of pity; far more does she suffer than those who have lost their dearest friend, far more than even the blessed Virgin. Who then is this lonely one in Joseph's garden, whose eyes are red with weeping, and who could scarcely be more sad were she mourning the death of father and mother, and were she left a poor and friendless orphan in this cold and cheerless world? She is Mary Magdalene, she who has been named the Peter of the female disciples, and who we feared would have died from the excess of her grief and despair at be. holding the sufferings of Him on whom her whole soul depended; but our dying Lord sustained her from his cross with invisible hands; and had it not been for this, the weary eyes of Mary had ceased to weep, for her heart had been broken.

No one felt more bitterly the truths which we alluded to at the beginning of our discourse, than Mary Magdalene. She knew, from sad experience, the condition of the lost sheep and of fallen man, for she had been sunk in the depths of misery and guilt. She had felt the power of sin, the anger and the curse of God, the terrors of hell, and the temptations of the powers of evil. She had been pre-eminent in wickedness; seven devils had had possession of her: the weight of her sins had reduced her to the brink of despair; and in her own person she had experienced the gnawing of the worm that never dies. Yet she had not been left alone in her misery, for at the moment when she would otherwise have sunk, she was sustained by the hand of love, and she found a Man who said to her in the name of God, "Thy sins are forgiven!" a

Man who in an instant released her from the fearful bondage under which she had groaned for years; who assured her that God loved her, sinner though she was; and who opened to her views of eternity which transported her heart with joy. Ever since that time, this Man had been the object that filled her soul; she had followed him whithersoever he went, and had never left him; for he was her all in this world. But, alas! what had she not suffered for this Beloved One? He had come to a fearful and terrible end;-as one forsaken both by God and man, he had died on the accursed tree; and no hand had been stretched from the clouds to save him, and no voice had been heard from above to exculpate him. From that hour Mary's heaven had been in ruins: and who can wonder! This Man had been the foundation of her peace, and the stronghold of her hope; for peace she had never known until the Sinner's Friend had assured her of it, and hope she never had until he had pledged himself for the truth of her expectations. If he were dead, then all would be dead to Mary-her peace, her joy, nay, every consolation both in time and eternity. And were he indeed to remain in the grave, then, alas! he could not be the Man from heaven; he had no right to absolve accursed sinners; and his actions could not be well pleasing to Jehovah. "If this be the case," thought Magdalene, "I am indeed miserable, for alas! he had no authority to say 'Her sins which are many are forgiven!' Then I am indeed accursed by God; then will hell with renewed rage overpower me, and my path will once more lead down to the abyss !"

Oppressed by thoughts such as these, Mary, wretched beyond measure, joined on the evening of Friday those who accompanied the beloved corpse to the tomb. Now for the last time she bathed it with her tears—but, alas! immeasurably more bitter tears than those with which she had washed his feet in the house of Simon. Yet even while she wept, her sorrow was cheered at intervals by the twilight of hope. The Jewish Sabbath meanwhile passed over, and the hours of the succeeding sleepless night were spent in grief and lamentation until the dawn of the third day, when she arose in haste, and was the first to be found in Joseph's garden. When it was yet dark, says our history, she who had hastened before the other disciples arrived at the sepulchre: but what did she behold? The stone rolled away, and the prison-house of death empty! A cold shiver ran through her limbs; but did a thought of the resurrection occur to her? Alas, no! Her first idea was, that his enemies had stolen away the dead body of her beloved Master: her thoughts were, "Now I have nothing more to do with man, and my hopes are for ever dashed to pieces!" This belief took such a firm hold of her mind, that even when the taper of hope began to glimmer, its feeble and trembling light was unable to penetrate the gloomy clouds which overshadowed her soul.

II. Bowed to the ground by thoughts such as these, Mary advanced to the sepulchre, and leaned against the rock. Was she not unutterably miserable-hurled suddenly, as she had been, out of a heaven of peace and joy, into a night whose darkness no star could

penetrate? If things really were as she supposed, what a house of misery this world would be! and how would all of us mingle our tears together! Praised be God, however, things are different-quite, quite different! Yet we cannot look without emotion on the woman weeping by the tomb; though we know at the same time that her sorrow cannot touch her heart too deeply, since it is so soon to be changed into unutterable joy. Imagine her feelings, were she to hear a voice say to her, " Mary, dost thou observe nothing? Do no blissful anticipations thrill through thy soul? Look around thee! Observe the stone rolled aside; the rocks torn asunder; the wonderful order in the tomb, and the napkin wrapped together, apart from the linen clothes! Dost thou not behold that all nature is worshipping in silent adoration, that every created thing is holding some mighty festival, and even the sun is ascending the firmament more joyfully? Mary, however, hears none of this; and voices louder and deeper must be heard ere she can be awakened out of her gloomy reverie. She now bends down and looks into the grave: has she still no misgiving? Alas! no. She returns to her former position, and sobbing more bitterly than ever, rests her head upon the rock.

It is wonderful, also, that Mary does not grieve so much because Jesus is dead, as because the body is removed from the tomb, and she believes his enemies have carried it away. Had any one asked the weeping woman to explain her feelings, she would have confessed that her sorrow had been more bearable while she believed the beloved corpse to be resting in

the tomb, although she could not explain wherefore. And can we not sympathize with this feeling? Do we not all know the unutterable woe, far worse than the first pang of separation, which we experience when the dead body of him whom we love is borne from our door, never to be viewed by us again until time shall be no longer? Or was the sorrow which troubled the heart of Mary occasioned only by the removal of the corpse, which prevented her showing her love and veneration towards it, by anointing it and strewing it with spices? O, it was far, far more than this! True, she was unconscious of entertaining a thought of the resurrection; but, though unconsciously, this thought still lurked in her heart. Many things pass through our minds which we are far from comprehending clearly; is it not then possible that there might be sounding in the secret chambers of her soul an indistinct but half-understood echo of the mysterious words which Jesus had uttered concerning the raising up of the Temple in three days; and also of the Son of Man having to pass three days and three nights in the heart of the earth, as Jonah did in the whale's belly? Love hopeth all things, although it may be unconsciously; and Mary would certainly have understood her own feelings had any one thus addressed her: "Magdalene! the dove-like eyes of thy blessed Lord are forever closed; that mouth, from which flowed to thy wounded heart the balsamic stream of heavenly peace, will never more open to address thee; those feet, so beautiful on the mountains, will never more tread this vale of tears; and that true