Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy. Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me. And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt. And he cometh unto the disciples, and findeth them asleep, and saith unto Peter, What, could ye not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. And he went away again the second time, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done. And he came and found them asleep again: for their eyes were heavy. And he left them, and went away again, and prayed the third time, saying the same words." Luke (xxii. 43, 44) supplies us with two additional facts: "And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.'

First: Let us briefly consider the nature of this agony.-Luke says that, "being in an agony, his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground." These words cannot be satisfactorily explained except on the supposition that real blood was actually mingled with the sweat that came from the pores of Jesus' skin. And that profuse, bloody perspiration proceeded from his intense mental anguish. At this statement no one need be surprised: history supplies us with many instances of bloody sweat proceeding from mental anxiety or fear; and that, too, when the cause of that anxiety and fear was not worthy to be compared with what filled the Saviour's mind with anguish. In 1552, an officer who had charge of a fortress was treacherously seized, and threatened with instant execution, unless he surrendered the place. In view of such an ignominious death, he was seen covered with a bloody sweat over his whole body.-A young man was unjustly condemned to die at Rome: he was observed to shed bloody tears, and to discharge blood, instead of sweat, from his whole body.— Three young men, brothers, were found guilty of a certain crime; two of them had taken the lead-the third, led on by them, had assisted. The two were hanged; and, whilst they were yet sus

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pended, the third was exposed to public view in front of the scaffold. He was observed to sweat blood from his whole body. A robust man was in Paris condemned to die: when he heard the sentence passed, he was observed to be covered all over with a bloody sweat.A nun once fell into the hands of cruel soldiers when she saw herself encompassed with swords and daggers, she was so terrified and agitated that she discharged blood from every part of her body, and died, untouched, in sight of her assailants.-" A sailor was so alarmed by a storm, that he fell down, and his face sweated blood, which, during the continuance of the storm, returned like ordinary sweat, as fast as it was wiped away." (See pages 86-88 of the admirable work by Dr. Stroud, on the "Physical Cause of Christ's Death.") But enough of such cases. Let us keep them in view only in so far as they throw light upon the Saviour's agony and bloody sweat. They show most distinctly that there is such a thing as bloody sweat proceeding from mental anxiety or fear. Considering the mental anguish of Christ towards his closing hours, we need not wonder at such a phenomenon taking place in his case. The Evangelists were obviously at a loss to describe the amount of that anguish. They heap words, and phrases, and ideas together, in order, if possible, to convey to our minds something like an adequate conception of it: "He began to be sore amazed, and very heavy." Not only was he “sorrowful;" but he was "exceeding sorrowful." Not only was he exceeding sorrowful; but he was "sorrowful even unto death." load he bore was so heavy that "he fell on his face," "on the ground." He might have fallen sooner than he did, had not God, perceiving his extremity, "sent an angel from heaven to strengthen him." "Being in an agony, his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.' Every pore of his skin was like a bleeding wound: "His blood stained all his raiment." He it was whom the prophet saw coming from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah; glorious in his apparel; travelling in the greatness of his strength; speaking_in_righteousness; mighty to save." To the Saviour, the time he spent in Gethsemane, in connection with the clear views he had of the trying scenes that were speedily to follow, was almost overwhelming. President Edwards, in speaking of this, suggests some such

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idea as the following: the tragedy of the Babylonian fiery furnace, and the three pious Hebrew youths, was about to be acted over again. The furnace is prepared; the combustible materials are gathered; the fire is kindled; the flames are raging. Jesus is brought to the mouth of that furnace: he looks in here a struggle commences. His purely human nature shrinks from the dreadful endurance; but his higher feelings sustain him. Now is the crisis of the world's history, and, in particular, of human redemption. To enter the furnace is terrible to think upon; no wonder though pure humanity shrinks from it. But to decline would be to frustrate the benevolent and merciful designs of God, and to let the human race sink irretrievably into the place prepared for the devil and his angels. The thought of this the Saviour could not endure. Rather than bring about such a catastrophe, he manfully entered the furnace, and patiently bore all it could inflict. It was this that gave rise to such a struggle in his bosom, and "being in an agony, ... his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."

Secondly: Now endeavour we to trace, somewhat more particularly, the cause of this deep agony of Jesus in Gethsemane.

From his present standing point, as well as all along, our Lord had a full view, a perfect knowledge, of all that was before him. He knew full well the mockery and the scourging to which he was to be subjected in the palace of Caiaphas, and the prætorium of Pilate. He knew of the burden that he was to carry from the judgment-hall to Calvary, and that there he was ultimately to die by crucifixion. Still, I cannot persuade myself that his knowledge of that constituted any prominent part of the cause of his agony, except, indeed, in so far as it manifested the notorious wickedness of those that took a part in it: for many a martyr endured all that with the greatest composure and calmness. His knowledge of the ingratitude, the sin, the deep criminality of those around him, and of the terrible calamities that were soon to overtake the Jews, might form a part of the cause of this agony; but certainly only a very subordinate part.

Will you now turn with me to Isa. liii. 6? This was written 750 years before the time of the Saviour's agony. We take the words as a prediction of the events of that occasion, viewed in one particular aspect: "The Lord hath laid

on him the iniquity of us all." Margin: "The Lord hath made the iniquities of us all to meet on him." More literally still the Lord hath caused to rush upon him the iniquities of us all. Our sins are here represented as beasts of prey: Jesus is their victim. From the commencement of his public ministry, but more especially from his agony in Gethsemane, to his expiring on the cross, these were gathering in from various quarters, to rush upon him, to tear his body, and to suck his life's blood. From this terrible array, by which the Saviour was assailed on this occasion, and which caused his bloody agony, we can only particularize

three:

First and foremost amongst the assailants stands the great originator of the human apostasy. Scarce had Jesus entered on his work, when he was accosted by this arch fiend. You are familiar with the temptation he threw in the Saviour's way, and how signally he failed in it. After giving a narrative of this temptation, Luke says, "He departed from him for a season;" significantly intimating that he meant to return again, at some future period, to carry on his foul work. A little before Jesus entered into Gethsemane, he said, "The prince of this world cometh;" and not very many minutes after his bloody agony was over, he said, "This is your hour and the power of darkness." It is scarcely possible to explain these statements except on the supposition that Satan was at that time busily at work, and renewing, with redoubled energy, his fiery trials. He would aggravate, as far as he could, the bitterness of the cup of which the Saviour had to drink; and depreciate, as far as he could, the value of the final result. Then the contest predicted in Eden was about to be decided; in which the heel of the seed of the woman was to be attacked and stung; but in which, ultimately, the head of the old serpent was to be crushed. At that moment the enemy of God and Iman would feel like one about to be deprived of his prey; and aroused himself and his coadjutors to make a desperate effort in the end. It was in vain. Jesus conquered; and conquered by means of his DEATH. Still, however, the machinations of Satan constituted no small part of the cause of the Saviour's agony in Gethsemane.

Further the Lord at this time, no doubt, had a clear conception of the evil of sin, and its tremendous desert. He realized most fully the position that he

himself occupied that he stood as the substitute of guilty man; that he was to die in his stead, and to bear the terrible curse that was his due. The bolt of justice, that would have laid man for ever prostrate, was about to be hurled at him. The words, "6 Awake, O sword, against my shepherd, and against the man that is my fellow; smite the shepherd," -which he understood in all their depth of meaning,-were about to be uttered. The dreadful deed was about to be done. This sword was about to take effect. In view of this, the spotless humanity of the Saviour shrunk; and no doubt it, too, entered as an important element into the cause of his bloody sweat.

We take notice of but one other element in connection with the cause of the Saviour's agony; but we believe it to have been the chief. I refer to the sense of God's protection, friendship, and communion being partially withdrawn from him. That this was the case at an early hour on the following day is clear from his own statement: " My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" and I am sure that we are warranted in drawing any nice distinction between the two occasions. What took place afterwards may be viewed as having taken place, so far at any rate, also in the garden. Now, even to a saint, who has experienced what it is to hold fellowship with God, there is nothing more trying than the withdrawment of the light of his countenance. See how David felt under such circumstances: Psa. lxxxviii. 14-16, "Lord, why castest thou off my soul? Why hidest thou thy face from me? I am afflicted and ready to die from my youth up: while I suffer thy terrors I am distracted. Thy fierce wrath goeth over me; thy terrors have cut me off." When a saved sinner feels thus on God's forsaking him, O how unspeakably more must the immaculate Jesus have done so ! God had forsaken him; not, of course, on account of any desertion on his part, but because he stood there as the substitute of guilty man, and was bearing the curse in his stead; so that thus he might express his disapproval of man's course, and the estimate in which sin was held by him. In the world of spirits, the withdrawment of God's presence from a soul is enough to constitute a hell. This forms no small part of the punishment that awaits the finally impenitent. This, or the looking forward to this, and that only partially, and but for a moment, threw Jesus into an agony,

and caused him to sweat great drops of blood.

Thirdly: In the close, look we now at this subject in a somewhat more practical way. When the anticipation of the endurance of sin's punishment threw Jesus into such an agony, how may the heart of every impenitent man meditate terror! Depend upon it, his estimate of its amount and bitterness was not overdrawn. And though we are well aware that the amount of the Saviour's sufferings cannot be reckoned up by us, as certainly do we know that some ingredients will be put into the cup which the finally impenitent must drink, which formed no part of the cup of which Jesus drank to its dregs. And these will be intolerably bitter. In his case there was, there could be, no remorse. But in the case of every finally impenitent sinner there will. There will be self-condemnation, from a consciousness of personal guilt; and there will be self-accusation, from the recollection of trifling with and setting at nought proffered mercy. In his case the element of eternity did not enter into his sufferings: they were unspeakably severe, but of short duration. To the sufferings of the finally impenitent no end will come. And in his sufferings the ingredient of despair had no existence. He was not at once relieved; but he was relieved. The home of the finally impenitent will be one into which not one ray of hope will ever enter! Oh! fellow-traveller to eternity, think of this in time, whilst as yet the calamity may be averted.

And now, pause and consider the relation in which Jesus stood in Gethsemane and on the cross. What brought him there? Sin. Whose substitute stood he there? Man's. What effected he there? Atonement. How did God regard that atonement? He was satisfied with it: "The Lord is well pleased for his righteousness' sake." Acquaint now, therefore, thyself with him, and be at peace." Y. E.

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MERCY RATHER THAN SACRIFICE. "Go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy and not sacrifice." MATT. ix. 13. LET us endeavour to ascertain the meaning of this Scripture. The latter part of it is a quotation from Hosea (vi. 6), where it runs thus: "I desired mercy and not sacrifice, and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings." The people of Israel in Hosea's time were extremely wicked; yet they continued to attend to

religious ordinances, of which the offering of sacrifices formed a principal part, thinking that such external services would compensate for their want of moral virtue. The prophet tells them that God preferred mercy, or compassion, to all ceremonial observances: "I will have mercy and not sacrifice." When the scribes and Pharisees murmured against our Lord for associating with publicans and sinners, whose society they regarded as polluting, he referred them to this passage, requesting them to consider its meaning: "Go ye and get the meaning of that Scripture, I will have mercy and not sacrifice." As if he had said, If you understood that portion of Scripture, and perceived that it inculcates the truth, that God prefers benevolence to all ceremonial institutions, you would not blame me for associating with publicans and sinners, even though their company were ceremonially unclean, that I might do good to their souls.

The words are again quoted in Matt. xii. 7, in our Lord's vindication of his disciples against the attack made on them by the Pharisees, for plucking up ears of corn on the sabbath day to satisfy their hunger. The meaning, then, of the passage is justly obvious. We are not to understand it as teaching, that God did not desire that sacrifices should be offered to him. The negative form of expression is often employed to convey a comparative idea. One example shall suffice: "Labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for," &c. Here, under a negative expression, as every one sees, a comparative idea is conveyed, Labour not so much, &c.: so in the words we are illustrating, "I prefer mercy to sacrifice." God did originally institute sacrifices, and commanded that they should be offered by his worshippers. To refuse to offer them would have been to spurn his authority. To these facts the words of Hosea are in no way opposed.

Now generalise the principle which the words involve. It is simply this: God prefers moral to ceremonial, or positive precepts; moral precepts are superior to those that are merely ceremonial.

Moral precepts are those which are binding on us in the nature of things, or in consequence of the relations we sustain to God and our fellow-creatures. Ceremonial, or positive precepts, are those which are not naturally binding upon us, or not binding upon us previous to the command of God, which alone makes

them obligatory. To illustrate this:It was the duty of Adam, in the nature of things, and previous to all command, to love God with all his heart. This is a moral duty; and the precept which enjoins it a moral precept. But had Adam received no injunction prohibiting the eating of the tree of knowledge, it would have been no part of his duty to refrain from eating it. The precept, then, which forbade him to eat it, made it his duty to refrain. Hence it was a positive precept.

To come nearer home. See the precepts of the Decalogue are moral precepts, while the precepts which enjoin baptism and the Lord's supper are positive. The former are naturally binding, the latter are not. In this the superiority of moral to positive precepts is obvious.

It is remarkable that mankind in all ages have shown a powerful tendency to place the whole of religion in the observance of positive precepts-in the discharge of ceremonial duties. This was the case with the Jews of old, both in the times of the Old Testament prophets and in the days of our Lord. They were jealously alive to the slightest infraction of the most trifling ceremonial institute, while utterly reckless of the violation of the most important moral duty. They "paid tithe of mint, anise, and cummin,' while neglecting the "weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and the love of God." For this they were "hewed" by the prophets, and fearfully reproved by our Lord: "They strained at a gnat, and swallowed a camel."

The same tendency very soon manifested itself under the Christian dispensation; of which tendency the popery of the present day is the full development. Popery is a pile of externalism-a huge aggregate of forms and ceremonies; under the incumbent pressure of which spiritual religion is hidden, and its life extinguished. Sacrifice in this system has had always the precedence of mercy. The rite is exalted above the moral duty.

The same characteristic tendency of human nature is evinced by unconverted Protestants. With them attending church, having been baptized, going to communion, and the sacrament at the hour of death as a passport to eternity, are the most important things. Awful delusion!-destructive deception of the devil!-woeful refuge of lies!

Puseyism is a development of the same tendency-a resuscitation of ritualism, to supply men with a religion which

will enable them to be pious without much attention to the heart; to secure for them an easy path to heaven, and allow them to be religious without God. And this is, in fact, the secret of the same tendency, which has displayed itself, in one form or another, in every age of the world. To have a religion is the craving of human nature; to do without a religion it cannot. But the religion of God, which begins at the heart, which regulates the whole moral conduct, which recognises God as the beginning, and middle, and end, is not the religion it relishes for the carnal disposition is enmity against God. A religion of rites and ceremonies, and of even bodily austerities, in which it can move mechanically without one pulsation of the heart towards God, this is the religion for fallen humanity and hence such a religion, which popery is in perfection, has been always popular among men; let it involve ever so numerous and severe penances, it is an easy religion, and grateful to the carnal heart.

In opposition to this characteristic tendency of human nature, the Scriptures of truth lay the whole stress of religion on the right state of the heart towards God, and the faithful discharge of moral duties: "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbour as thyself," these are the two great commandments on which hang all the law and the prophets; and which are of greater significance than "all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices," Mark xii. 29-36. "Hath the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams,' 1 Sam. xv. 22. All moral duties are superior to sacrifice; or, in other words, the ritual of religion must always be subordinated to those great moral duties which necessarily spring out of the relations we sustain to God and the intelligent portion of the universe.

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Let none deceive themselves; they need never strive to put off God with outward services, however pompous costly; they need never imagine that he will accept the ritual for the moral, or sacrifice for mercy. His denunciations of such as attempt so to impose on him are fearful: Hypocrites! generation of vipers! how can ye escape the damnation of hell! He hates their assemblies; he will not smell at their burnt offerings, their sacrifices are an abomination in his

sight; he will treat them with utter contempt. (See Ps. 1. 8—22, Isai. i. 10—20, Amos. v. 21-27, Matt. xxiii. 23-28.)

But while all this is true, and most important to be borne in mind, we must yet avoid the other extreme. The ritual, or ceremonial part of religion, must not be neglected. Whatever God has enjoined must be reverently observed. The spiritualism which would despise the outward because of the greater importance of the inward, or reject the ceremonial because of the vast superiority of the moral, is the spiritualism of human pride and not of Scripture piety. With regard to ritual and moral precepts, this is the law of the Saviour's kingdom: "These ye ought to have done, and not to leave the others undone," Matt. xxiii. 23.

"Go ye and learn what that meaneth." This teaches us-1. The duty of studying the word of God: 2. The necessity of imbibing the spirit of what we read; 3. The criminality of those who neglect to study the word of God, or who, while professing to study it, fail to have their minds imbued with its sacred truths. Londonderry. I. JENNINGS.

A VOICE FOR THE PRAYER-MEETING. THE prayer-meeting has, I think, not improperly been called the Christian's inquiry-meeting, as it is the place where believers go collectively to inquire of God, of those things which concern his kingdom and glory. Those we generally denominate anxious inquirers, are those who are really desirous of knowing how they may obtain the salvation of their souls; and Christian inquirers are those, who having consecrated their souls and bodies to the service and glory of their Redeemer, anxiously inquire in what way they can best diffuse the savour of his precious Name whilst they dwell upon this earth. If this idea be in the main correct, what shall we say to those who seldom or never make their appearance in this hallowed place, unitedly to seek those qualifications, and implore that grace, which each and all need to fit us for his service. The results of the day of Pentecost show the importance of, and blessedness of being at, a prayer-meeting. We need not that miraculous power which fell on the apostles, but we still need that Spirit which fell on the people. But the first and greatest inducement for believers thus to unite together, is the promise of our Divine Redeemer, "Where two or three are gathered together in