forward with loud cries of joy, and begged to be the first to die.—Look you, Priscus—when I heard that yesterday
Priscus.
Yesterday? Oh, sire, you are mistaken. That happened forty days ago.
Julian.
So long? Yes, yes, yes! The Hebrews had to wander forty years in the wilderness. All the older generation had to die out. A new generation had to spring up; but <g>they</g>—mark that!—<g>they</g> entered into the promised land.
Eutherius.
'Tis late in the day, sire; will you not eat?
Julian.
Not yet, my Eutherius. 'Tis good for all men to mortify the flesh.
Yes, I tell you, we must make haste to become a new generation. I can do nothing with you as you are. If you would escape from the desert, you must lead a pure life. Look at the Galileans. We might learn more than one lesson from these men. There are none poverty-stricken and helpless among them; they live together as brethren and sisters,—and most of all now, when their obstinacy has forced me to chastise them. These Galileans, you must know, have something in their hearts which I could greatly desire that you should emulate. You call yourselves followers of Socrates, of Plato, of Diogenes. Is there one of you who would face death with ecstasy for Plato's sake? Would our Priscus sacrifice his left hand for Socrates? Would
