is especially great; for where could any superstition find a more favorable soil than in this seat of philosophical half-culture, or over-culture; of the worship of Serapis, of astrology, of societies of Mystics, of visionaries and exorcisers, and of incredulity—­the twin-sister of credulity.  Be cautious then to hold back from baptism all those who regard it as a preserving charm or an act of good omen—­remembering that the same water which, sprinkled on sanctified hearts, leads them to holy living, brings death to the unclean soul.  It is your turn to speak, Irenaeus.”

“I only have to say,” began the young Christian thus designated, “that I have recently met among the catechumens with some who have attached themselves to us from the basest motives.  I mean the idlers who are glad to receive our alms.  Have you noticed here a cynic philosopher whose starving brother we maintain?  Our deacon Clemens has just ascertained that he is the only son of his father—­”

“We will investigate this matter more closely when we discuss the distribution of alms,” replied the bishop.  “Here we have petitions from several women who desire to have their children baptized; this question we cannot decide here; it must be referred to the next Synod.  So far as I am concerned, I should be inclined not to reject the prayer of the mothers.  Wherein does the utmost aim of the Christian life consist?  It seems to me in being perfectly conformable to the example of the Saviour.  And was not he a Man among men, a Youth among the young, a Child among children?  Did not His existence lend sanctity to every age, and especially childhood?  He commanded that little children should be brought to Him, and He promised them the Kingdom of Heaven.  Wherefore then should we exclude them and deny them baptism?”

“I cannot share your views,” replied a presbyter with a high forehead and sunken eyes.  “We ought no doubt to follow the Saviour, but those who tread in His steps should do so of their own free choice, out of love for Him, and after He has sanctified their souls.  What is the sense of a new birth in a life that has scarcely begun.

“Your discourse,” replied the bishop, “only confirms my opinion that this question is one for a higher assembly.  We will now close our discussion of that point, and go on to the care of the poor.  Call in the women, my good Justinius.”

The deaconesses came into the room and took seats at the lower end of the table, Paulina, the widow of Pudeus, taking her place opposite the bishop in the middle of the other women.  She had learnt from Selene’s kind nurse in what pressing difficulties the children of the deceased steward now found themselves, and that Hannah had promised to assist them.

The deacons first gave their reports of what their works had been among the poor; after them the women were allowed to speak.  Paulina, a tall, slight woman with black hair faintly streaked with gray, drew from her dress, which was perfectly plain, but made of particularly soft, fine white woollen stuff—­a tablet that she placed before her, and slowly raising her eyes and looking at the assembly she said: