“That,” said Elisama, very earnestly, “I shall never be; call me an Aramæan Jew, and I shall gladly accept the title.” “What difference should one or the other make in our friendship?” said Selumiel. “Cannot we attach ourselves to different opinions, without any breach of our mutual good-will? Iddo takes it ill if I call him a Sadducee.” “Alas for Israel,” said Elisama; “shall peace never come to thee? It has been a melancholy reflection to me, that in the land where alone Israel is truly Israel, I have scarcely found a single old friend who does not lean to one sect or other. What will be the end of these things?” The young priest, dissatisfied with the turn which their conversation had taken, said hastily, and in a manner which neither of the old men understood, “In my service in the temple one thing only displeased me, that the turn of duty comes to each course of priests but once in twenty-four weeks. I fain would live the life of a priest every week and every day.” “You might have discovered the method of doing so this very day,” said Selumiel. “The Essenes do not sacrifice,” said Helon; “how then shall I find among them a perpetual priesthood?” Elisama looked at him with astonishment. Selumiel, rejoiced as if he had come over to his opinion, replied, “You may find it in the daily mortification of your body and obedience to the law.” “No,” said Elisama, “I will tell you—the conjugal and domestic life is the perpetual priesthood. You know that the patriarchs sacrificed with their own hands, and even now the master of the house becomes a priest, when, at the feast of the Passover, he kills the lamb, blesses the bread, and praises Jehovah. In spite of all the Essenes and their admirers,” said he, looking significantly at Selumiel, “it is my opinion, that the true Chasidean must be the father of a family.” Selumiel stretched out his hand to the friend of his youth; they turned round, and scarcely had they advanced a few steps further when they had reached the summit of the hill, and the garden of God, the plain of Jericho, lay before them. The towers of the city arose from amidst the fertile fields, through which the silver Jordan wound its course. From the valley of death through which they had just passed, they had emerged into a scene where life displayed itself in all its luxuriance and fulness. The wide meadows through which the Jordan rolled were adorned by groups of towering palm trees and balsam bushes; the hills on both sides closed in the landscape with a beautifully picturesque effect. The air was fragrant with the odour of the roses which bear the name of Jericho. The note of the quail was heard in the corn-fields, the eagle swept his majestic way through the air, and the stork and the pelican strode stately beside the flood. CHAPTER VI. THE BETROTHMENT.