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My Dear Father:—It is now dawn, and I have arisen
early, as I shall leave the city to-day, with my uncle
Rabbi Amos, and the whole family, to go to Bethany, to
escape the Jews, who are diligently seeking the arrest of
all in Jerusalem who were the followers of the slain Prophet.
As an hour or two will elapse before all is ready
for our safe departure, I will occupy the interval in completing
my narrative of the crucifixion of Jesus; especially
as Rabbi Amos, finding I have been so careful, heretofore,
in recording all things concerning him, desires me
not to omit any particulars; as my account may hereafter
be convenient to refer to, and, perhaps, if necessary, be
laid before Cæsar, in defence of such as may be sent
to Rome on charges of sedition. I feel that my poor letters,
dear father, are only valuable to you, and those I
love; but, if they can aid in explaining anything for the
exculpation of the poor Nazarenes, who are now so despised,
and vigilantly hunted, they are at the service even
of the mighty Tiberius himself. Their only merit is accuracy
of detail and truthfulness, so far as circumstances
have enabled me to ascertain the truth.

As I now resume my pen, to continue the particulars
of the crucifixion of the unhappy son of Mary, who, widowed
and childless, still remains with us, mourning over her
slain son, my heart involuntarily shrinks from the painful

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subject, and bleeds afresh. But there is a fascination
associated with all that concerns him, even now that he
is dead, and has proved himself as weak a mortal as other
men, which urges me to write of him, and which fills
my thoughts only with him.

I have just alluded to his grief-smitten mother. Alas!
there is no consolation for her. Her loss is not like that
of other mothers. Her son has not only been taken from
her by death, but has died, ignominiously, on a Roman
cross, executed between two vile malefactors, as if he himself
were the greatest criminal of the three; and not only
this, but executed as a false prophet—as a deceiver of
Israel—with a thousand glittering promises of Judea's
future glory through him, on his lips; which now, as his
death proves, were vain promises, and that he made them
to deceive his countrymen, for the temporary fame of
drawing all men after him. She thus mourns, not as
other mothers, and refuses to be comforted.

Yet her love for her son—that deathless maternal love,
which seems immortal in its nature, is not buried with
him. She, with dearest Mary and Martha, have just
gone out, secretly before the Jews are astir, to pay the
last duties to his dead body, ere we depart for an asylum
in Bethany. They have taken spices, myrrh, and aloes,
and sweet herbs, for the purpose of embalming the body;
for his mother hopes to get permission of Pilate to remove
it some time to Bethlehem, to be laid in the tomb of his
fathers. Until they return from this sad mission of love,
I will continue my subject.

When the Centurion, to whom was committed, by
Pilate, the charge of conducting the crucifixion of Jesus,
gave orders to bind him also to the cross, which lay upon

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the ground, like an altar awaiting its victim, the four
Parthian soldiers, his brutal crucifiers, laid hold upon him,
and began to strip him of his garments, for his enemies
had put on him his own clothes, when they led him out
of the hall of Pilate. He wore a mantle of spotless white,
woven without seam, by Mary and Martha, and which
had been a present to him, by the sisters, as a token of their
gratitude, for raising from the dead their brother Lazarus.

When I saw them remove this robe, which was a visible
attestation of his former power over death, I could not
believe that he could be himself killed; but would yet
break away, by some mighty miracle, from his foes, and
scattering them, like dust before the wind, proclaim himself,
with power, the very Son of God! But when I perceived
that he stood, calmly and sorrowfully, letting them
do what they would, I lost all hope, and turned away
weeping. His mother, supported by John, could no longer
gaze upon her son, and was borne afar off, crying thrillingly:

“Oh let me not hear the crashing of the nails into his
feet and hands! My son—my son! Oh, that thou wouldest
now prove to thy mother that thou art a true prophet!”

“What means this wailing?” cried the fierce Abner;
“who is the woman?”

“The mother of Jesus,” I answered, indignantly.

“The mother of the blasphemer. Let her be accursed!”
he cried in a savage tone; “thou seest, woman, what is
the end of bringing up an impostor, to blaspheme Jehovah
and the Temple. Thy hopes and his, O wretched woman,
have this day miserably perished! So die all false Christs
and false prophets! Thou seest, if he were the Christ,
he would not stand there, and be crucified, like a common
malefactor!”

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Mary buried her face in her hands, and wept on my
shoulder. She felt that it was too true! I could not
look towards the place where Jesus stood. I dreaded to
hear the first blow upon the dreadful nails, and as she
stopped her ears, I would have closed mine also, but that
my hands supported her. I could hear the awful preparations—
the rattling of the hard cord, as they bound him to
the cross, and the low, eager voices of the four busy Parthians;
and then the rattling of the spikes; and then a
silence like that of the grave! Suddenly a blow of a
hammer broke the moment of suspense! A shriek burst
from the soul of his mother, that echoed far and wide,
among the tombs of Golgotha!

I could see—hear no more! John has told me the rest.
Leaving the stricken mother with me, he and Lazarus
drew near to where they were unrobing the Prophet, in
order to bind him to the wood. They caught the eyes of
their Master, who gazed upon them calmly and affectionately.
They said they had never before beheld him appear
so majestic and great! He looked, as the Centurion
afterwards said, “Like a god surrendering himself to
death, for the safety of his universe!”

Nothing but the ferocious madness of the Chief-Priests
and Jews, could have prevented them from being awed by
the majesty of his presence. And, besides, there sat upon
his brow heroic courage, with a certain divine humility and
resignation. Not the rough hands of the barbaric soldiers,
not the indignity of being stripped before the eyes of thousands,
not the sight of his cross, nor of the thieves, nailed
and writhing on theirs, moved him to depart, by look or
bearing, from that celestial dignity which, through all,
had never left him.

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He made no resistance when bound upon the cross, but
resigned himself, passively, into the hands of his executioners,
like a lamb receiving its death. “Father,” he
said, raising his holy eyes to Heaven, “forgive them,
for they know not what they do.” But his heroic soul
could not prevent the natural emotions of humanity
at pain. The piercing nails, rending his tender flesh,
made it quiver, and caused him to turn deadly pallid,
while a deep sigh escaped his breast. Unlike the first
robber, he did not resist; unlike the second, he did not
steel himself to indifference; but he met his fate like a
man who fears not death, yet does not brave it!

“Great drops of sweat, when they nailed his feet to the
wood, stood upon his forehead,” said John, who remained
near, to see his Master die, and to comfort and strengthen
him; “and when the four men raised him and the cross
together from the earth, and let the end drop into a hole
a foot deep, the shock, bringing his whole weight upon
the nails in his hands, tore and lacerated them, nearly dislocating
the shoulders at the same time, while every sinew
and muscle of his arms and chest was drawn out like
cords, to sustain this unwonted weight upon them. The
first thief fainted from pain, at the shock caused by the
setting of his own cross; and the second, cool and defiant
as he had been, uttered a loud outcry of agony. But
Jesus made no moan, though the unearthly pallor of his
countenance showed how inexpressible was his torture.

Ah, my dear father, I would draw a veil over this
scene—for it is too—too painful for me to dwell upon.
To the last, John believed his Master would not die—that
he could not suffer! But when he saw how that pain and
anguish seized heavily upon him, and how that he suffered

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like other men, without power to prevent it, he greatly
wondered, and began to believe that all the miracles that
he had seen him perform must have been illusions. He
could not reconcile the calmness and dignity, the heroic
composure and air of innocence, with which he came to
the cross, with imposture; yet his death would, assuredly,
seal as imposture all his previous career.

The three crosses, that of Jesus in the midst, as the
place of chief dishonor, being raised into the air, and fixed
in the sockets of the rock, the Centurion commanded the
adjacent space to be cleared, and that the malefactors
be left to die. Oh, what a fearful death for Jesus! for
him whom we knew so well, and whom we still loved,
although he had deceived us. There, thought we, he
might linger two or three days, dying slowly, as some
have done, and exposed to the fierce sun by day, and the
chilly winds of night, while above them hovered, on steady
wings, the savage birds of prey, impatient for their feast.

Much of the residue of the account I have from John,
who remained at the last close to the cross, while we stood
afar off, with his weeping mother, Mary of Bethany, Martha,
Lazarus, and Mary, the mother of Salome, and other
women, our friends from Galilee, who also had hope in
Jesus. There we waited, in expectation of seeing him do
some mighty miracle from the cross, and descend unharmed,
showing to the world, thereby, his title to be the
Messias of God.

The Centurion having placed a guard about the crosses,
to keep the friends of the crucified from attempting their
rescue, stood watching them. The soldiers, who had
nailed Jesus to the tree, began to divide, with noisy oaths,
his garments among themselves, as well as those of the

THE CRUCIFIXION OF OUR SAVIOUR. [figure description] Illustration page. Image of Jesus being raised on the cross. The scene is crowded with people as far as the eye can see. There are two other figures on crosses also visible. A beam of light shines onto Jesus Christ from one part of the sky while a dark sun is visible in another part of the sky.[end figure description]

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two thieves, these being, by the Roman law, the fee of
the executioner. This division being made, after some
time, but not without high talking, and drawing of their
long Syrian knives upon each other, they were at a loss
what to do with the large white mantle, without seam,
which the sisters of Lazarus had woven for the friend of
their once dead brother. A group of the Roman guard
being seated near, astride upon the four arms of a fallen
cross, playing at dice, suggested that the Parthians should
decide by lot whose it should be. This the latter consented
to, and taking the dice-boxes in their bloody hands,
each of them threw thrice. The highest number fell to
the most ferocious of the four fellows, who, taking the
mantle, wrapped it about his huge form, and, pacing up
and down before the people, called, in a loud voice, himself
a great prophet, and asked, in his broken, barbarous
tongue, some of the Jews if they would like to have him
foretell their fortunes. At this they began to cry out
upon him, and stone him, as a blasphemer—and but for
the interposition of the Centurion, a tumult would have
been made. The soldier then proposed to sell the cloak,
which John joyfully purchased of him, by means of the
jewels of several of the women, who gladly took rings from
their ears, and bracelets from their arms, I giving, dear
father, the emerald which you bought for me at Cairo.
But I could not see the robe, which Jesus had worn, thus
desecrated; for still, oh yes, still we loved him, even in
his death, which death was his and our infamy! The
mother of Jesus received the robe with deep emotions of
gratitude to us all. But now, my dear father, how shall
I describe the scenes and events that followed?

After Jesus had hung about an hour upon the cross,

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Æmilius came from Pilate, and bore the inscription,
which it is usual to place above the heads of malefactors,
showing their name, and the crime for which they are
crucified. Above the head of Ishmerai was written, in
Syriac:

“Ishmerai, the Edomite.”

“A Robber.”

Above that of Omri was inscribed, also, on a leaf of
parchment, in the same tongue, his name, and the nature
of his crime, which was that of robbery and blood-shedding.

Above the head of Jesus, by means of a small ladder'
was placed this inscription, in Greek, Latin and Hebrew:

“This is Jesus,

“The King of the Jews.”

When the wicked Abner read this, he turned angrily to
the Centurion, and to Æmilius, who stood sadly near the
cross:

“Write not, O Roman, that he is `King of the Jews.'
but that he said that he was King of the Jews!”

“I have placed above him what Pilate has ordered to
be written,” answered the Centurion.

Abner upon this mounted a mule, and hastened into the
city to the Procurator, and laid his complaint before him.

“What I have written, I have written, sir priest,” we
have heard, that the Procurator coldly answered.

“But you, then, have crucified this man for being our
king, which we deny!” retorted Abner.

“I will take his word, before that of all the Jews in
Cæsar's empire,” answered Pilate, angrily. “He said
he was a king; and if ever a king stood before a human

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tribunal, I have had a true and very king before me to-day;
and I have signed the warrant for his execution.
But his blood be on your heads; for I was compelled to do
this deed, or lose my Procuratorship; for else you would
have had me before Cæsar as a traitor. Leave my presence,
Jew! Have I not, against my own convictions of
justice and humanity, consented to gratify your thirst for
this innocent person's blood! What more do you demand?
Is he not hanged? If you approach my presence more on
this subject, by the gods of Rome, I will crucify you, and
ten score more! I will pile a hecatomb to his manes!”

Abner left his presence abashed, and returned to the
hill of crucifixion. The Jews, in the meanwhile, mocked
Jesus, and wagged their heads at him, and reminded him
of his former miracles and prophecies.

“Thou, that raisedst Lazarus, save thyself from death!”
said a Pharisee.

“If thou art the Son of God, prove it, by coming down
from the cross!” cried the leader of the Sadducees, Eli.

“Thou, who saidst if a man kept thy sayings he should
never see death—let us see if thou canst avoid death thyself!”
said Iddo, the chief of the Essenes.

“He saved others—himself he cannot save!” mocked
Ezekias, one of the chief priests.

Æmilius, finding it impossible to save the Prophet from
crucifixion, had come out to guard him from the usual
insults of the rabble, while he was dying. He had now
lost faith in Jesus as a Prophet, but he loved him still as a
man, and pitied him for his sufferings. He talked with
him, and earnestly prayed him, as he hung, if he were indeed
a god, to show his power. Jesus made no reply:
but, shortly, said, in a faint voice—

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“I thirst.”

The generous knight ran and filled a sponge with the
preparation of sour wine and hyssop, usually given to malefactors,
after they have suffered awhile, in order to stupify
them, and render them insensible to their sufferings.
While Æmilius was affixing a sponge, dipped in this vessel
of vinegar, upon a reed, split at the end to hold it
firmly, Ishmerai, who all the while, as he hung, had uttered
execrations upon his crucifiers, and upon Pilate,
called, howling fiercely, to Jesus:

“If thou be the Son of God, save thyself and us! If
thou didst raise a man once from the dead, thou canst,
surely, keep us from dying! Thou art a vile wretch if thou
hast power as a prophet, and will not use it for me, when
thou seest how heavy I am of body, and how my great
weight tortures me, with infernal racking and rending of
every joint.”

But Omri, rebuking his fellow, said:

“Dost thou not fear God, seeing thou art in the same
condemnation. We suffer justly for our crimes, and to-day
do receive the due reward of our transgressions; but
this young man hath done nothing amiss, save to preach
against the wickedness of the priests, and for being holier
than they. Lord, I believe that thou art the Son of God!
None but the Christ could do the works thou hast done, or
suffer patiently, as thou art doing. Lord, remember me
when thou comest into thy kingdom, for I know thou wilt
go from this, thy cross, to thy throne, and there reign for
ever and ever. I have listened to thy teaching on the
banks of Jordan, and believed.”

Jesus turned his bleeding head towards him, and, with
a smile of ineffable glory radiating his pale face, said:

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“Verily, I say unto thee, this day shalt thou be with
me in Paradise.”

Omri, upon this, looked inexpressibly happy, and seemed
to rise superior to his sufferings. The other cursed the
Prophet aloud, and gnashed at him with his teeth, with
demoniacal hatred.

At this moment, Æmilius came near with his dripping
sponge, and presented the reed upwards to the parched
lips of the suffering Jesus. When he tasted it, he would
not drink, for he perceived it was the opiate which was
usually given, in compassion to shorten the anguish of the
crucified.

The robber, Ishmerai, now eagerly cried for the sponge,
and the prefect giving the reed to a soldier, the latter
placed it to the mouth of the robber, whose swollen tongue
protruded from it, and he drank of it with a sort of mad
thirst. The other man, also, gladly assuaged his burning
fever with it, and soon both of them sunk into insensibility,
hanging unconscious of their situation, and showing no
other signs of life than the heavings of their chests, and,
from time to time, the involuntary twitching of the muscles.
But Jesus retaining his senses, in all their clearness,
suffered all that such a fearful death imposes upon
its victim.

All at once, just as the sixth hour was sounded from
the Temple, by the trumpets of the Levites, a cloud, which,
formed by the smoke of the numerous sacrifices, had hung
all day above the Temple, was seen to become suddenly
of inky blackness, and to advance towards Calvary, spreading
and expanding in the most appalling manner, as it
approached us; and in a few minutes, not only all Jerusalem,
but Calvary, the Valley of Kedron, the Mount of

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Olives, and all the country were involved in its fearful
darkness. The sun, which had before been shining with
noon-day brilliancy, became black as sackcloth of hair,
and a dreadful, unearthly, indescribable night overshadowed
the world. Out of the centre of the cloud, above the
crosses, shot forth angry lightnings in every direction.
But there was no thunder attending it—only a dead, sepulchral,
suffocating silence.

Of the thousands who had been gazing upon the crucifixion,
every one was now prostrate upon the earth in
terror! Jerusalem was blotted out from our view; only
an angry spot of fire-red light, as it were the terrible eye
of God itself, was visible above the Temple, over the place
of the Holy of Holies. The crosses soon were no longer
visible, save by the fearful shine of the lightnings, flashing
fiercely from the dread and silent cloud. The form of
Jesus, amid the universal gloom, shone as if divinely
transfigured, and a soft halo of celestial light encircled his
brow like a crown of glory; while the dark bodies of the
two robbers could scarcely be discerned, save by the faint
radiance emanating from his own.

The darkness continuing, many of the multitude at
length ceased their moans, and the beating of their breasts,
and rending their garments, and arose to their feet; but
moved not; for none could stir from his place, for the
midnight depth of gloom. They talked to each other in
whispers. An undefinable dread was upon each mind.
The sudden overspreading of the darkness was unaccountable
as it was frightful. Mary, his mother, and Lazarus
said, with awe, both speaking together:

“This is his power. He has produced this miracle!”

“And we shall behold him next descend from the cross,”

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said Rabbi Amos. “Let us all take courage; and let
what dismays his enemies, fill us with joyful expectation.”

Three hours—three long and awful hours, this supernatural
night continued; and all that while the vast multitude
remained fixed, and waiting they knew not what.
At length the cloud above the cross parted, with a loud
peal of thunder, while a shower of terrible lightnings fell,
like lances of fire, all around the hanging form of Jesus,
which immediately lost its halo and its translucent radiance.
His face, at the same time, became expressive of
the most intense sorrow of soul, and he seemed, to all eyes,
to be the central point of this fierce wrath of the heavens.

A hundred voices exclaimed, with horror:

“See! he is deserted, and punished by the Almighty!”

We ourselves were amazed and appalled. Our rising
hopes were blasted by the livid lightnings, which seemed
to blast him. His mother gave utterance to a groan of
agony, and sank upon the ground, satisfied that her son
was truly accursed of God. At this moment, as if to
confirm all our fears, he cried, in the Hebrew tongue, with
a loud voice, that, in the deep silence, reached the ears
even of the Roman guard on the citadel:

“Eloi! Eloi! My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken
me!”

Upon this some ran to give him wine and hyssop.

“Nay, let him live—let us see if Elias will save him!”
answered Abner.

Jesus then turned his head, and looked affectionately
upon his mother, and committed her to the tender care of
John, who stood supporting her near the cross.

Suddenly the darkness, which had filled all the air,
seemed now to concentrate, and gather about the cross, so

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that he became invisible. From the midst of it his
thrilling voice was once more heard, as clear and strong
as it rang over the waters of Galilee, when he preached
from a boat to the thousands thronging the shore:

“It is Finished! Father, into thy hands I commend
my spirit!”

As he uttered these words, a supernatural glory shone
around him, and, with a deep sigh, he bowed his head
upon his breast and gave up the ghost.

The general exclamation of surprise that followed these
clear, trumpet-tones, was suddenly checked by a terrible
trembling of the earth beneath our feet, so that vast numbers
of people were cast down; the rocks of the hill of
Calvary were rent, and thrown upwards, while the whole
city shook with the convulsive throes of an earthquake.
The temple seemed on fire, and above its pinnacle appeared
a flaming sword, which seemed to us to cleave the walls to
their foundations; and while we looked, the sword changed
into the shape of a cross, of dazzling light, standing high
in the air, over the altar; and from its golden beams
poured rays so bright, that all Jerusalem, and the hill
country, for a wide extent, became as light as noon-day.
The ground still continued to rock, and the sepulchres of
the kings, with the tombs of ancient prophets, were riven
by vast chasms, and the green earth was strewn with the
bones and bodies of the dead. The dark cloud, which had
begun to form first with the smoke of the Temple, was
now dissipated by the light of the fiery cross, and the sun
reappeared. Before it the glorious vision over the Temple
gradually faded out and disappeared. The natural order
of things gradually returned; and men, smiting their
breasts, began to move towards the city, filled with awe

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and dread at what they had witnessed. The Centurion,
who stood watching these fearful things, said, aloud, to
Æmilius:

“This man spake the truth. He was a God!”

“Truly,” responded Æmilius, “this was none other
than the Son of God—the very Christ of the Jewish
Prophets. All things in the air and on the earth sympathize
with his death, as if he were the very God of nature
who has expired.”

Sad and weeping, we left the dismal scene, hanging
our heads in despondency, having, while wondering at
these mighty events associated with his crucifixion, abandoned,
forever, all hope that this was He, who should
have redeemed our nation, and restored the royal splendor
of Judah, the throne of the house of David.