on the words of the Song of songs, "Love is strong as death, and immoveable as the grave; the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it." What do they care about hazarding their lives! Their life was the Man on the cross. What do they trouble themselves about the scorn and contempt of the world! They desire nothing else and nothing better from a world which crowned their King with thorns. Had they been nailed to the cross with him, they would have pushed away the earth from under them as a rotten and worthless plank, and have triumphantly cast their anchor in the clouds. What charms could earth have for them, after his blessed steps ceased to tread upon its thorny and thirsty soil?

Look at the courageous group a little more closely. Of whom does it consist? Strange enough, with one exception, all of them are females. The strong are fled-the weak maintain their ground; the heroes despair-the timid, who did not presume to promise anything, overcome the world. This was because they poured out their hearts before God, saying, "Hold Thou us up, and we shall be safe!" and speaking thus, they leaned firmly on the divine arm. God's strength was then mighty in their weakness. How often does something of a similar kind occur amongst us! If the man's is the splendid deed, the result of combined strength-the woman's is enduring patience. If to the former belongs the heroism which cuts the knot-to the latter (which is the greater of the two) belongs the silent self-sacrificing love which is faithful even unto death.

Amongst the beloved females beneath the cross, there is one who especially demands our sympachy. It is the

blessed one, who bore in her womb the Man that bleeds on the cross-the deeply stricken Mary. Though it was grievous for Eve to stand at the grave of her favourite son Abel, and still more so for the Patriarch Jacob to behold the bloody garment of his son Joseph, yet what was their grief compared with that of the mother of our Lord at the foot of the cross? O think where she is standing, what is the cause of her grief, and who it is she mourns! Think what a son, and what a death! O who is able to describe the feelings which wring her maternal heart! One thing, however, we may be assured of, that

the deeply wounded Mary did not des‐ pair. Even through this her night of weeping, the words of her Son, respecting the necessity of the sufferings that awaited bim, and the glory that should follow, gleamed like some distant light. And although it was most difficult for her still to cleave firmly to them, and though an impetuous host of distressing doubts raged in Mary's breast, yet she was not inconsolable, nor did she give up all for lost, as surely as the assertion of the apostle is true, that God will not suffer us to be tempted above that which we are able to bear. No, whenever the gold is in the crucible, the Refiner himself is at hand; and when a child of the Most High suffers, the paternal hand of Jehovah always lies, alleviating and mitigating, between the burden and the burdened shoulder. If we thus experience it, my readers, how will Mary have experienced it.

You also see, that, although leaning on the disciple whom Jesus loved, she still stands upright under the cross, and only a gentle shower of tears bedews her cheeks, but no cry of agony proceeds from her lips. When the wife of Phineas saw the ark in the hands of the enemy, she fell dead upon the ground in dire dismay. Mary beholds something more appalling than that event, yet still she lives. She is indeed compelled again to bring forth Christ with great travail. Her earthly son dies, with all the earthly connection in which she has hitherto stood towards him, as well as the earthly ideas of him and his kingdom, so far as she had yielded to them. In opposition to these, she has now to receive Christ by faith, as from his ashes, in a very diff erent capacity-as a new Christ-as one hitherto not known by her, as a Lord and Prince of Peace of an incomparably higher kind and order than human; nor did she attain to this without great pain and conflict.

At Mary's side, and serving as her support, the apostle John meets our eye. This "divine eagle" also tries the pinions of his penetrating spirit in the darkness and the storm on Calvary, but he is unable to find the way through this thunder-cloud. He sees himself surrounded by problems which he is unable to solve. But where his understanding beholds only an empty desert, he has, nevertheless, an inward presen timent of infinite and hidden riches. He again introduces himself here, as he is so gladly wont to do, as "the disciple whom Jesus loved." In these

words he indicates to us what was his pride, his crown, and his highest boast. At the same time, they point out to us the source from whence he derived all his consolation, all his hope, and all his strength. This source was love-not the love with which he embraced the Lord, but that with which the Lord embraced him. Nor do I know anything more precious or desirable, than the lively, fresh, and well-founded consciousness of the Saviour's love and affection. What a peaceful resting-place is this in the wild nocturnal storm! What a powerful staff and support for a wanderer in the wilderness! What sweet consolation in "the pit where there is no water;" and what an overflowing spring of encouragement in life and death! He who, with John, can sign himself the disciple whom Jesus loves, has, in this appellation, a sure guarantee for all that he needs, and for all that his heart can desire. If, in other respects, he must call himself the man that is tossed with tempest, or the wretched worm, which the world treads under foot; yet, if he is only justified in subscribing himself "the disciple whom Jesus loves" what more will he have ? This consciousness gilds and sweetens everything.

Whilst the little company stand mourning together below, the Mighty Sufferer hangs silent and bleeding on the cross. He is in the sanctuary performing his high-priestly office, whilst bearing upon his heart the sinful race of Adam. "Oh," might the mourning Mary think, "if he would but once more open his gracious lips to me, and give me one parting word!" But in the sublime situation he is now occupying, will he still be able to attend to what is passing at the foot of the cross? Will he still find time and leisure to think of anything else than how he may arm and defend himself against the fiery darts of the wicked one which fly around him, and how he may complete the great and world-embracing work, on the last stage of which he has just entered? Scarcely should we think it possible? But what occurs? O when did anything happen more generous and affecting than this? T.uly, till the end of time his filial tenderness will be spoken of. In the midst of his dying agonies the Divine Sufferer all at once directs his eyes to the little faithful group below; and he that is able to read in his eyes, reads a sympathy and a degree of consoling, cheering, and encouraging love, such as the world, till then, had

never beheld. No, my friends, however much he may have to think of and attend to, he never loses sight of his children for a moment from the sphere of his superintending care. However great and boundless may be the objects of his supervision and vigilance in his government, yet there will never be a moment when the eye of his love will not rest upon every individual whom the Father has given him. They are his primary care, although in number and outward appearance, in comparison with what he has otherwise to superintend and provide for, they may be as the drops in the wide rolling ocean, and as flowerets in the immense and gloomy forest. He discovers the scattered solitary flowers in the wood, in order that he may tend, bedew, and adorn his bosom with them.

The Lord first fixed his eyes on his beloved and sorely tried mother. By means of the words he had spoken to the malefactor, respecting being with him that day in paradise, he had elevated her looks and thoughts above death and the grave. Yet still she would

have to remain for a season alone in the world, which had now become so desolate to her, and lo! for this consideration, the Man of Sorrows on the cross still finds room in his heart, amidst his anxieties for the world's redemption. He looks in the kindest manner at the weeping Mary, opens his mouth, and says not in effeminate weakness, but in sublime tranquillity, self-possession, and serenity, referring to the disciple on whom his mother was leaning, "Woman behold thy son!" and then to John, "Behold thy mother!"

Though the words are few, yet who is able to exhaust the fulness of tender affection which is poured into them? How consoling must it have been to Mary's grieved heart, the manner in which her dying Son made his last bequest. The sound of his voice, and the peaceful look which accompanied his words, were as much as to say, "Mary, thy Son is not lost. He is only returning to his Father's happy abode, after the fatigues of life, in order to prepare a place for thee." And then the contents of the words themselves--how tenderly did he clothe in them his last farewell to his beloved parent! How delicately did he arrange it, that by the hint given to John, she who had been so severely tried, should not also be a witness of his last and hardest struggle! And how providentially does he enter, at the same time, into all, and even the

most trifling necessities of his bereaved mother for the residue of her life upon earth! Truly, when was ever the divine command to honour father and mother so deeply and comprehensively fulfilled as it was on Calvary?

It has been considered strange, that the Saviour, in speaking to Mary, should have made use of the distant word "Woman," instead of the tender name of mother. In reply to this, it is certainly true, that he did so, partly because he would not still more deeply wound her bleeding heart by the sweet title of mother, as well as that he might not excite within himself a storm of human emotions; and likewise lest he should expose his mother to the rudeness of the surrounding crowd. But the chief reason why, instead of the paternal title, he used the more general term "Woman," or lady, lies much deeper, both in this, and the wellknown scene at the marriage in Cana. He certainly meant his mother to understand, that henceforward his earthly connection with her must give way to a superior one. As though he had said, "Thou, my mother, wilt from this time be as one of my daughters, and I thy Lord. Thou believest in me, and shalt be blessed. Thou layest hold of the hem of my garment, and I appear in thy stead. Thou adorest me, and I am thy High Priest and King. Mother, brother, and sister, henceforward, are all who swear allegiance to my banner. The relationships according to the flesh and the manner of the world have an end, other and more spiritual and heavenly take their place."

It was this that the Lord intended to suggest to Mary's mind; and hence the word "Woman," which at first sounds strange, instead of the more tender and affectionate term, "Mother." Nay, it the less became him to call her Mother now, since this term in the Hebrew includes in it the idea of "Mistress," whilst he was just preparing, as the Lord of lords, to ascend the throne of eternal majesty. But whilst endeavouring to elevate Mary's mind above the sphere of mere human conceptions, he does not forget either that he is her son, or that she is his dear and sorely tried mother; and reflects, at the same time, that man, in his weakness, has need of man; and must, besides the heart of God, possess, at least, one heart upon earth, into which he can confidingly pour out his own, and upon whose love and faithfulness he may firmly reckon under all circumstances.

For these reasons, the Lord is desirous, in his filial forethought, and as far as practicable, to fill up for Mary, even in a human respect, the void which his decease would leave in her life, and give her, instead of himself, a son to assist even in an earthly manner, in whom she might place entire confidence, and on whose shoulder she could lean in a all her distresses, cares and sorrows. And this new son he bequeaths to her in his favourite disciple, the faithful and feeling John. Is it not as if he intended to say, "I well know, my Mother, how solitary and dreary must be a widow's path upon earth, when the crown is removed from her head. But lo! here is the disciple that lay in my bosom, and is thus peculiarly prepared to become thy support and stay. He is ready to do all I desire of him, and since I have neither silver nor gold, I bequeath thee all my claim on this disciple's love, gratitude, and faithfulness. Let him be thy son!" It was thus he loved to the end; thus delicately does he provide for all the necessities of those he loves. And as formerly he did, so he does still. He is to this hour the compassionate High Priest. He enters most feelingly into the wants of those who confide in him, so that every one in his station, whether they be widows, orphans, poor and infirm, or to whatever class of the weary and heavy-laden they belong, may rely, most peculiarly, on his providential care.

After saying to Mary, "Woman, behold thy son!" he says to John, "Behold thy mother!" O what a proof does the Saviour here give his disciple of the affection and confidence which he reposes in him! He imposes a bur. den upon him, but he knows that John will regard it as the highest honour and felicity which could be bestowed upon him on earth. Nor is the Saviour mistaken in his disciple. John understands his Master's wish, looks at Mary, and his whole soul says to her, My mother!"

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"From that hour," we are informed, "that disciple took her unto his own home." John possessed therefore a house of his own, doubtless in Jerusalem, which Mary did not. Joseph had already fallen asleep. We may also infer from the narrative, that Jesus was Mary's only son. The expression, "That disciple took her unto his own home," implies, however, according to the original, much more than that he only took care of her in his habitation. He received her into his heart, and bore

her thenceforward on his hands. It may easily be supposed what love he felt towards her from that time, and with what tenderness and fidelity he accompanied her through life. It afforded him supreme pleasure to possess in her an object, towards which he could in some measure manifest the gratitude and affection he felt towards Him, to whom he owed his salvation. But the whole of the costly harvest of love, which flourished for her Son, in the heart of the disciple, under the dew of the Holy Spirit, was transferred to Mary. And because John's love was in reality no other than a sacred spark from Jesus' own breast, Mary was beloved by John, as before, with the love of her divine Son.

"Woman, behold thy son!" John, behold thy mother! O attend carefully to these words. They contain nothing less than the record of the institution of a new family fellowship upon earth. In this fellowship Christ is the head, and all his believing people form unitedly one great, closely-connected family. Begotten of the same seed! endued with the same spirit, they are all called to one inheritance, and eventually, though now scattered abroad through the world, one city with shining walls will embrace them. They soon know each other by their similarity of sentiment, bias, speech, and joyful hope, and love each other with one lovethat love which overflowed into them from the heart of Christ their head. As long as they linger here below, their habitation is under the cross, and their daily bread the word of God; their breath, prayer, and the peace of God the atmosphere in which they freely and blissfully move. The inmost and most essential family feature of this spiritual fraternity is, that self in them is crucified, and Christ the centre of all their doing and suffering.

Let him who would envy John the pleasing task of being a support to the mother of Jesus, know, that the way to the same honour lies open to him. Let him reflect on a previous expression of our Lord's, "Who is my mother, and who are my brethren? and stretching forth his hand toward his disciples, he said, Behold my mother and my brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my mother, and sister, and brother." Matt. xii. 48-50.

If thou art really desirous of the privilege enjoyed by John, thou now seest that it may be thine. From love to the

Lord, be a faithful help to his children ; feed the hungry, give drink to him that is thirsty, and especially visit pious widows in their loneliness, and thou wilt perform a service, which is wellpleasing to him. Become feet to the lame, amongst believers, eyes to the blind, the counsellor and father of the orphan, and thou wilt be taking his place upon earth, as did his disciple of old. John certainly saw himself more closely connected with this life by the new duty imposed upon him; but thou seest that this life can give new charms for thee also, in a similar manner. Only apply to the heavenly Prince of Peace to open thine eyes that thou mayest recognize his quiet and holy household; and even as thou wilt then say to the latter, who constitute his spiritual church, whilst sueing for their love to thee, Woman, behold thy son!" so He will also say to thee, with reference to some troop of weary and heavy laden beloved ones, "Behold thy mo

ther!"

Yes, my friends, if a reformation is to take place on earth, and the world to experience a golden age, Christianity alone can produce it. For tell me, what is wanting to make the world a kingdom of heaven, if that tender, profound, and self-denying love which we see Jesus practise and recommend, were paramount in every human heart. But the whole of religion consists in this, that Christ be formed in every individual. Think what it would be if every one exhibited a living mirror of "the fairest of the sons of men," and loved God and the brethren like him! Then, the loftiest and most glorious idea of human society would be realized. Be convinced, therefore, that you are invited and allured by Jesus, not inerely to be happy in heaven, but that the earth may again be transformed into a paradise; for you see in John's case, that he who casts himself by living faith on Jesus' breast, soon imbibes from thence his love.-pages 403-411.

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of an ordinary testing and purifying trial;" but admitting that doctrine, we possess the key" to the "mysteries and the depth of the horrors" of Gethsemane. Every attempt to explain the events in Gethsemane, it is well observed, "otherwise than by the fundamental article of his vicarious mediation, must be forever unavailing. Only through the light which it affords us, is everything rendered clear and intelligible to us in that appalling scene. The most striking contradictions are then reconciled, and that which is most strange and apparently incomprehensible, disappears, and seems perfectly

natural. The Divine Sufferer in Gethsemane must be regarded, not as that which he is abstractedly, but in his mysterious relation to sinners: He here appears as the "second Adam," as the Mediator of a fallen world, as the Surety, on whom the Lord "laid the iniquity

of us all."

The work will richly repay an attentive and prayerful perusal. HOURS OF SUN AND SHADE. Reveries in Prose and Verse: and Translations from Various European Languages. By PERVERNON GORDON

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RELIGIOUS

Princes Street School, Bedminster, Bristol, was commenced a little more than two years ago, as may be seen in the Missionary Report for 1855. There is a dense population in the immediate vicinity of the chapel; but the character of the people generally as to morals and religion is very unsatisfactory. Very little difficulty was experienced in obtaining a large number of children, but from some cause or causes, perhaps, not very difficult to divine, there has been but a small number of them steady and regular in their attendance. More than 250 children were received into the school in the first two years; but of these less than 100 were in attendance when I came into the station.

The affairs of the school had gone into disorder more than a little, as the late Pastor informed me at the last conference, and several of the teachers had left. On my arrival here we had a meeting or two on the school business. Officers were appointed, a system of rules adopted, and regulations agreed to for the future management of the school, among which was the formation of an Infant class for collective teaching, principally by a box of moveable characters. By the liberality and kindness of two working men, this apparatus has been supplied, which would otherwise have cost us £2. 10s.

To understand our whereabout, and that we might be better prepared to come before the public, the anniversary