earth on errands of evil, did they welcome among them "the son of perdition." After the lapse of an hour or two, to give Jesus time to repair to his usual retreat on the mount of Olives, which is spent by the motley group who are to accompany him in sociable preparation, the traitor sallies forth again at the Sleat head of his band. They stand along with their glimmering lanterns through dark passages, and narrow, unfrequented alleys, occasionally revealed by the oblique moonlight, till they pass the walls of the city. A few minutes' walk more brings them into the enclosure of the garden where we left Jesus and his disciples in the beginning of the chapter. A rapid summary of the arrest of Christ is all that is necessary to the present purpose.

Judas had previously given the band that accompanied him a sign by which they might be sure to seize the right man, as probably they were ignorant of the person to be apprehended. "Whomsoever I shall kiss, that same is he; hold him fast; " for he had before glided invisibly away from the hands of his enemies. With this precautionary direction, the false-hearted disciple advances boldly up

to his Master, with the language of friendship upon his lips, but treachery in his heart, and gives the preconcerted signal. Jesus met his hollow-hearted salutation with a touching rebuke which, in the end, drove Judas to despair. The motley band, when they learn whom they are to arrest, or from some preternatural awe which the composed, dignified presence of Jesus inspired, shrink backwards, and fall to the ground. Christ repeats the inquiry, "Whom seek ye?" and demands that his disciples shall not be molested. As they recover from their momentary panic, finding that he submits so passively, they gather about him to confine him; but the ardent Peter draws his sword, and attacks one of the most officious of the band. Jesus rebukes his misguided zeal, in resisting what he knew not but might be the civil power, and heals the wound which his random blow had inflicted, hinting that his mistaken kindness was in opposition to the great object of his life, -"drinking the cup which the Father had given him; "* and that, if he needed any succor, with a word he could summon twelve legions of angels to his

assistance.

*John xviii. 11.

The band, in revenge of their recent trepidation, secure Jesus strongly with cords tightly drawn about his arms. The disciples,

alarmed at their brutal treatment of their Master, and fearing for themselves, fled with precipitation. A young man who heard the disturbance, and seizing his night-covering came out to learn the cause, is obliged to leave his outer garment behind him, to escape from the hands of some of the band. With the victim in their power, whom they came to seize, the menials of the chief priests hasten cautiously back to their employers.

Of Judas nothing is here recorded. Probably he lingered along behind the company, to get his pay of the council with whom he had bargained to incur this great guilt. But, like all who serve for the wages of unrighteousness, he found his wages to be the bane of his peace. When his part was acted, and he came to contemplate what he had done, treachery appeared to him far different from what it did when gilded with a prospective reward. If he hung around the high priest's court, to witness what would be done with Jesus, his Master's calm, unruffled serenity,

under the mocking of his prejudiced judges, might have first pierced the selfish coatings of his heart; or, if he hasted to solitude to enjoy his ill-gotten gains, the solitude might have brought him to bitter self-reproaches. Whatever was the immediate cause, God did not leave him many hours undisturbed in the possession of his blood-stained silver.

His abode and his thoughts, during the night following his deed, are wrapt in darkness. But in the morning he appears again. Pale and haggard, with the torments of the lost gnawing in his soul, he stalks into the temple where his tempters in iniquity are rejoicing over their success; he darts his bloodshotten eyes upon the surrounding priests, and, with the price of his soul lying in his extended palm, exclaims in the hollow accents of despair, "I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood." Most valuable testimony to the innocence of Christ! His betrayer could find nothing in all his spotless lifeafter the closest intimacy of three yearsnothing which could at all satisfy his con

demning conscience with the tenuation for his conduct.

shadow of an ex

He confessed it,

even he who would have justified himself, had it been possible, in the deed which now filled him with remorse. Such explicit testimony to the Saviour's innocence from such a source, ought to have stopped the malicious proceedings of the Jewish rulers, and have shown them the remorse which might seize them for their awful guilt. But no! With the utmost contempt they inhumanly retort upon the supple tool of their purposes, "What is that to us? see thou to that!" as much as to say, 'What have we to do with his innocence. He must die. Settle the guilt of your participation with yourself; we will none of it.' Judas must go somewhere else than to his abettors in iniquity for the relief from the reproaches of conscience; having accomplished their desires, they discard the panderer to their vil lainy. With this cutting answer, they turn away from the money which he holds out to them. "Tis the reward of iniquity! keep it, Judas, as all the comfort thou hast. No! he disdains the harmless silver; and, throwing it upon the pavement at their feet, he hurries away from their presence. Goaded by a remorseful and despairing conscience, he hastes