past three o'clock, for the cock had crowed, which marked the beginning of the fourth watch of the night, and whose note had awakened the slumbering conscience of Peter.

As the faction of the priests and rulers have gathered what they think will constitute a plausible ground of condemnation in a full meeting of the sanhedrim, they deliver over Jesus into the hands of the guard that arrested him and the spectators, while they take an hour's repose before the assembling of the whole council in the morning. Instead of guarding him in peace, and allowing him a brief rest, which his long and fatiguing examination so strongly demanded, they yield him up to the care-shall I call it?—of their rough menials and if the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel, behold what their cruelties are!

The imagination shrinks from the attempt of conceiving and detailing the scene which now ensues. Remember what Jesus had endured up to this moment; remember the necessary bodily fatigue of the preceding day; remember the sorrow that weighed down his spirits at the passover supper the

evening before; his dejection of soul, as he met his little feeble band there for the last time, and enjoyed his last earthly interview with them; remember with what mournfulness, as the Son of Man, he saw one of them who had followed him, and had always shared his instructions, slip away, and, for a paltry sum of money, betray him to this ignominy. Remember the intense agony which a few hours ago had prostrated him in the garden of Gethsemane,- an agony beyond what any mortal can conceive; consider how much all this must have naturally exhausted his strength. And then remember, that immediately afterwards he had been siezed, bound and dragged, in no tender manner, from communion with his disciples, and with his Father, to the house of Annas, his heart sympathizing with his affrighted disciples, scattered without their Master. Remember too, that he had thence been driven to the present place, and here had been made to stand three hours or more, in the cold of the midnight air, after his exhausting perspiration, the object of hatred and oppression and injustice, doubly painful to his pure and holy spirit; and had, in addition to

his personal sufferings, seen his self-confident Peter at the door, cursing and swearing that he had no knowledge of his abused Master. Add to all this, his perfect knowledge that these sufferings were but the beginning of the sorrows of the day before him, when not man only, but the fury of Satan should be let loose upon him, and the presence of his Father withdrawn in the moment of his "travail of soul." Pour all these floods of distress into one ocean of suffering, and you have a shoreless depth of sorrow which cannot be measured by finite powers; a depth to which apparently not another drop can be added.

Not another drop? Hark! hear you that shout in the inner court? Has Jesus escaped; or has he prostrated his enemies by one exertion of his Almighty arm? Or has he found solace among the servants who could not obtain it from their masters? Again! 'Tis not the noise of distress! 'Tis not the pleased cry of delight! 'Tis the sound of merriment -the quick tones of loud, excited laughter! A tumult as if hell had broken loose and were holding carnival! Let us hasten into the area. What a sight! Look at Jesus, the only

begotten Son of God, the meek Redeemer, whose hands dropped only blessings, and whose tongue ever spake only comfort to the distressed, from whom no applicant ever went away unblessed; see him- can you believe it? — blind-folded in the midst of the rabble throng! They dance around him, spit upon him, box him upon the ears and ckeeks with their rough palms and staves, and with jeers and scoffs, cry out, "Prophesy who smote thee!" There He stands, silent, unruffled, under the keenest insults which can be cast upon an Oriental; patient as a lamb in the hands of its murderers! As we turn away from the painful sight, can we be unmoved with His love who endured such rejection of sinners for our redemption? Can we harden our hearts to his tender invi

tation, still ringing in our ears, "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest?" Reader, can you?

CHAPTER IV.

The Denial.

SCRIPTURE NARRATIVE.

Matt. xxvi. 31-35; lviii. 69-75.

Mark xiv. 26-31; liv. 66-72.- Luke xxii. 31-34, 54-62. John xiii. 36-38; xviii. 15–18, 25–27.

DURING the scenes which have been described in the preceding chapter, occurred an incident, there just alluded to, which, as it attracted the notice of Jesus, must not escape ours. During the brief adjournment of the chief priests, let us return again for a few moments to the events of the last evening.

The personal admonitions which Christ had repeatedly given to his disciples, showed that he had not only a general knowledge, but a particular prescience of the whole dark tragedy before him. This has been repeatedly remarked. I repeat the truth once more. It is obvious in the present circumstance.

He and his disciples had left their upper chamber; and were now wending their way to the mount of Olives. He availed himself of this occasion, to inform them what they