illuminated by sanctity, love, and patience.  Now, however, the sad reality burst upon her.  First in the procession appeared the priests, those most bitter enemies of her Divine Son.  They were decked in flowing robes; but at, terrible to say, instead of appearing resplendent in their character of priests of the Most High, they were transformed into priests of Satan, for no one could look upon their wicked countenances without beholding there, portrayed in vivid colours, the evil passions with which their souls were filled—­deceit, infernal cunning, and a raging anxiety to carry out that most tremendous of crimes, the death of their Lord and Saviour, the only Son of God.  Next followed the false witnesses, his perfidious accusers, surrounded by the vociferating populace; and last of all—­himself—­her Son—­Jesus, the Son of God, the Son of Man, loaded with chains, scarcely able to support himself, but pitilessly dragged on by his infernal enemies, receiving blows from some, buffets from others, and from the whole assembled rabble curses, abuse, and the most scurrilous language.  He would have been perfectly unrecognisable even to her maternal eyes, stripped as he was of all save a torn remnant of his garment, had she not instantly marked the contrast between his behaviour and that of his vile tormentors.  He alone in the midst of persecution and suffering looked calm and resigned, and far from returning blow for blow, never raised his hands but in acts of supplication to his Eternal Father for the pardon of his enemies.  As he approached, she was unable to restrain herself any longer, but exclaimed in thrilling accents:  ’Alas! is that my Son?  Ah, yes!  I see that it is my beloved Son.  O, Jesus, my Jesus!’ When the procession was almost opposite, Jesus looked upon her with an expression of the greatest love and compassion; this look was too much for the heartbroken mother:  she became for the moment totally unconscious, and John and Magdalen endeavoured to carry her home, but she quickly roused herself, and accompanied the beloved disciple to Pilate’s house.

The inhabitants of the town of Ophel were all gathered together in an open space to meet Jesus, but far from administering comfort, they added a fresh ingredient to his cup of sorrow; they inflicted upon him that sharp pang which must ever be felt by those who see their friends abandon them in the hour of adversity.  Jesus had done much for the inhabitants of Ophel, but no sooner did they see him reduced to such a state of misery and degradation, than their faith was shaken; they could no longer believe him to be a king, a prophet, the Messiah, and the Son of God.  The Pharisees jeered and made game of them, on account of the admiration they had formerly expressed for Jesus.  ’Look at your king now,’ they exclaimed; ’do homage to him; have you no congratulations to offer him now that he is about to be crowned , and seated on his throne?  All his boasted miracles are at an end; the High Priest has put an end to his tricks and witchcraft.’