The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 28, 1902, Page 5

THE SUNDAY CALL. b : . answered Calaphas, “perverting the na- tion, forbidding the people, of whom many foolishly went out after him, to pay tribute unto Caesar, and clalming to be the Messiah promised of old by our proph- ets, the rightful King of the Jews." ~Art thou the King of the Jews?" asked Pilate, sternly, ~“Thou say’st it,” was the Lord's calm, affirmative reply. Never have I been more profoundly as- tonished than at these words, and my surprise increased when I saw that he @esigned to in no manner expiain them but held his peace. He had been accused falsely, or, rather, facte had been dis- torted to convey an entirely false impres- #ion, yet he uttered no protest, offered no explanation. Pliate is a Gentile, the rep- resentative of that temporal power to which the Master owed ailegiance, and @pparently at least was honestly seeking information to guide his judgment. In the meantime the procurator contin- ued to search with his eyes the features ©of the prisoncs. Accustomed to pass judg- ment upon all manner of malefactors, he is surely able to read the character of men in their faces. As he looked the frown upon his brow faded away and I saw that he was in no mood to condemn the Lord. Pilate is accounted a hard man, yet do not I regard him as unjust. He hates the Jewish people, and a desire to balk the eager, blood seeking Sanhedrists, rather than a kindly feeling for the pris- oner, perhaps Influenced him in his favor. n(m‘.ng at length to the high priest, he I find no fault in this man.” “No fault?” cried aged Annas, his voice trembiing with ill-concealed rage and in- dignation. “He hath stirred up discon- tent, discord and feelings of rebellion among the people; hath .turned their hearts away from the religion, which renders them submissive to rightful au- thority; hath perverted the women and children, and raised a storm In the land ’thu hefh swept from Galilee to Jerusa- em. " “From Galilec?" he then & Galilea " replied Annas, “and cometh m Nazareth, its most despised city.” ““Then he is not mine, but Herod's sub- Ject. Lead him away to Herod, that he ®&iso may render his judgment,” and with &n expression of r the procurator turned and began talking with onre of his friends. d 2oth ' interrupted Pllate, “Is n?’ 2 Annas and Ca‘aphas attempted to but the Roman soldiers, to whom the t and greatest law, from the tribunal, the direction of the ¥ Herod Antipas, who bed lately come from beyond the Jordan, was staying with his court. £ that protests availed nothing, An- nd Calaphas, with the greater por- tion of their party, hurried after the sol- diers. The rabble vacillated in its choice, Some running backward and forward be. fore determining whether to follow the Nazarene and attempt to witness his ¢x- amination by Herod, or remain for the trial of the great mover of sedition, Jesus Barabbas. The robber proved the strong- er artraction, and but few followed Jesus of Nazareth. 3 Herod Antipas in T have brougnt Galflean, and hither one J. subject to his man hath been t the Sanhedrim and condemned to he procurator would have thy ment € to whether he is worthy of his sentence.” A look of inte: easure swept over the face of the te rch at these words, the reason of which, I coul not doubt, was three-fold. All men like to receive attention and the respect th is due their rank and posit me time there between the procu- vernors of two For = discord and the of good feeling ich Bn}’,‘ have been most Lestly is this ma ?”" he ask- ter eritically surveying the prisoner. f the awful blasphemy of making himself the Son of God, while he is naught but a man,” answered the high priest. . he added, *“‘of claiming to be siah, the rightful King of the Thus adroitly did he combine the charges made before the Sanhedrim and before Pilot. Both were calculated to ap- peal strongly to Herod: the first by rea- son of the Jewish faith, which he ac- knowledged, the second because the title of King of the Jews he doubtless hopes to himself bear. “What sayeth thou to this accusation?” be asked. But the Master made no reply. “Art thou he whose coming was an- mounced by John?" The tetrarch stood for 2 moment in lis- tening attitude, but, receiving no reply, £poke again: ** "Tis said that, like the prophets of old, thou canst perform miracles. I would fain #ee an exhibition of thy powers; 'twould excuse much that is brought against thee &nd go far toward sustaining thy claims_”’ Again the Lord made no. reply, except to glightly, almost imperceptibly, ‘shake his ““Take him back to Pilate,” ordered An- tipas, after he had asked several other gquestions without recelving any reply, while Calaphas and his associates loudiy repeated their accusations. “He seems neither a dangerous seducer of the people nor vet a king, according to my idea of royaity. Both Annas and C has scowled fiercely as they turned to leave the spot. They had evidently éxpected different things from Herod, who, whether con- trolled by his natural mildness or a ‘desire to piease Pilate, who, from being an ene- my, now promised well to become a friend, had left the matter exactly as he had found it. The faces of the two “priests lightened somewhat as they saw the soldiers buffet and afterward maltreat their defenseless risoner, but they still seemed sorely trou- led as they walked along. engaged in an earnest whispered conversation. VL “Thou, Jesus Barabbas, shalt go to the cross!” 4s the returning party, the Master In its midst, entered the palace courtyard these words were uttered in the strong, clear volce of Pontius Pilate. The condemned men returned the look of the procurator with & bitter sneer and & snarling excla: mation that might well have issued from the mouth of 2 wild beast. Then, with an impudent swagger, rendered half ludicrous y his hampering irons, he suffered him- self to be led back to his place among the B e Bbon Mto.ficst arsival As upon rst arrival, the procession belted before the raised tribunal, the cen- turion ascending the stone steps and in a low tone to the procurator, who motioned him to approach. “We are returned from Herod,” sald phas, “who lacked power to do aught out of his own dominions, to demand judg- ent of thee. This man is doubly deserv- ng of death; he hath won many of the ?eoplc away from the worship of God by alsely representing himself to be his Son, authorized to & of him, to even for- fl:‘ sine in bis name; thus he strikes at wvery root of our system, for God is the and real # By claiming y powers and advising egainst the payment of tribute he hath stirrea up many foolish peopls, who re- member the past glory of Israel and hope for its return, to deny thine authority and that of thy master—and ours—Tiberius Emperor of Rome. We of the Sanhedrim who, under the emperor and thee, manage the affairs of the province of Judea, are loyal and faithful, yet can we not answer for the hot-headed people if such fellows be permitted to foment discontent and sow the seeds of rebellion. That Jesus whom but now thou order’st tc the cross iIs far less erous to the mnation, less worthy of deaf than the Jesus who stands before thee, whose life we demand at thy hands. The first is the son of a rabbl and rightly entitled to bear the surname of Bar Abba, while the sec- ond is & rude Galilean peasant, who, most insolently blasphemously, hath as- sumed the surname of Son of the Father, or Bar Abba. We therefore demand judg- ment.” For & moment Pilate stood {irresolute. The last crafty a could not but strike him &s most forcible, and I believed the end come. “Thou hast heard what thine sccusers urge against thee; what say'st thou to n®r As, for the second time, Pilate called upon the prisoner to answer the charges of the Sanhedrim, he bent upon him a curious and, I thought, pitying look. But still the Master delgned not to rc'g‘l.y Now, more clearly than before, 1 saw t be meant to die for men, and rmine own in the hitherto inscrutable chain of providences that had brought it about be- came manifest. ““Ye have brought this man unto one that perverteth the people,” said Pll- ete to the expectant and impatient Sanhe- drists, “and I, having openly eXamined executor of our laws. him before you, have found no fault in him, touching those things whereof ye ac- cuse him, no, nor yet Heroda—for I sent you to him—and lo, nothing worthy of death is found in him, I will, therefore, chastise and release him—for I am boun- den to release a prisoner unto the people this day.” Fierce rage and deep cunning g to issue together from the eyes of baffled Annas. For a moment he stood in seem- ing perplexity, then a strange light shone in his face, as if the devil had suggested something to his evil mind, and he whis- pered eagerly to his son-in-law and to others that stood about him. Almost in- stantly a roar of protest arose, which soon ook the form of words. “No, no, release him not!” “Release unto us Barabbas!” “Yea, Barabbas; he stood not dumb!” Not Jesus ben Eii, but Jesus Bar- abbas!” “The son of a father of Jerusalem, rather than the son of a father whom we know not!"” 'Barabbas! Let us have Barabbas!" “Be It so,” sald Pilate, when he had raised his hand to stay the babbling voices. “Release Barabbas.” The Roman soldier is the best-discip- lined creature in the world. Scarcely had the words of command issued from the mouth of the procurator when the sharp click of a hammer was heard, and a mo- ment later, freed from his irons, the gmil- ing, yet insolent rebel, thief and murderer walked forward with all the vanity and arrogance of a gladiator leaving the bloody sands. As he elbowed aside the lowly captive, to whose presence he owed his life, and who seemed to take his place upon the horrid cross, he cast upon him a look of mingled pity and contempt, such as a victor might have bestowed upon a vanquished and dying adversary. Folding his arms across his massive breast he made a most profound salaam to the pro- curator. and ‘passed on into the midst of the cheering, howling rabble in the rear, whose crowded ranks opened gladly to re- celve him. a “What shall I Jesus, your king? Pilate had now an opportunity to sneer at his hated subjects, and he improved it in these words and in the sarcastic ton. in which he uttered them. To this que: tion arose loud cries of “*Crucify him!” in which the rabble, evidently delighted by the release of Barabbas but bent on ha ing another victim, joined most heartily. “I tell ve vet again that I find no fault i1t this man.” It was the procurator who was prot ing now. The more he saw the eagern of the Jews, the more he seemed inclined to balk them. “I will now have the Galilean chas- " he added, “and then release him, as I have Barabbas.” To this proposal there arose a storm of indignant protest, mingled with many cries of “Crucify him!” How fickle is man: but a few days agone, and the lead- ers of the Sanhedrim feared to take the Master because of this same rabble that now demanded his life. * With a gesture indicative of impatience and enforced resignation, Pilate turned and spoke to a handsomely dressed page who stood behind him. The latter left the tribunal and entered the palace, but soon returned bearing a silver basin, from which water was dripping. This hgq placed upon a low table beside his master and red do now with this gther t- * stood still, holding a towel in his hands. “Wilt that 1 release this man?’ he asked once more, at the same time rising to his feet. - “If thou let this man go,” said Calaphas, “thou art not Caesar's friend.” hosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Caesar,” added Rabbi Samuel. “Be it s0!” cried Pilate petulantly, and then, turning, began vigorously washing hands in the water. “I am_innocent the blood of this just gnan. See ve to ‘His blood be upon us!” sald Caiaphas impressively. “And upon our children!” shouted all the people—doctors, seribes, Pharisees and rabble—as if in a prearranged chorus, “Thou, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, shalt go to the cross!” Having sald this the procurator turned his back upon the people ahd began wip- ing his hands with the towel. The soldiers, whom obedience and bru- tality alike urged to their t , NOW Te- moved a portion of the Lord’s garments and began scourging him with rods. I had looked upon all the sad scenes that had preceded this, but mow my heart seemed to fail within me, and I turned half-faint- ing away, “Bring forward the others,” shouted the officers; “we will make these Jews merry upon their great religious holiday.” A moment later the two thieves, Nathan and Titus, who had incurred the displeas- ure of Annas, stood beside the Master. “‘Strike off the irons,” ordered the cen- turfon. “Nay, if thou wincest at that, friend, thou wilt with thy cries disgrace thy king, beside whom thou are to be crucified.” As the burly Roman soldier who was breaking with a hammer, and that in no very tender way, the rivets that bound the irons to the legs of Nathan, raised his head, 1 started back in absclute amaze- ment, for he was none other than my fol mer prosecutor, the once rich and power- ful, now poor and disgraced, Flavius Pollio. VIL Just outside the Gennath gate, on the western border of the city, the Master fell fainting under the weight of the ponder- ous cross whicH a barbarous Roman cus- tom compelled him to carry. To avoid de- lay, not out of consideration of humanity, the burden was transferred to the back of another, and the awful procession again moved forward. The centurion, mounted on a black horse and preceded by a herald who, in alter- nate Greek and Aramaic, proclaimed the cause of condemnation—sedition and the false assumption of kingly prerogatives— led the course along the rocky road that winds away to the southward. The sad march of death terminated at last upon a bald, rocky eminence known as Calvary, and aiso Golgotha, both signifying the place of the skull, from its peculiar for- mation, which somewhat resembles the top of a human skull. This 18 a favorite spot for Roman executions, as numerous moldering relics mutely attest. Surely a more appropriate place for the consummation of a dark and cruel piot could not have been chosen, for near by stretches out the awful valley of the Sons of Hinnom, where, in ancient days, babes as innocent as the latest victim were sac- rificed to Moloch, and where, according to the belief of many devout Jews, is located the entrance to Gehenna. No time was lost; the escort. which con- sisted of a full century from the Tower of Antonia, at once set out for the city, While the four soldiers applied themselves to their horrible task. I cannot bring myself to describe the awful scene that followed. As I write I hear in mine ears the click of the hammer that fastened to the cross with huge nails of forged iron the hands that had fed. and healed, and blessed multitudes of people, and the feet that had never once swerved from the path of perfect rightousness, never once faltered in the mgrch toward the Kingdom of Heaven. The agony of soul which caused me to turn my gaze away from the heart-rend- ing scene was increased by the cold, sneer- ing stare cast upon me by John, and the tearful, reproachful look of the Lord’s mother. The awful anathema that Is to blacken my name and memory In future ages hath surely fallen upon me while I yet live. When I looked again the rude cross had been placed in an upright position in the hole in advance to receive it, and the form of the beloved Master, the divinely begotten Son of God, naked but for a plece of linen that encircled his lo%s, was ex- posed before the eyes of scoffers and jeer- ers, weepers and MOUTRETS. The first tension must have caused most excruciating pain, though somewhat mod- ified by the small sedile, or hornlike peg in the middle of the cross. This slight seat was not placed there through mo- tives of humanity to lessen the pain of the crucified, but to prevent the weight of the body from tearing away the flesh and precipitating it to the ground. In- describable as must have been his agony, the Master gave utterance to neither word nor groan, though great drops of sweat rolled from his white and drawn face. A few minutes Jater and his two companions In shame and misery, Nathan uttering the most fearful curses, hung beside him on either hand. The last cross fixed in its rocky socket, a tall soldier climbed upon the shoulders of the burly Pollic and fixed to the cross, above the head of the suffering Lord, & ‘white tablet that had been borne at the head of the procession from the palace of the procurator. Upon this was writ- ten in large characters, in Greek, Latin and Hebrew, the words: “THIS IS JESUS, KING Taws oran Then several of the Jews who had come out from the city, among them two or three men of importance, walked back and forth, reviling and mocking the suf- fering, innocent, divine victim who hung upon the cross. In this one of the two thieves and the executioners also joined. “Ah, thou that destroyest the temple and bufldest it up in three days,” said a sneering Sadducee, as he wagged his head and made a sneering grimace, *save thyself and come down from the cross.” “Let Christ, the King of the Jews, de- scend now from the cross, ‘that we may see and believe,” cried Andrew, the tailor. “‘He saved others; himself he cannot save,” sneered a sanctimonious Pharisee, holding up his long robe that it migh( not be defiled by the dust. “Thou who hast power to rals the dead, save thyself and us that suffer with thee,” cried Nathan, adding a most im- plous oath. “Save us, rabbi, if it be in thy power,” moaned Titus, Then for the first time the Master spoke. For a moment he swept with his sad but intensely luminous eyves the faces of the cruel mockers below him, then raised them toward the heavens and cried, In loud, fervent tones: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” In future ages, under the holy influence of the Divine Spirit, mere men may be- come capable of making a like petition under like circumstances, but in this day of degeneration, louder than words of heav- enly wisdom, more convincing than won- derful works, it proclaimed the presence in mortal flesh of immortal, godlike per- fection. Some of the jeering Jews answered this prayer with taunts, which, though bitter in form, lacked In energy and sincerity, while others hung their heads in sheer shame, unable to again endure that meek, resigned, forgiving look, or bear the re- proachful glances of the Lord's friends. One by one they withdrew from the place, leaving the crown of the hill in undis- puted possession of the centurion and his four assistants, the throng of mourners standing a little distance apart. I was most gratified to see from rthe bearing of Pollio that the Master’s for- giving words had somewhat affected him. But soon I was amazed to see him gath- ering up the garments that had been tak- en from the Lord’s body, scorning. those of the two thieves, which were old and of poor texture. I well knew that the nents of those crucified were a per- ite of the executioners, but mar- i to see the once rich and foppish 1vius Pollio take advantage of so mean spportunity. Twere a pity to cut or rend that in make an even division,” said he three companions as he held up the Lord's seamiess tunic. *I never saw a finer one in Rome and, mark ye, 1 have not alw but vs been a posca drinking soldier, have eaten, drugken and worn of best. My grandfather, Asinius Pollio, founded the first public library in Rome: I, who have won and lost—much cftener lost—a million upon a single throw of the dice, am surely competent to pass judg- ment upon the quality of a Jewish gar- ment. Come, let us throw for the whole lot. It seems ages since I possessed the value of a stake.” * With this Pollio seated himself upon a smooth rock and ‘his three comrades gathered in front of him, the centurion scornfully. turning his back upon. the scene. The gambler produced a dice box and the game began. A more awful scene I have never looked upon; above, the Son of God dying for men; below. his four executioners gaming for his apparel. The rattling of the dice and the ribald caths of the gd@mesters mingled most dis- cordantly h the groans of the two thieves, who were fast losing conscious- ness. Venus!” shouted Pollio at length. “By Caesar’'s cloven-footed horse, ‘ve won , “From thy loud lungs and strange oaths one would think the stake had been the palace of the procurator,”” sneered the centurion, who had now approached them. . “'Tis one's condition and necessities that make a matter great or small,” re- plied Pollio. *1 would seoner win these garments- this day than the proudest pal- ace’ on the Palatine Hill three years ap--a’ “Thy luck will enable thee to drink wine Inscsad of sour posca for a day or two,” sald Longinus. **Twill enable me, unless I greatly err, to pay a heavy, long standing debt, or, rather, a succession of them."” “Thou pay a debt!” cried cne of the suli’l’iurs. “‘Since when grew Polllo hon- est?” “‘Since I heard yon poor wretch pray his father, whom I take to be his God, to forgive those who were putting him to a cruel death and jeering at his sufferings,’ returned the gambler, as he began roll- ing the garments around the well worn sandals. *“Nay, laugh not; I am not turned pious, though I have this day heard that which I am not likely to for- get. Yonder unhappy wight,” hei added, pointing to where the Lord hung, *is not altogether misnamed in the superserip- tion at his head, for he diés a more King- ly death than Caesar, who also suffered at the hands of his enemies. Ho; Judas of Kerioth, come hither!” As he uttered these last words Flavius Pollio, the bundle of clothing in his hand, advanced to meet me, evidently wishing to speak to me out of the hearing of his companions. 2 “I'm right glad to meet thee again, Ju- das,” sald he, speaking in a low tone, though with most of his old-time vivacity and seeming sincerity, “‘but I am sorry that it occurs under such sad auspices, I saw thee in the procession, but then had no mind to speak with thee. After I heard thy Master forgive his enemles I resolved to so far emulate his example as to forgive one whom I have most foul- ly wronged. 'Tis quite as heavy a task as gorg&ving those who have wronged m “I accept thy forgiveness and tender mine to thee,” was my reply. “When I saw thee last,” he went on, “I was in a sad state, but have fallen lower since. Thou seest to what depth a Pollio hath descended. Old Tantalus hath pursued me, and never once, until this day, lifted his heavy hand, permitted me to seize that which I coveted. Thou wert herrified, as I well know, to see me rat- tling the dice beneath the cross whereon thy Master and Lord hung dying. Yet ‘twas for thee I did it.” “For me?”’ I cried in astonishment. “Aye, for thee. Thou lovest him who hangs yonder answering curses with blessings, and 'tis to thy credit. Would that I could do likewise. I have heard thy story—'tis in" the mouth of the worid this morning. I, who*saw thee risk thy life to save the honor of a slave and sign away the g‘nce of a royal province as though it had been a sack of wine, laughed when I heard ‘thou hadst be- trayed thy Lord and Master for thirty miserable shekels. Thy purpose I know not, but 'twas a good one, for thou lovest him. Thou, who bore away the body of Julia to Gaul, surely wish to possess the garments worn by thy Master and friend? Fear not to take them, they are mine to give, fairly won with honest dice. I never threw a Venus that delighted me like the one that made them mine, for L knew that thou would'st prize them.” “I thank thee, Pollio,” I replied, as, with trembling hands, I received the pre- cious relics of the crucified Lord. “They are more dear to me than any province in the gift of Caesar.” As Polllo approached the crosses he paused and looked long and earnestly up- on the face of the Master, then with a slight shake of the head passed on to Join his comrades. At that instant I re- membered the words of the Lord: ‘“And 1, if T be lifted up, will draw all men unto me.” Verily they were already proving true_when one like Flavius Pollio was touched. At that moment a number of mourners approached the cross. As they passed near where I stood John directed the at- tention of his own and the Lord's mother toward me, and I again encountered the looks of scorn and loathing. Surely I am paying a heavy price for my devotion, About mid-day, when the Lord had been some three hours upon the cross, a strange thing happened which threw the guards, and most of those that were looking on, into the wildest terrgr. The sun, which had been shining brightly, was suddenly, almost instantly, obscured, as if a thick veil had been drawn between it and the earth, At the same time a violent wind arose, blowing, seemingly, all ways at once, and raising an almost stifling cloud of dust. But the wind im- mediately subsided, and an awful silence, coupled with darkness well-nigh as pro- found as that of midnight, settled upon the scene. ‘While I stood mute, motionless, amazed, it seemed to me that all reasoning crea- tures throughout the whole world must share my feelings; that nature herseif had paused In her ever onward move- ment, as if marking an epoch in her own course and in the affairs of men. The wonderful occurrence may have been, probably wag, a natural phenomenon, but its appearance was surely timed by Him who regulates the motions of the ever- lasting stars and the garb of mourning for the approaching death of His only begotten Bon. In this most unnatural, and hence most oppressive gloom, we all waited. Sud- denly, about the ninth hour, the voice of the Lord was heard, clear and distinct, though low and singularly sweet: “It iIs finished! Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit!"” Almost instantly the dark pall that hung across the western - heavens ap- peared to roll away, as it had been a scroll, and the sun, seemingly brightened by his long obscuring, sent forth a flood of pure lignt, which: as It were a beam shot from that source of all light, the eternal throne of God, illumed the white face of the Master, beautiful and loving, even in the emhn‘?i of death, ‘The body of the Lord was not left upon the cross, as is often done in cases of malefactors executed by the Romans. Be- fore nightfall Joseph of Arimathea, the wealthy member of the Sanhedrim at whose house we had eaten the Passover, arrived at the scene of the crucifixion with a writing from Pilate ordering that the body be taken down and given him for burial, i From a distance I saw this done; saw the tender, loving hands of the women prepare the tomb for the remains of him they adored; saw siX young men rever- ently raise the bier to their shoulders; heard the mournful music that preceded the weeping cortege; saw the linen- bound body of the Lord deposited in a temb but ricently cut from the solid rock, noi_far from awful Golgotha. . *“Will .become a money-lender?” “Nay, rather a merchant, which trade he hath followed of old. Note the bundle beneath his arm. Hast new raiment for sale as well as old, friend?” At these words I withdrew mine eyes from the fast-vanishing form of the con- verted soldier and confronted my recent assoc.ates in the ministry of the Master, Peter and John. It was the laticr who bad asked the taunting question. “Hast made a good bargain with the executioner, 1 trust?” continued J when I made no reply. “Thy thrift soon turn the high priest's thirty pie of silver into as many talents of gold Despite the mournful state of my heart and my fixed determination to mainta.n mine cquanimity under all provocat 0., these last words stung me to the quick, and I retorted hotly: , “That whereof you twain accuse me is scarcely more detestable than playing the part of spies and eavesdroppers.’” “Nay, Judas, thou wrongest us, as per- chance we have done thee,” replied i mon, his face blushing deeply. *“We loaged last might in yonder uouse and saw thee approach arm-in-arm with a soldier who, John saith, was one of thuse who crucified the Lord, and who, almost within ‘the shadow of the cross where he hung dying, gave thee his yes- ture, which now thou carriest with thee. We heard no words, but noted that ye were friends. We are neither spics nor eavesdroppers, friend, but are none the less surprised and grieved at what we have scen.” This siatement was fair enough, and would have been courteous, not to say kindly, but for a slight emphasis upon the word friend, which plainly referred to the part 1 kad played in the arrest of the Master, and his words to me in the gar- en. “Look you,” said I, at once obtaining complete control both of my temper and my judgment, “this is a most weighty matter and one that should be ciearly understooa betwixt us. 1 am either sadly Mmisunderstood, grievously wronged by YCur. cutting taunts, or are the WOTSt wretch upon -the earth, more to be detest- ed and abhorred than either Annas or Cajaphas. You wouid not condemn me unheard?"” “God forbid!” cried Peter impetuously, 2l the same time taking a step forw: and making a movement as if about to offer me his hand. “I have sinned too heavily, d4nd that in thy very presence, to refuse thee justice.” “Did’st not betray the Master for thirty pleces of silver?” asked John, whose face was_glowing with rage and indignation. ‘“Not so,” 1 replied, *'I did guide the of ficers to Gethsemane, and received thirty shekels, but I did it not for love of the money. ““For love of the Master?"” sneered John. “‘Aye, for love of the Master. To save the life of Lazarus, who with myself was brought hefore Annas and Caiaphas, and also to protect the Lord from secret death at the hands of their murderous agents, I promised to produce him, when com- manded, for a fair and impartiai trial be- fore the Sanhedrim. As for the silver, [ was forced to accept It}twas a fulfil~ ment of prophecy. Thou dost not think me lacking in wit? i “That 1 do not," with emphasis. hn, thou hast long distrusted me, hast more than once hinted that I ap- ropriated to mine own use the money ntrusted to me as bearer of the com- mon purse. Know’st not that I have re- ceived large sums since the Lord appoint- ¢d me treasurer of our little company? Often _have 1 expended in a single day, to uu]pply our own needs. buy food for the people who thronged to hear the Master and relieve the wants of the poor, far more than thirty shekels. Much money was givin me by zealous friends and dis- ciples of the Master. I had often gold in my purse.” “More than half of which thou hast kept for thyself, as I believe,” said the disciple bitterly. “If then 1-am a thief, and a wise one, as thou wouid'st have it, why should I terminate my lucrative employment for a paltry pittance? He must needs be a witless steward who would murder his Master, lose his reputation and earn thc scorn- and hatred of his tribe and nation, yea, of al the world in its remote ages, for the price of a week's gl!ering.' To this neither responded. “‘Believest thou rot that the Master loved and trusted me?” Again there was no reply. “That as the Son of God he knew all things, you neither can or would deny,” I went. on. “Did he not ever treat me like the others, saving, perhaps, John, who was his favorite? When thou, 8imon, asked him what we who had for- zaken all and followed him should re- celve ir return, Gid he not - answer: ‘When the Son of Man shall sit in the throne of his glory, ye shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel’? And did he not on the night when we last met together repeat this promise? Was I not one of the twelve, and was not one of the thrones promised to me? Would the Son of God have washed the feet of a thief and a liar who, unrepentant, was then planning, for his own selfish ends, to betray him into the hards of his enemies? Would he have given his body to eat and his blood to drink unto one whom he knew to be a har, thief and traitor?” 1 had grown heated in my defense and sguke with an earnestness and emphasis that evidently produced a decided effect upcn my two questioners, who ex- changed troubled, meaning glances. “Did not the Lord chocse me out of many professed believers to become one of the twelve?’ I went on excitedly. “Did he not select me to act as bearer of the common purse, and was 1 not thereby trusted above all others? Read- ing the hearts of all men as an open scroll, is it conceivable that he would have trusted money designed for the re- lief of the poor to a thlef—have deliber- ately placed temptation before a weak and sinful man? Would he, think ye, have sent forth an hypocrite to proclaim his gospel, have endowed a thief and prospective traltor with power to heal the sick, cast out devils and do many wonderful wnrk‘ of mercy?” I had wrought myself now well-nigh into a frenzy. Waiting a moment, and receiving no reply, I condensed my argu- ment into a single bold, almost implous sentence, cryving aloud: “If Judas of Kerloth, the apostle, be a thief and traitor, then is Jesus of Naz- areth, the Master, not the Son of God!" ““We have misjudged thee, Judas,” sald Peter, while John half nodded assent. *“The Master couid not have loved and trusted an unworthy man, and love and trust thee he surely did. Thou did'st yield at the last to sore temptation.” “Not unless the promptings of love and duty can be termed temptations. My every step was carefully considered and taken as deliberately as though my life had been In the balance.” ‘‘He seeketh to justify his treachery!" cried Peter, raising his hands as though overwheimed with my audacity. “Heard'st thou ever aught like that, Jonn? 'Tis well he waited until the Mas- ter was no longer living to reproach replied the disciple ‘¥fhou art wise as a ser- him. ‘Werthy as I had fancled, myself to oc- cupy a throne beside that of the Lord this taunting remark grcatly enraged me. Unmindful of the Masier's gentle procepts I yielded to a desire for re- venge, and answered quickly: 1 “Did he reproach me while living? Was it when he washed my feet that I might have a part in him? Was it rather when he gave me his body to eat and his blood to drink, as a token of my admission to' full fellowship into the New Covenant? Thou should’st know, Peter, for surel: thou felt'st the weight of hl.l"l'efl!‘fll-cg when he sald unto thee: ‘Get thee be- hind me, Satan; thou art an offense unto me'; and also when he declared that naught save his prayers could save thee from being sifted as wheat by that same evil spirit to whom he likened thee. Talk of the Master's reproaches ill becometh thee, Simon Barjona.” : The blush that suffused the disciple’s olive cheeks robbed me of my victory and caused me to regret my cutting words be- fore they had fairly left my mouth. But he made no reply, and I continued: ““Let me turn questioner for a moment: Did’st thou not for a long time—nay, un- til the very last—believe that he had come, as the Messiah expected by the Jews, to re-establish the throne of Da- vid and rule as a temporal king?"’ *‘We did,” responded Peter, ever frank and honest in his discourse, when he saw that John made no reply; ‘“and so did all the twelve, saving, Ferhap thyself. 1 now see mine own biindnes: , for the Lora said many things that should have opened mine eyes to the truth.” ‘“He who could raise the dead surely possessed the power to combat and de- fe¢at living men. Besides, the people were with him to such an extent that Annas ana Caiaphas dared not openly proceed against him, but’ meditated his seecrct murder. Had he done in the temple and in the streets of Jerusalem the mighiy works he performed in Galilee and at Bethany, think you that he would have ‘been condemned and put to death?” *'Pis true,” replied Peter. ‘Had he exercised his power he might indeed have become King of the Jews.” ‘“Was not the possibility of this in the minds of all on the night the Passover; else when the Lord di clared, ‘One of you shall betray me, ‘would not there have been wild conster- nation and indignant protests, such, Pe- ter, as thou gavest utteran e to when he sald that thou should'st that night deny him? Instead, did not all answer, al- most in & chorus, ‘Lord, is it 1?' ‘Lord, is it I?” 1f by the word betray a culpable, wicked act had been mcani by the Mas: ter ‘and so understood by his hearers, would not you two, who knew that { was the one designated, have protested when, afterward, he washed my fe t; have pr lgfledq indeed If he had attcmptea such a thing? “Ahewer me, Simon,” T continued, “ana trat with thy usual frankness, one ques tion: 1f, in the garden, instead of bdd.nj thee sheathe Wy sword, the Lord had prayed unto his wather, and two-ana-s.v- enty thousand bright angels, with Gabriet at their head, bad suddenly appearcd, would’st have been astonishea?"” “Upon my word, no,” cried Peter, eyes sparkiing at the suggestion. ““Had that occurred, anu a.l the peopie flocked to his standard, would'st now brard me as a traitor, wWho so 4 tne Bido- ter for thirty. pleces of silver?” “I would have hailed thee as greatest and best of mcn,” answered the aposile : his impctuous honcsty. “Instcad of a re, the Master's mission would have proven a glorious success: He wouid have frced and redeemed Israel, would have r.formed and ruled the worid; would have —-but 'twas not so, and he went to tae cross.” ‘“Then I am condemned, not for the plan, but for its results; am to be ac- counted thé most wicked and depraved his * of men because the Lord saw fit to act in & mannir you neither expecied nor de- sired? In ‘your philosophy, success is righteousness, failure crime. When the Master sald unto me, ‘What, thou doest Go quickly,’ and I separated myseif from the company, why did not you twain, who knew that I was the one designated to boint him out to the officers, interpose, Temonstrate, protest, and do all in your Power to hold me back from the com- mission of the act, even to the employ- ment of force? I will answer for you; correct me if I speak amiss. ‘’Twas neither fear nor modesty that caused you to hold your peace. The Lord commanded us to counsel and reprove each other, and few among the tweive have fafled to act upon a suggesilon so heartlly in accord with human nature, More than once before had both of you reproved and censured me. Why not then? Because, though often warned that the Master's carthly course drew near au end, you realized, belicved it not; because you saw in my prospective action —as evidenced by your resistance and subsequent flight—a situation that would bring matters to a eérisis, and well-nigh compel the Lord to assert the majesty of his powers; because my plan looked to- ward the establishment of his claims to the Messiahship, which, to:your minds, meant an earthly as well as a heavenly ingdom, Now that mine eyecs are opened 1 see, Jike you twain, how blind and foolish I was; how, thinking that 1 walked I but Frnned and stumbled, but, thanks to the hund of an overruling providence, in the right direction.” ""Would’st have us belleve that the Master sanctioned thy act of betrayal?’ cried John; “that he really designed and wished to give up his life?’ ‘“That and naught iess, reply. “*Claim’st thou that the Lord approved thy act by word express?" “I said not so. e krew my pla my very thoughts; knew, also, that I ac- was my quick cepted his sjence as approval. As you both know, he never wasted speech—in- structed by sllence as well as by spoken words. Heard'st ever a more moving les- son fall from his lips than the one he Wwrote on the dusty tiles of Solomon's 'orch—words that none save himself and .5 Father read, and which shuffling feet almost insunzl{ effaced? Often enough hnfi: he counseled and reproved you, me, all of his chosen disciples. He saw thy danger, 8imon, and warned thee of Sa- tan'se presence and power. Why, then, except that he approved, did he fail to do the same by me, whose plan con- cerned not aione m{self and him, but the eternal fare of ail mankind? 'What thou doest, do quickly!’ nowing what was In my heart and mind, how much fell that short of an express command? paused and lookea at John, for I was determined that my defense should lack no element of force within my power to impart to it. As the disciple spoke no word I continued: “I took it as an indorsement, a com- mand, and with a heart swelling with vanity at what I thought mine own glori- fication over all of you, in belng made his agent to compass such wonderful ends, 1 floated rather than walked from the spot.” ‘‘Hast reached the ground? Hast come to _comprehend thy vanity since then, I take it?” remarked John with a curling D. “Nay, my worldly vanity departed long before I arrived at the high priest's pal- ace, for I remembered that the Master's kingdom, wherein 1 hoped to obtain a place, was not.of this world and that the greatest here are to become the least there. I have sald that my vanity de- parted, yet is not that strictly true, for it revived within me somewhat when we reached the garden, although in the mean- time, it had been revealed unto me that in the days to come my name s to be a byword and a reproach, a synonym for treachery and fraud. Thy look of in- credulity, Peter, and thy shrusging shoulders, John, serve but to make my hard fate appear more certain.”” “Thou wilt say next that vanity led thee to betray thy Lord and Master with a kiss, is the “That will I, John for such truth. That act was surely no necessary gart of the services which I rendered, as see you still believe, for a handful of silver. I was but required to guide the g;rty to the spot where the Lord might found and point him out to the offi- cers. Had I done this, as I might without showing myself within the garden, the identity of the gulde might have re- mained unknown. If for selfish gain I gave the Master up to his enemies, as T see you still would have it, I must be a monstrous wretch, a cruel, vindictive devil, to advertise and glory in mine in- iquity, to so personally insult the man who had chosen me as his immediate frierd and disciple. made me an apostle of his faith and doctrine, given me power to work miracles, honored me with a gosmcn of trust and bestowed upon me is heavenly love. Is human nature so de- praved? Would the veriest scoundrel and murderer on the earth have needless'y done that whereof you accuse me? No, there remaineth no middle ground: either worldly vanity or the hypocrisy and ma- lice of a flend who gloried in his own sin_and shame led me to ident' Lord with the kiss of loye and dut “Thou say’st wel," cried Peter quickly, 51-03'7: “We have surely wronged. him, o Twas vanity. or, rather. the revelt of my heart agalrm the hard fate that the future holds in store for my name and memory, that led me to present my- self openly in the garden—that and Iove combined "that induced me tc ident- fy the Master with a Kiss. I then expect- ed to see him bring the proud Sanhedrim to his feet, not by the ald of armed an- gels or a wonderful miracle, but through the power of God, In him, to reach their hearts. * My notion of his triumph was a grander one than yours, brethren. Be- Heving this, and forgetting for the mo- ment my cruel fate to be ,orever misun- derst and misrepresented, I pressed forward and kissed the Lord that I might not 1 my just share of credit in the ing triumph of his cause. “‘But how, then, shall the Scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be? Spake not_the Master thus in the garden, and ‘was he noHulded by these words until the end? e accused is not bound to conviet himself; yet before the Sanhe- drim he so answered one question as to render his condemnation certain. He arswered not Herod, and did not explain to Pontius Pilate, who was anxious to release him, that he was not guilty of treason or sedition against the empire. If, then, he bowed to the divine will of God, as announced by his holy prophets, why should I turn aside from my task, which was clearly foretold? “This, then, is my brief defense: The Master called, ordained, empowered, trusted and loved me as he would not have done a thief and traitor. After my designation by the sop—in itself a mark of hospitality and love—he treated me in no manner differently than he did his other immecdiate circipies, who were surely faithful unto the end. Well know- ing my design, he made no effort Lo re- strain me from carrying It into effect, even bidding me to do my work quickly; neither did he, in any manner strive to avold arrest and subsequent conviction, as decreed In the beginning. My task, foretold by God's holy prophets, formed a necessary part of the inscrutable, divin plan for the enlightenment and redemp- tion of mankind, and the circumstance that I acted understandirgly does not make me a traitor and a murderer.” ““Thou speakest as foolishly as earnest- ly,” commented John, when I had fin- ished, “and tby last words rob thy pre- vious argument of all force. Thou speak- est of the Master’s plan, which thy treachery helped to ruin, as though it had reached a happy fruition, been crowned with giorious victory instead of igio- minious defeat end shameful death. Thy boasted reasons go too far, since in ex- cusing thy course they overlook the sad ure of the long-promised Messiah.” Nor would you twain if you remem- bered and interpreted the words of the Master as. I do. The gloricus temple that we loved and of whose future glory ‘we entertained such extravagant hopes Lath been thrown to the ground, lieth low in the dust. yet will it be builded 2gain more glorious than before its down- fall, Our beloved Master is dead, yet doth he live, and on the third day will he come forth from the grave. Then will the reasons I have given you seem less foolish; then will the Lord’s willingness to die be cxplained; then will his triumph over death and the grave make clear the divire plan for the redemption of the world.” The drooping heads of the apostles were raised as I spoke, the tears ceased to flow from their eyes and they stepped a little closer to me. “Could I belfeve that, T would forgive part in his death,” cried John. “But, alas! with him departed divinity from the world. Who remaineth among us to re- call him to life?” “God!" I answered quickly. the Master all his power from him? Said he not that he would rise again? You trusted him while living; why lose con- fidence in his word now that he is dead? ‘The morrow will see the Lord arise and come again unto ua.” : ‘"Tis a g'orlocus prospect,” said Peter, “vet so crushing hath heen the blow that 1 cannot belleve it possible. PBut I will pray the Father that thy words may prove true.” “Prayer may bless and strengthen the :ar. of him who offers it,” I answered, “but it can scarcely alter the course of appointed events. Thy prayers will give thee faith and prepare thine eyes for the glorious sight that surely awaits them. ‘When T promised Annas 1 saw not the results of my undertaking, yet was it nove the less directed by God. If the Master rise not, my part in_the great transaction will, at the least, be account- ed a stupid blunder and. scemi@ely, jus- tify tke harsh judgment of erations to come. RBut If he rise—and he will, as surely_as the sun rises on the morrow— then will my course be justified in the eves of all who come to know the facts and who bel'eve in the wisdom and im- 12 “Had not - mutability of the providences and decrees of the Mcst High. Seldom had my heart been so heavy. 1 had vsed my best endeavors to convince two men, informed as to the facts, of mine innocence and had signally failed. I realized In that moment, as never be- fore, that the dark words of the Presence were all too true. If I cannot convince - two of my brethren; who in the future will hear my story with charity without feelings of reproach and disgust? I real- ized something of the ‘sad dejection that had prevented Peter from belleving in the Lord's resurre- “~n, for not even the flad bope of a.u.i seelng his face and earing his kindly, sympathetic voice could dispel the awful ‘gloom, the fearful weight ‘of .woe that had descended upon me. X. The light of morning had not dawned upon my wakeful eyes when I kissed my sleeping wife and child, seized the sacred raiment, my inseparabie companion now, and hurried into the deserted streets. It was the third day from the Lord's cruel crucifixion, the day upon which he had romised to arise, and, though I ran swift- y, my eager feef couid scarce keep time with the wild throbbing of my anxious, yearning heart. As 1 answered the challenge of the war- der at the gate the first hues of approach- ing morn appeared in the eastern sky, behind the silent citys 1 was leaving be- hind me, Great as was my haste, I paused and looked batk at the shafts of mingled red and ay. Not since that far-off time when God changed darkness into light and appointed the sun to rule the day hath that bright orb risen upon a scenc s0 big with destinies of weal or woe for the-slumbering people of Jeru- salem, of the whole wide world. As I saw the lines dart upward and expand my faith and courage were quickened somewhat. He that had veilec his face at sight of awful Golgotha would not, thought, dare to rise upon a day destined gm;vltne s the first failure of the Son of The Master's work in the earth is com- rleted. his it of love and warn- ing said, his last divine doctrine ex- pounded. The path to heaven hath been rendered- clear to all who wish to find it, yet to preserve it, open and distinct, throughout the ages to come, he must again present himself to men. Overwhelmed with grief, consternation, shame almost, at the seeming failure of the Lord's great plan, his disciples are scattered abroad, and naught save his reassuring presence will ever call them together to continue the work he hath entrusted to their hands. As 1 drew near the piece of cultivated ground wherein is situated the Lord's sepulcher I seemed to hear the words that God addressed to Moses at the burn- ing bush. and, stooping down, removed my sandals. Surely there was not holler ground outside of heaven. 1 had thou{ht that I might find at the tomb some of the devoted women of Gali- lee, loving and full of faith as I knew them to be; but the place was deserted. Before the low entrance-to the sepulcher, which had been cut in_the roces hill- side, a large stone had been rolled. My action may seem almost a sacrilege to some, but it was taken In response to what I believed to be a call of duty. The stone had evidently been brought from ‘some distance, and two wooden levers, by the aid of which the work had been accomplished, lay upon the ground. 82izing one of these and exercising my best skill and utmost strength I slowly moved the huge stone and finally roiled it - entirely away from the opening. It was broad day now and objects clearly discernible within the tomb, ‘which I feverently, tremblingly, entered. The body Qf the Lord lay upon the stone floor. It Was but loos=ly wrapped In linen, the haste with which !t had been given burial having precluded all efforts at embalmfng. that being postponed uniil after the Sabbath. N Like mcst men of my nation the pres- ence of death hath ever Inspired within me feelings of awe and dread. As I gazed upon the white, figure, whose out- lines grew momently’ more distinct to my visien. 1 marveled that these feel- ings did not pnssess me, and, stranger still, T even marveled &t the strange equanimity that permitted me to marvel. To me the beloved Master was not dead— had never dled. % Unrolling the bundle that T carried in my hand, and which hath been unto me the most treasured. most comforting of all the beunties with which God hath endowed me, I arranged the various ar- ticles. from tunic to sandals. In orderly succession upon the stone floor. en, having uttered a brief prayer, I with- drew from the sacred chamber to the outer_air. As I write T experience feelings of such huoyant hope, such confident expectation, that' I cannot doubt but they are sug- gested to my soul from sources without rather than within mine cwn conseious- ness. So I felt. though to a ess marked degree, almost immediately before 1 first saw the Lord. Then as now nature :ceme_,d all. |nl(1nzt :rnh—- AR ot G Christ is risen! Now is there an end to -gpec- ulation: now hat] the Mas- ter triumphed over force, and fraud, and cruelty, and death! Now s the om of Heaven surely and eternally be- s established! Now hath Christ Jesus come .tit;; lkl!wuqn undflt:s l.uel! Ral yes from seroll denlv saw the Lord. and anunm’m from my hand. Before the sepulcher, the first rays of the sunlight forming a nt aureole above his head, which was in prayer, stood the risen Lord, mm deemer of mankind. His devotions he turned and looked earnestly, wistfully, toward the temple, whence floated sounds from the trumpet of the wateh- man who had seen the sunlight strike upon Abraham’'s oak at Hebron. sww ing to my feet, I advanced toward him. “All hail, Master!” I cried, as he greet- ed me with a sad, though loving e, “Peace be with thee.” His voice was lower, sweeter, more touching than it was wont to be, but it was Still the same that had thrilled me on the shore of Lake Galilee. Unable to ad- vance further, [ stopped and stood as one transfixed. “Now is the Father indeed glorified,” said he. “For this moment have I prayed. ow is mine hour of trrumph, not over mine enemies, but over sin and death, the enemies of man.” He paused, inhaled deeply the fresh morning air, and looked about him. Un- able to speak, I could but observe him. Uressed in his usual garb, he looked not differently. from when I first saw him, save that his face was paler and more spiritual_his eyes even more luminous and prercing. ““The world will come to me, Judas,” he said at length, “and through me, to my Father. Thou shalt see its accomplish= ment, but not from the earth. This day shait thou be united unto me. Peace be with thee. 5 1 prostrated myself upon the gro and, as he turned slowly away, arose. withdrew. Unable to collect my en! tured thoughts I returned and seated my~ self beside the olive tree. ‘When I again looked toward the tomb he was no longer in sight. I had clearly been dismissed, yet couid not 1 withdraw myself from the spot. Taking up my pen, I wrote the preceding passages. Am I laboring under a delusion? Have unswerving faith, fond hope and the most extravagant expéctations, acting upon body that long fasting and sleeplessness have weakened and reduced to an unnat=- ural condition, conspired to play me falge, to make me hear and see only those things that they, themselves, have sug- gested to my over-wrought, almost um= controllable imagination? If the body of the Lord hath not been again inspired with that life imparted to it In the beginning of the Holy Spirit, was the vision I saw, and the tender words o love and promise I heard, the creation o wmy distorted faney, or came they without mine own consciousness at the divine command of my beloved Master? Thls.doub£ I mu.sz res‘oive.. . . . Christ Jesus hath indeed arisen! Mine eyes were not self-decelved; neither saw they only as a result of his divine will. The same human body that was buffeted, scourged, spit upon and crucified unto death hath come from the grave. Trembling with mingled hope, fear awe, 1 arose and entered the tomb. body of the Lord was gone, and with it had disappeared the raiment worn by the prophet-proclaimed dice of Pollio, and which mine own faith had preserved for the uses of this awful, yet glorious hour. Except for the carefully folded linem winding sheets and a white napkii which lay apart, the tomb was empty. My last doubt dispelled and my so-called betrayal fully justified by the marvelous conclusion of the terrible tragedy, I re- turned to the stone beside the olive tree. Surely the knowledge of the resurrection is not to be confthed to me, who am this day to be with the Master in Paradise! Shortly I heard footsteps and a woman passed so near me that by reaching out my hand I might have touched her. As she stopped in apparent amazement be- fore the open tomb, ‘she raised her veil and recognized in her the Master's devoted follower, Mary Magda- lene. After a momentary hesitation she entered the sepulcher, from which she soon emerged, weeping and Suddenly she spoke, at the same ‘time ex- tending her hands in a supplicating man- ner: “Sir, if thou hast borne him henece, tell me where thou hast lald him, that I may take him away. The person addressed was none other than the risen Lord, whose resurrection she had evidently not hoped for, as do not Peter, John and the other di: She had come to weep over the dead falled to recognize the Iiving. i As the musical, loving tones of the Lord reached her ears she raised her drooping head and stood as one trans- fixed. That one word had revealed all to her loving heart. “‘Master!" With his name upon her lips, an took a quick forward step. Lord checked her advance by raising white, nail-pferced ha.d, and said: “Touch me not, for 1 am not yet as- cended to my Father; but go _to brethren and say unto them: I unto my Father and your Father, and to my God and your God.” wom- the ‘While I gazed upon llr{l almost transfigured face, the form of the Mas- ter disappeared m view. For a mo- ment she ldoked about her in a dered manner, then ran swiftly direction of the city. Not only is the Christ risen and the resurrection and life, but the Kngltlon of his ath already begun and will not cease until the whole world recognizes and re- ceives him as the Redeemer and Savior of mankind. In this work I am to have my heavy task is completed. the vantage .;-onnd of my throne in the heavenly see and rejoice in its glorious Men are to execrate and spit name and memory; but will it to sorrow, when I remember that 8o unto my divine ter? The woe bewll- m will progress. upon my use which he spoke hath become a thing ;’adpnn: peace and happiness are = and. Possessed of health, strength and et have 1 done with the affairs om ife; naught remaineth for me to do save to answer the summons of the Master. My life is about to be cut asunder, was ' the staff of the prophet; Beauty. Have I, unawares, interpreted a proph- ecy? It was after Zachariah lll‘:! broken asunder the staff to which given the name of Beauty, that he the peo letomv,emmhugrl and weighed unto him for plecfil of silver. And further the saith: “And the Lord sald unto me; ecast unto the potter; a goodly price that was prized of them. I took thirty pileces of silver, and cast them tqQ the potter in the house of the Lord.” Hath not Simon promised to purchase with the thirty pieces that were unto me, as aforetime unto -rlnhi a parcel of ground a m‘ § Can be :xhl but the fulfiliment liction? Before my staff called Life is in twaln I will arise and go the bright waters of Siloam, 3 upon that parcel of land, like As I walk onward to the that I may avoid the walls of the City, I cannot choose but wn:.'n- a of which border at the certain road. No disaster ence haunts me, as on of C‘lr‘!:ph’l‘l e Blar . but ry a sp! o ‘mos! peacs, ecstatic and soul inspiring joy hand of God hath directed for the possession and !fl-:l m ambition, the part I have played In the last and greatest of them, deat been given to anether, for knowledge and strength thus from my curse breeding task. ‘This worid, which looked so full of h?' and promise, on the : which I first wrote—the day when : —how its glories have glimrse of the joys of eternal giadly 1 resign fit. This day shall I put t the first of the many who have loved and served the Master in the earth—drink new with him In the Kingdom of Hea: made of rarer grapes than ever This day, like the tinted bub- bles that dance joyously within the basin of the great fountain at Hel And In those days Peter stood up fn said—the of the names together were about am and twenty—Men and brethren, this must needs have been fuifilled, which the cerning Judas, which was guide unto them l‘nl‘ F‘nl’:dnl 1 in: : al e e pidat, and B And 1¥ was' known unto all Say, the feld of blood.—Acts 115 to southern slope of -Hinnom, apart unto death. the k of plunging over a when I was forced to write in the me. Surely, while 1 least imagined it, Master’s triumph over his e would have faltered and turn among the vines of my -f.nbn'n a Zenal fes naw and death behind me. This in my father's vineyard at Kerioth. rainbow- midst of the disciples and took Jesus: For he was numbered with us,