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end." He could not but be so reckoned if he raised the standard of revolt against the Romans, and to do this he called upon his disciples for the sinews of war and for arms. He had before sent them forth with neither purse nor scrip; but he now said unto them," he that hath a purse let him take it, and likewise his scrip, and he that hath no sword let him sell his garment and buy one." His call for arms was fully answered when they said "Lord behold here are two swords." When he thus learned that he had but two swords with which to contend with the Roman legions his heart must have sunk within him, and in despair he said unto them "it is enough." "Being in an agony he prayed most earnestly, and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground." He then went apart to pray that the cup which he felt was prepared for him might pass from him without his drinking it, and this was repeated by him three times before he could trust himself in his intended submission with manly fortitude to what he saw must be the inevitable consequence of the action which had been taken by him. He had become reckoned among the transgressors, and his resources had proved to be insufficient for the occasion. The avaricious Judas was betraying him, and there was no escape for him from his enemies. Resistance was useless, and he said to one of his friends who would have defended him with his sword, "put again thy sword into its place, for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."

Whatever may have been his own previous hopes and those of his disciples, when brought before Pilate, he realized, and for the first time declared that his kingdom was not of this world. When led by the multitude of his accusers before his judge, they declaring of him "that they found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ a king," knowing that all his secrets had been unfolded by the traitor Judas he made no attempt at defending himself, and silently yielded to the condemnation which Pilate could not escape from declaring upon him. His judge, knowing the limited extent of his resources and "that for envy they had delivered him," appears to have regarded him as being too inefficent to be dangerous and would gladly have released him and punished Barrabas who had done much more than Jesus, for he had slain a man in an insurrection. Perhaps in part because of the greater magnitude of his offence the Jews wished to save him instead of the then insignificant Jesus, and cried out in reference to the latter, "if thou let this man go thou art not Cæsar's friend! whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Cæsar." Pilate was thus forced to yield, and Jesus was condemned and crucified as claiming to be the king of the Jews, and this inscription was placed upon his cross "Jesus of Nazareth the king of the Jews," or as Luke has it, "This is the king of the Jews," or as Mark puts it, "The King of the Jews," or as Matthew states it, "This is Jesus the King of the Jews." Each differing in their words, but all agreeing in presenting even to the inscription upon his cross his condemnation and death as being a political one, and yet Christians of to day are claiming the

death of this excellent and most patriotic man, under these judicially investigated and clearly defined circumstances of attempted resistance to injustice and oppression as being a religious rite or performance involving a propitiatory sacrifice for the sins of the whole world!

And they rely for thus ignoring the result of these clearly stated and unimpeachable legal proceedings not upon any declarations of Jesus but in part upon the general appreciation of the requirements of the Jewish Law in reference to sacrifices, and in part upon what would seem to be the subsequently conceived theories and statements in reference to the life and death of Jesus, of writers whose fast-formed political hopes so perished with him at the time of his crucifixion that they forsook or falsely denied him, and who could only escape from the odium of an unsuccessful attempt at rebellion by prominently putting forth and perhaps substituting for the real one other excellent acts of his life as having been the bond of association between them. While we would not in the smallest degree detract from the merits of Jesus, believing that no man ever deserved more of his fellows than he did, we cannot but feel that we are rendering a service to his memory by thus marshalling the events of his life, and ascribing the effect which these developed to the causes which produced them; and if, as it seems to us, his violent death was the result of his sublime patriotism, we do not feel that his reputation as the extraordinary man that he was would suffer, from the facts being recognised and admitted by all. It would be but the recognising of his pre-eminent possession of this excellent virtue also, and a transferring of him from the list of religious to patriot martyrs, a transfer which must need be made by us or the sole history of his death discarded as being untruthful. And such a death accords with the whole spirit of his life. His highest profession was that of Love, his labors were directed to the promotion of Love, Fraternity and Equality. The lame, the halt and the blind, the leper, the harlot, the publican and the sinner, the physically and morally deformed and depraved, even those possessed of devils were sought out by him and made to feel that in him they had a brother and a loving friend. As the sum of all his requirements, Love was declared to be the badge of his discipleship. And no man could show greater love for his fellows than he did by thus imperilling and yielding up his life on their behalf; and through such an acceptance of him by us, while we could embrace him as a brother, he would still stand before us presenting evidences of a more fully developed spiritual nature than are anywhere else furnished us. And through such an acceptance of him we should happily be preserved from the absurdity of looking for the salvation of the immortal soul to the wicked sacrifice by others of this mortal body of a "son of man," as he so frequently designated himself among those who afterwards, while recording these his declarations of himself, renewed their denial of him by mistakenly asserting for him a higher origin. There are portions of his life and teachings which would seem inconsistent with his death for such a cause, but they are less so than they are with some other

portions of his fully admitted life. When Matthew tells us Jesus was at one time so under the influence of the Devil and his temptations as to have been carried hither and thither by him, he makes a statement concerning him of which his life would probably furnish no truthful repetition, and points unto what must have been with him unlawful aspirations for power both in church and state. With such a record it needs not that his friends should deny on his behalf the sometimes indulgence by him of lawful ones. The possession of these, and his yielding to them to the extent of desiring to deliver his people from foreign oppression, would entirely accord with his almost continual efforts to promote their physical comfort and well being, and would not be inconsistent with a proper cultivation of his own spiritual nature.

If we regard him as being God, the record would make him incredibly inconsistent with himself, if as being man we should expect to find variations in his character and actions, and we would not herein be disappointed. His life and death amid so many wicked men seem to have been just what a good man's ought to be.

j. J. M.

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GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

T might be as well to premise that we don't mean the great expectations of Mr. Dickens but our own, so that those who are just now absorbed in the great Englishman can stop reading at once, without the discomfort of going further, to be more grievously disappointed.

We are so conscious of our own faults, and at the same time so sensitive to the opinion of our friends, that as a compromise with conscience we have got into the habit of rapping our own knuckles over the shoulders of other people. So, whenever we are particularly hard on imaginary offenders, be sure, good friends, that we are aiming well-directed blows at our own secret failings.

We used to hear in childhood a proverb that seems to our understanding a sort of supplement to apostolic teachings (we hope no one will accuse us of profanity), which was to this effect," Blessed is him who expects nothing, for he shall not be disappointed."

How many times, when we have been walking in rash security over slippery places, trusting to our superior shoes or dexterous step, have we been brought up, or rather down, in so sudden a manner as to realize most painfully that we were but as other men. Pride is not the only lofty thing in the world that is subject to falls-serene Hope herself will stumble now and then, and her less ideal sister, Expectation, with whom we have often stood on tip

toe, still more frequently loses her balance. We know that she is subject to such overturnings, but keep constantly trying to assure ourselves that she is more reliable now than formerly, and so we let her lead us on by the fingertips over slippery tracks or dizzy heights, always with some new rose color in the distance, fairer than the last she showed us, but fading just as quickly on our approach.

Men say that experience is our best teacher; surely she is a flinty-hearted dame, when she trusts us to the will-o' wisp guidance of idle expectation. The young author sends forth his bantling verses upon the world. He knows they are poor, little, featherless creatures, yet hopes, somehow, their wings will grow and carry his fame over the lands. But they sicken in the unwholesome atmosphere of the conntry newspaper, and seem to fade into nothingness before his eyes. Their fate is more pitiable than he expected, though he knew it would be so all the while. The disappointment is deeper than he thought, and he feels as if the world had done him an injury.

The maiden is ready to sacrifice all things for love. No life is too mean, no surroundings too poor, in company with the beloved; and she assures him that, if necessary, it will be better to count the sixpences together than to live longer apart. But she never expects to count the sixpences; she thinks, by careful handling of the shillings, to avoid that, and the gripe of poverty is as real as if it had never been colored by her rainbow dream.

The young housekeeper has her little store of household maxims, her theory on the management of servants, her notions of domestic economy, and is impatient to try them; but, too often, the disappointment is disastrous to health and comfort, when it is found that by some sad perverseness, realities will not conform themselves to theories.

A man fancies that he possesses extraordinary executive capacity; he thinks he can combine materials and men, and make them serve his purposes of selfishness or of philanthropy; but, to use a homely phrase, the bottom falls out of his calculations, and he is forced to be content with the lesser work that he can accomplish single-handed. Slowly and painfully he learns that to be well served one must himself learn to serve others, for there is great meaning to the soubriquet which the French gave to one of their kings, the "Wellserved!"

We think sometimes we hear ringing in the air the merry laugh of Puck, with his tantalizing words, " Lor, what fools these mortals be!" Some one will begin to ask us pretty soon what we mean, and whose follies we have in mind. Did we not say, curious ones, in the beginning, that this was a curtain lecture for ourselves. Our knuckles are smarting sufficiently for the present; if we have hit anybody else's, perhaps they will find comfort, as we do, in anointing the sores with a little of the all-healing ointment of selfconceit.

G. F. T.

NO SECT IN HEAVEN.

ALKING of sects till late one eve,

TALKING of sects times the saints believe,

That night I stood in a troubled dream,
By the side of a darkly flowing stream

And a "Churchman" down to the river came :
When I heard a strange voice call his name,
"Good father, stop; when you cross this tide,
You must leave your robes on the other side."

But the aged father did not mind,
And his long gown floated out behind,
As down to the stream his way he took,
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book.

"I'm bound for heaven, and when I'm there, I shall want my book of Common Prayer; And though I put on a starry crown,

I should feel quite lost without my gown."

Then he fixed his eye on the shining track,
But his gown was heavy, and held him back,
And the poor old father tried in vain,
A single step in the flood to gain.

I saw him again on the other side,

But his silk gown floated on the tide;
And no one asked in that blissful spot,

Whether he belonged to "the Church" or not.

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed,

His dress of a sober hue was made;

My coat and hat must be all of gray,

I cannot go any other way."

Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, And staidly, solemnly, waded in,

And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight Over his forehead, so cold and white.

But a strong wind carried away his hat;
A moment he silently sighed over that,
And then, as he gazed to the farther shore,
The coat slipped off, and was seen no more.

As he entered heaven, his suit of gray
Went quietly sailing-away-away,
And none of the angels questioned him.
About the width of his beaver's brim.

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