Instead of travelling by land--the fatigues of which he was less able to endure than he had been on his former journey northward--he decided on proceeding to the nearest port at which he could embark. Even then he had many fatigues to endure, a mountainous region to traverse, and torrents to pass over. Under the providence of God, however, the port was reached in safety. He found a vessel on the point of sailing for Ostia, and, after a rapid passage, he landed at that town. He had reason to mourn the changes he everywhere witnessed. The former bishop had long been dead, and his successor seemed bent on gaining proselytes by every possible means. There were several new Christian churches; but as Jovinian entered them he saw people prostrating themselves before figures closely resembling the heathen gods. A few persons seemed somewhat dissatisfied with the state of things; but in the whole place he found nobody to whom he could speak openly as to a brother. His stay, therefore, was short; and engaging a vehicle, he hastened on to Rome, by the same road he had taken when compelled to return by his uncle Gaius. On approaching the sanctuary of Mars, the driver, who professed to be a Christian, informed him that it had been taken possession of by a body of holy recluses. On getting near the gate, a man was seen rushing with frantic speed, a sword dripping gore in his hand, as if he were flying from the avengers of blood. As the murderer neared the gate, it was thrown open; and springing in, he was received by several men in long coarse garments, and at once the door was closed. When the officers of the law arrived, they were refused admission. "We claim the ancient privileges of the place," cried the monks. The officers, not venturing to dispute the point, returned to the city. "What will the recluses do with the murderer?" asked Jovinian of the driver. "He will become one of them," was the answer. "Several of their number have been guilty of like crimes, and have thus escaped from justice!" From what Jovinian had witnessed at Ostia, he was somewhat prepared for the scene which Rome presented as he drove through the streets. Christian basilicas--some of considerable magnificence--rose in every direction; but a large number of heathen temples remained, a few only having been pulled down to afford sites or materials for the before-mentioned edifices. Many temples were, however, closed, while others had been slightly altered to fit them for the Christian worship. At the corners of the streets were shrines, as in days of yore. They one and all contained female statues, which the driver told Jovinian were those of the mother of God. In the arms of several of the statues was an infant, who, his loquacious guide informed him, was "Jesus," her son. Jovinian recognised the figures as those of the Babylonian Astarte and her son Horos: she, under the name of Isis, had long been worshipped in Rome.