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diate and visible success. His converts had been few, and these mean and low in their outward condition. His ministry was now at an end, and he had the pain which every good mind must feel when nearly all attempts to benefit mankind have been rudely opposed and frustrated by human perverseness. He was certainly far above all vulgar and unworthy ambition. He was willing to waive all claim to personal distinction. Still as the kind benefactor of men, he severely felt the want of that joy, which results from successful efforts to promote their salvation. The dark and sad hour was now at hand, when he was to leave his blessed work which had been cheered by so few instances of success; and his countrymen, whom he earnestly wished to saveover whom he had wept in the anguish of his soul--must perish in their obduracy.

And there is no doubt that the bitterness of the cup, which he so earnestly prayed to have removed, was aggravated by the base' ingratitude of one, and the criminal fears of all his disciples. They had not yet caught the martyr's spirit which was afterwards kindled up

at his own cross. He knew that they would desert him at the last extremity; and possessing a generous sensibility, it was severely painful to him to know, that in a world, for which he had lived and was about to die, he should not find one sympathising friend to sustain his sinking spirit, or soothe his dying agonies.

To these feelings of despondency, so natural in one of like passions with ourselves, we may add the horrors of that particular death to which he was hastening. We have at this distant period no distinct idea of the terrors of this cruel mode of execution. The cross is to us the hallowed symbol of salvation. It is associated in our minds with all we love and revere in Christ, and all that we hope in the promises of his revelation. The shame of the cross is taken

away.

We glory in it-we cannot connect with it ideas of reproach, infamy, and intense suffering. It was not so at that time. The cross was reserved for the ignominy and torture of the vilest criminals only. The living victim was stretched on the timbers, with spikes rudely driven through his quivering members, and thus left to die in long and lingering agony, the scorn and derision of each unfeeling passer by.

It may be thought strange that this exalted being, who with the majesty of God's own representative had declared · I am the resurrection and the life,' should be thus borne down by the terrors of death. Meaner ones have often suffered martyrdom with unshrinking fortitude. We are not to suppose that the glorious sufferer was afraid to die ; but sublime, god-like as he was, he might well shudder and recoil at the infamy and anguish of the cross. Its image was before him in the terrible distinctness and certainty which his prophetic character gave it; there was none of the secret hope of escape, which might have supported a common martyr; none of the passionate enthusiasm which might raise a fanatic above the fear of suffering--none of the stern insensibility which produces a common

place indifference to danger and death. With all the feelings of a kind and gentle heart, he calmly surveyed the horrors of his destiny; and it was no imperfection in his sublime character, to feel as a man rather than as a hardened soldier. As a man he earnestly prayed that the cup of suffering might pass from him. He was too pure and too heavenly, to teach his followers to undervalue that life which is the gift of God. He was too humble to set them the example of voluntary and ostentatious martyrdom.

He left us at last a glorious example of submission, when he drank of the bitter cup, saying, “Father, not my will, but thine be done. He accomplished his destiny with a firmness worthy of his life and his cause. He met the scoffs of his persecutors, the insults of a mock trial, his iniquitous sentence, his frightful execution, with but one single exclamation, wrung from him by the intenseness of mortal agony, and then died as he had lived, in fervent prayer for his enemies.

I have thus, as well as I could, pointed out some particulars in the character and position of Jesus, which might give rise to his strong expressions of anguish in the garden of Gethsemane. It is a narrative which softens our hearts and cherishes our religious sensibilities. Our purest and holiest affections may cluster with unfading freshness around the garden of suffering. In our affecting remembrance of what he was, what he did, and what he suffered for us, we may see all that is excellent in man, reflecting the sublime moral VOL. I-NO. Ill.

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image of God-brought down to earth and embodied in one object of love, confidence, and imitation.

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We have recently met with a pamphlet containing a charge delivered by Bishop Hobart of New York to the Clergy of his diocese, which we deem too curious to be suffered to pass into oblivion without notice. We call it curious, not that it exhibits anything novel either in matter or manner. The same things have been said a hundred times, and have been as many times refuted. But we hardly expected them to be repeated, at this time of day, by any intelligent advocate for the doctrines of Orthodoxy. What we deem extraordinary about the Bishop's performance is, that such a species of argu

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