should sit on the throne of
David, to restore the former splendor of our nation—is
dead! With him have perished all our hopes! When he
bowed his bleeding head on the cross, the necks of weeping
Judah bent once more to the dust, to receive the yoke
of Rome, from which they believed he would have delivered
them. With him has been quenched the rising light of
the sun of the Messias, who we hoped and believed that he
was! But we hope no more! The daughters of Israel

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may now sit in the dust, and cover themselves with veils
of woe; for he in whom they trusted is dead! Confounded
and dismayed, his followers wander in the fields, or hide
themselves from the multitude who seek their lives also.
Alas! I cannot refrain from weeping bitter, bitter tears.
How hath the Lord covered the daughters of Zion with a
cloud in his anger, and cast down from Heaven unto earth
the beauty of Israel. “All they that pass by,” as saith
the Prophet, “will clap their hands at us, who trusted in
him, and wag their heads at the daughters of Jerusalem:
Is this the man—the mighty Prophet, whom men called
the Son of the Highest, the Messias of God—the Prince of
David—the excellency of wisdom and the joy of the earth?
The punishment of thine iniquity is accomplished, O
Daughter of Zion!”

Thus do I weep, and thus do I complain; for verily
fear and a snare is come upon us, desolation and destruction,
O my father! We know not which way to turn!
He in whom we trusted has proved as one of us, weak
and impotent, and has suffered death without power to
save himself. He that saved others could not escape the
death of the Roman cross! While I write, I hear the
priest Abner, in the court below, mocking my uncle Amos
in a loud voice:

“Your Messias is dead! A famous great prophet,
surely, you Nazarenes have chosen—born in a stable, and
crucified as a thief! Said I not that he who could speak
against the Temple and the priesthood was of the devil?”

Rabbi Amos makes no reply. Shame and despair seal
his lips. Thus our enemies triumph over us, and we
answer only with confusion of face. Even the disciples
are outlawed, and a reward offered by Caiaphas for their

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arrest; and all those who, two days ago, were so full of
hope, and proud to sit at the feet of Jesus, and to follow
him whithersoever he went, now fear to confess that they
have ever known or seen him. It is only the high rank,
as a priest, of my uncle Amos, which protects him or his
household from arrest.

But, my dear father, to whom I have ever confided all
my feelings and thoughts, shall we pronounce Jesus an
impostor! Oh, can he whose very countenance was
stamped with celestial dignity, whose lips dispensed truths
such as the wisest philosophers and holiest prophets have
loved to study and teach; whose whole life has been
blameless, and who has lived only to do good—can he be,
must he be pronounced a deceiver? When I recall the
sick he has cured, the indigent he has relieved, the
mourners he has comforted, the ignorance he has enlightened,
the dead he has up-raised, the sublime truths he has
taught, his love of God, his respect for the worship of the
Temple, the perfect morality of his daily life, the sincerity
of all he said, and the universal sympathy which seemed
to fill his bosom for all who were in sorrow—I cannot, oh,
I cannot bring my pen to write the word “impostor,” inassociation
with his name. But what shall I substitute?
Alas! I feel desolate and miserable, like those who, confiding
all their heart's treasures to another's keeping, whom
they believed good and true, find that he was unworthy of
confidence and betrays their trust. Jesus asserted that he
came on earth to establish a kingdom, and sit on the
throne of David; and that all nations would receive their
laws from Jerusalem. Where, now, is his power?
Where his throne? Where his laws? His power is
ended in death! His throne is the Roman cross, placed

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between thieves; and the Roman laws, or rather power,
which he was to destroy, have condemned himself to
death!

This unexpected, this unlooked-for, startling result has
stupefied me! And not only me, but all who have been
so led by fascination to trust in him. Even John, the
beloved disciple, I hear now pacing the floor of the adjoining
room, sobbing as if his noble heart would burst!
Mary, my cousin's sweet voice, I catch, from time to time,
trying to soothe him, although she is stricken, like us all,
to the very earth; for she trusted in Jesus, if possible,
with more faith than I did; and hence her dismay at his
death, at the sudden termination of all her hopes in him,
and of his restoration of Israel is in proportion. We have
wept to-night in each other's arms, till we had no more
tears to shed; and I have left her to pour out my griefs to
you. The unhappy John despairingly answers her:

“Do not try to comfort me, Mary! There is no ground
for hope more! He is dead—dead—dead! All is lost!
We who trusted in him have only to fly, if we would save
our wretched lives, into Galilee, and return once more to
our nets! The sun which shone so dazzlingly has proved
a phantom light, and gone out in darkness. He whom I
could not but love, I see that I loved too well, since he
was not what I believed him to be. Oh, how could he be
so like the Son of God, and yet not be? Yet I loved him
as if he were the very Son of the Highest! But I have
seen him die like a man—I have gazed on his lifeless
body! I have beheld the deep wound made into his very
heart by the Roman spear! I cast myself upon him, and
implored him, by his love for me, to give some sign that
he was not holden by death! I placed my trembling

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hands over his heart. It was still, still—motionless as
stone, like any other dead man's! The flesh of his corpse
was cold and clammy! He was dead—dead! With him
die all our hopes—the hopes of Israel!”

“He may live again,” said Mary, softly, and hesitatingly,
as if she, herself, had no such hope. “He raised Lazarus,
thou dost remember!”

“Yes, for Jesus was living to do it!” answered John,
stopping in his walk; “but how can the dead raise the
dead! No, he will never move, speak, nor breathe again.”

Thus, dear father, are we left to mourn with shame at
our delusion, and with utterly wrecked hopes. I candidly
acknowledge that I have been too hasty to confess Jesus
as Messias of God; but, oh, what could I do but believe
in one who seemed so like an angel from heaven—a celestial
Prince! There is a dreadful and deep mystery in it
all. To the last we believed he would free himself, and
escape death! For our sins God has suffered this great
disappointment to come upon us all.

I try to seek some consolation in recalling all that he
was, good and holy; but this retrospect only darkens the
cloud of the present; for I irresistibly argue: How could
he, who was so good, prove so great a deceiver? I live
and breathe, while he, who taught me that he had life in
himself, and who I believed could raise me from the dead,
if I died, he is now dead and laid in the tomb; and yet I
Live! He, over whom, we fondly believed, Death could
have no power, since the doors of sepulchres opened at his
voice, and let forth their re-living tenants, he has been
conquered by death, and proved himself only the mortal
son of Joseph, and the widowed Mary. She is inconsolable.
Her distress is heart-rending to witness. Not only has she

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lost her only son, about whom all her maternal sympathies
were entwined, as the vine encircles the lofty palm, but
she is humiliated in the very ashes of shame, that he has
died, leaving the thousands who trusted to his word, fugitives
for his name's sake, and disappointed in all they
expected from him. Even now I hear her heavy sighs,
from the couch where she lies, broken-hearted, in my
aunt's chamber, to which John led her, after the execution
of Jesus, at his request. She asks to be left alone, and I
forget my own sorrows when I think upon hers, which
are greater than she can bear; for, all at once, her son has
been hurled from the position in which he drew all eyes
up after him, and has died an ignominious death, leaving
behind him the stigma of an impostor's fame. This
pierces her heart more keenly, than that she has been made
childless. “Oh,” I heard her say to Rabbi Amos, when
she came into the house, “oh, that he could have deceived
me thus—he whom I believed to be the soul of truth.
Alas! my son—my son—better hadst thou remained in
thy father's humble shop, leading a lowly and useful life,
than, for the temporary popularity of a prophet's name,
have held out hopes and promises to thy followers, that
thou couldst never realize, and meet with such a death!
This has made my heart bleed indeed! My gray hairs
will go down to the grave with shame, that I am the
mother of him who has deceived Israel.”

But I will not dwell on this universal sorrow—sorrow
mingled with mortification—for the pride of all has been
humbled to the dust. I will give you a description, dear
father, of what occurred after the arrest; for I wish you
to be acquainted with every particular respecting him,
that you may see how perfectly he sustained the lofty

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character, which drew all men after him, to the last—
standing before his judges, like a man sublime in the consciousness
of innocence, and commanding even the involuntary
respect and admiration of his foes. Oh, how could he
have been a deceiver? Yet he is head, and in that he is
dead, he has failed in all the glorious things which he
promised concerning himself. “His death,” says his
disciple Peter, who was here to-night, to ask John what
should now be done by them, “his death is his infamy!”

But I will not further delay the account of his trial
and condemnation; for you will be earnest to know how
such a man could so fall as to be condemned to a malefactor's
death! In my last letter I spoke of his arrest—
through the traitorous part enacted by Judas. Led by
his captors, bound by the wrists with a cord, he was taken
from the dark groves of Olivet, wherein he had been
found at prayer, and conducted with great noise into the
city by Cæsar's gate. It is near this archway that Rabbi
Amos lives. It was the third hour of the night, and I had
just gone to my room, which overlooked the street of
David, when I was startled by the suddenly-heard outcries
of fierce men, breaking the night's stillness. Then I heard
the quick challenges of the Roman sentinels, the galloping
of several horsemen, and a confused tumult; the
cries, in the meanwhile, increasing. But I will copy for
you Mary's account of it to Martha, just written by her,
instead of adding any more to my own.

“I went out upon the basilica, which overlooked the
street,” says Mary to her sister, in her letter, “and beheld
a multitude advancing, with torches flashing; and soon
they came opposite the house, at least two hundred men,
half-clad and savage-looking, with flashing eyes and

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scowling looks. Here and there, among them, was a
Levite urging them on, and I also beheld Abner, the
priest, firing their passions by loud oratory and eager
gesticulations. Behind rode five Roman horsemen, with
levelled spears, guarding a young man, who walked in
front of their horses' heads. It was Jesus. His rich
auburn locks were dishevelled, his beard torn, his face
marred, and his garments rent. He was pale and suffering,
but walked with a firm step. I burst into tears, and
so did Adina, who had come out to see what was passing.
He looked up, and said, touchingly, `Weep not for
me, daughters of Jerusalem, but weep for yourselves.'

“He would have said more, but the priest smote him
rudely upon the mouth; and the crowd, following his
example, would have done him further insult, but for the
Roman soldiers, who turned their spears every way, to
guard him from violence; for they had rescued him from
the terrible rage of the Jews, by their centurion's orders,
and were commanded to bring him safely before Pilate.
So, thus guarded and escorted, by the men who thirsted
for his blood, he was led onward to the Pretorium, where
the Roman Procurator resided. Gradually, the whole
multitude, horsemen, Jews, priests, torch-bearers, and
captive, disappeared in the distance; and silence, a dread
and unearthly silence, succeeded. I turned and looked
in Adina's face. She was leaning, colorless as marble,
against one of the columns of the basilica.

“`What can all this mean?' she said, with emotion.
`Can it be possible he has suffered himself to be taken—
He who could destroy or make alive with a word? What
means this dreadful scene we have just witnessed?'

“I could not answer. It was inexplicable,

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incomprehensible to me. All I knew was what my eyes just
beheld, that Jesus, our Prophet, our King, our Messias,
on whom all our hopes and the joy of Israel rested, was
dragged, a prisoner, through the streets, helpless and without
a helper. I trembled with, I knew not what,
unknown forebodings. Suddenly Adina cried:

“`He cannot be harmed! He cannot die! He is a
mighty Prophet, and has power that will strike his enemies
dead! Let us not fear. He has yielded himself, only
the more terribly to defeat and destroy his foes. We
will not fear what Pilate or the priests will do! They
cannot harm the anointed Shiloh of the Lord!'

“While we were yet talking, dearest Martha, a dark
figure passed stealthily along beneath the basilica, and
seemed to court the shadows of the house. At this moment,
my father, Rabbi Amos, opened the outer gate,
with a torch in his hand, to follow, at our request, the
crowd of people, and see what should befall Jesus. The
light glared full upon the tall, spare form of Peter, the
Galilee fisherman. His dark, stern features wore an expression
of earnest anxiety. In his hand he carried a
naked sword, on which were visible drops of blood.

“`Is it thou, Peter!' exclaimed my father. `What is
this? Who has ordered the arrest of Jesus? What has
he done?'

“`That hateful and envious man, Caiaphas, seeks
to destroy him, and has bribed, with large lures of
gold, the baser Jews to do this thing. Come with me,
Rabbi, and let us die with him!' and the Galilean pressed
eagerly forward at a pace with which my father could not
keep up.

“And this was an hour ago, and yet no news has come

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from the Pretorium; but, from time to time, a dreadful
shout from the hill, on which the palace of Caiaphas
stands, breaks upon my ears; and the glare of unseen
torches illumines the atmosphere high above the towers of
the palace. It is a fearful night of agony and suspense.
Adina in her painful uncertainty, but for my entreaties,
would go forth alone towards the Pretorium, to hear and
know all. I can keep myself calm only by writing to you.
Adina has also commenced a letter to her father, recording
these sad things, but she drops her pen, to start to the
balcony at every sound. When will this fearful night
end! What will the morrow reveal! Adina is confident
nothing can befall the holy Prophet, for he who could raise
your brother Lazarus from the dead cannot fear death.
Besides, has he not promised that he has come from God,
to be king of Israel? If he enters the Pretorium a bound
captive to-night, it will be to sit upon the Roman throne
within it to-morrow, with Pilate in chains at his feet! I
write this, to send to you by Elec at dawn, that you and
Lazarus may hasten to come into the city to us.

“It is an hour since I wrote the last line. The interval
has been one of agony. Rumors have reached us that the
priests insist on Pilate's passing sentence of death on the
Prophet. The cries, `Crucify him! crucify him!' have
distinctly reached our ears. John is now here. About
half an hour after Jesus passed he reached our house,
nearly destitute of apparel, his clothing having been torn
off from him by the Jews, in their efforts to make him
prisoner also. He is calm and confiding, saying that his
beloved Master can never be injured by them; and that
he will, ere many hours, deliver himself from his foes, and
proclaim himself king of Israel, with power such as man

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never had before! May the God of Jacob defend him!
John has just gone up to the Temple, to get news, in
disguise of a priest, wearing my father's robes. I tremble
lest he be discovered, and taken; for the Jews are as bitter
against the followers as against their Master.

“I have just seen a messenger, passing in great haste
along the street; and his horse, with him, cast him almost
upon our threshold. It was the page of æmilius, the
noble Roman knight who is betrothed to my cousin Adina.
She hastened to his aid. He was but stunned, and soon
was able to say, that he bore a message from Flavia, the
fair and youthful bride of Pilate, urging him to have nothing
to do with the Prophet, but give him his liberty; for
she had just awaked from an impressive dream, in which
she saw him sitting on the Throne of the Universe, crowned
with the stars of heaven, the earth the footstool beneath
his feet, and all nations assembled, and doing him homage,
while the gods and goddesses of high Olympus cast their
glittering crowns and sceptres at his feet, and hailed him
God!

“Such was the account given by the page to Adina;
and remounting his horse, he has continued rapidly on his
way towards the Pretorium. This report of the page has
filled our hearts with joy and hope inexpressible. Confident
that Jesus is the son of God, we will not fear what
man can do unto him.

“It is now three hours past midnight, and the dawn is
chilly and cold, so that I cannot longer hold my pen. I
shall send this as soon as the city gates are opened. Come
at once to our comfort; for this is no time for the friends
of Jesus to be out of Jerusalem.

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“My father has returned. It is day. He says nothing
can save Jesus but his own divine power. The Jews are
in number many thousands, and cry for his blood. Pilate
has but a cohort of soldiers, and fears to use force, lest the
exasperated people break into open revolt, and take the
city from his hands, which they can do if they will unite.
`He trembles,' said my father, `between fear to condemn
the innocent, and fear of the vengeance of the Jews, if he
let him go. Nothing can save the Prophet but his own
mighty miracle-working power. He who has saved others,
will surely save himself.'

“While my father was speaking, a man rushed into our
presence. He was low in stature, broad chested, with a
stiff, reddish beard, narrow eyes, and sharp, unpleasant
visage. His attire was ragged and mean, as was his
whole aspect. He grasped in his right hand a small bag,
which rung like coin, as his shaking hand held it. He
trembled all over, and seizing my father by the arm with
the quick, nervous grasp of a lunatic, cried hoarsely:

“`Will he let them! will he! will he?'

“`Will he what, Judas? Of whom do you speak? Art
thou crazed? Thou shouldst well be, after thy deed to-night.
'

“`Will he let them kill him? Will he die? will he
die? Think you he will not escape? He can if he will!
Cords, to him, are ropes of sand!'

“`No, no—he is bound hand and foot,' answered my
father, sadly. `He makes no defence! I fear he will let
them do as they will with him. He makes no effort to
save his life.'

“At this, Judas, for it was that wicked man, beat his
knotted forehead, in a frenzied manner, with the bag of

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silver, and, with a look of horrible despair, rushing forth,
he cried as he went:

“`I will save him! The priests shall have their money
again. He shall not die! If I had believed he would
not do some miracle to escape them, I never would have
sold him. I hoped to get their money, and trusted, if they
took him, for him to escape by his power. I did not
dream that he would not exert it to save himself. I will
save thee, innocent man of God, for I, not thou, alone am
guilty! Oh, if I had suspected this—but he shall not die!”

“With these ravings he disappeared towards the Pretorium,
leaving us all amazed at what we had heard.

“`Yes,' said my father, `I see it now. Judas hoped to
secure the money and cheat the chief priests, trusting to
his divine power to get away out of their hands. See the
force of conscience! He is now beside himself, with
horror and remorse; for he knows that he whom he has
betrayed is a man of God, without sin or guile!'

“The sun is up. The fate of Jesus is sealed! The
Procurator has signed the sentence of death, and he is to
be crucified to-day! But with Judas, I believe that he
cannot die, and that he will signalize the hour by some
wonderful miracle of personal deliverance. Thus, tremblingly,
we hope and wait.”

Here terminates, my dear father, what my cousin has
written to Martha and Lazarus, and, as it is very minute,
please to receive it as if written by myself; for, during
the night, I was too greatly unnerved to write with the
composure she had done. But now, that all is over—now,
that Jesus lies dead in the tomb and forever at rest, I
have been able to resume my pen.

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In my next I will give you an account of his trial, as
it was related to me by my uncle Amos, and by John, one
of whom was present to the last. This evening I am going
to see the sepulchre, where they have laid him; for,
although he has in his death so sorely crushed all our hopes
in him, and proved that he was not what he professed to
be, yet my heart and affections hover about his memory,
and irresistibly draw my footsteps towards his last resting-place.
Though we are deceived, I cannot hate his memory.
Oh no! I cannot—I dare not trust myself to say all
that I feel. I only wish I could forget him for evermore,
and regret that I have ever tried to convince you that he
was the Shiloh of the Prophets. Yet never man spake
like this man, my dear father! and if Shiloh in truth
come, he can do no greater works than he has done. In
all things he was the Son of God but in his death! This
event dashes all our hopes and our faith in him forever.

p612-377

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