ignorance of a down-trodden race; that, were he but a lowly carpenter, with all the world's powers and dignitaries against him; did he but loosen the reins of despotism for one moment, or, by preaching what he knew to be the truth, open out the path of liberty—that of the spirit, as opposed to the letter of the law,—he, Caiaphas, before whom all men now bowed, would be hurled both morally and physically from his high place and become of no account. He knew he would be powerless to emulate the Nazarene he affected to despise, the carpenter who conquered souls by His sublime meekness, His unshrinking truth, and His awful purity.
Yes, side by side with his dread lest the Jewish people should escape him; side by side with his hatred of the Nazarene, and fear of the possible overthrow of his power and place, were a sullen jealousy and an envious rage, that one by birth so meek and lowly, should be so much the greater man than was he, Caiaphas. How he hated, Pontius Pilate, too, and Claudia, his proud, domineering wife! How, of late, she had set him at defiance! What a slap in the face it would be to Pontius Pilate should he be forced to condemn the Nazarene to death!
Alone in his chamber, this priest, who had been ordained to bring true religion and peace to the Jewish people, revolved in his mind how he should destroy this Man who stood, in the grandeur of His simplicity, between him and power. To acknowledge Him as the Son of God were to destroy the power, not only of Caiaphas, but of all the high priests and Pharisees forever. For one moment (for Caiaphas was not without intelligence enough to
