to him confessing their sins; they were baptized by him in the river, and rose from that water doubtless absolved, and feeling their justification. Remember, I pray you, what absolution is: forgiveness is the act of God, absolution is the act of man. Nathan conveyed absolution to David: “The Lord hath put away thy sin;" this is absolution, the voice of man echoing here on earth the voice of God in heaven-"the Son of Man hath power on earth to forgive sins." Observe, however, that this is prophetical, not priestly; it is not the ministerial act of the priest, but the prophetic power of one representing God, speaking in His name, and so conveying the feeling of God's pardon. Tell us, brethren, if a man has taken from another superstitious feeling; if he has told him that the only one thing to be dreaded is doing wrong; and if, having thereby broken the shackles of superstition, he has enabled him to stand erect in the spirit of a son, has not that man absolved his brother?

Once more, that in which the ministry would seem to be a priestly power is the apostolical succession. This doctrine, ast stated usually, is this: that by the imposition of hands, through physical contact, the power of God is conveyed and a Divine right given to the priests. A doctrine such as this rests upon a truth like most other errors. There is an apostolical succession; but it is a succession of prophets, and not of priests; it is a succession never extinct or broken; it is a race of prophets, not a race of priests, the spirit of those on whom God is breathing out the breath of life and love. This is the apostolical succession. The Son of God was Himself a prophet; the apostles were prophets, and their spirit has not died out; and so far as we imbibe their spirit, we are their successors. John the Baptist was endued with the same spirit as Elias, and therefore was his successor in a long line; and the great mind of the leader of the Reformation was the offspring of the mind of the Apostle Paul. And so far as we evince the spirit of the apostles and prophets shall we keep unbroken the line of the apostolical succession. . . .

XVII.

THE THREE CROSSES ON CALVARY.

Brighton, December 22, 1850.

"When they were come to the place which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors; one on the right hand, and the other on the left."-Luke xxiii. 33.

THERE is a twofold solemnity which belongs to the dying hour. It is the winding-up of life, and it is the commencement of eternity.

It is the winding-up of life; life then becomes intelligible. Most of us go through this life scarcely seeming what we are. One wraps himself up in coldness, another in half-hypocrisy; but when it comes to the last, the whole is wound up, and death lays a hand so violent upon the frame that the mask falls suddenly off.

Again, it is the commencement of eternity, for in a short time the body of the dying man will pass away, and his soul will be in possession of that secret which we are toiling all our lives to find. And the solemnity of the thought that he will soon be in possession of that secret communicates itself in a degree to those around him. It is this which gives importance and solemnity to the dying hour even of the meanest. Around his bed the great and powerful will come as if to read in his countenance the secrets of their own mortality. It is this which gives even to the dying hour of the suicide something of importance. The veriest trifler that ever fluttered through this awful world of God's commands for one hour at least the world's attention.

It is these two thoughts which make the dying hour so solemn ; and a threefold portion of this interest belongs to the scene of Calvary. Upon this Mount three crosses stood; generally our attention is fixed only upon one, but it becomes us to remember that there were three, and that upon each a human soul was breathed away. From each there is its own peculiar lesson to be gathered. Here, then, there is opened for us a subject for contemplation,

dividing itself into three branches: first, the dying hour of devotedness; secondly, the dying hour of impenitence and hardness; and, thirdly, the dying hour of penitence.

I. First we look at the central cross; on that cross of Christ there was that transacted which never can be exhibited in any dying hour of ours. There was exhibited the grandest expression of that greatest law of ours; that law according to which life cannot be, except through death. But it is not on this, the atonement, that we dwell now; we look upon Jesus now simply as a dying man, and the first lesson that we learn is the conquest of suffering.

He was as much bound to perform the law of God as the meanest creature upon earth. He was as much subject to the law of suffering as we are; there was a work to be done upon His own soul; and of Him in His private, and not in His public, capacity was it said that "the captain of our salvation was made perfect through suffering." This it is which throws so much force on those inspired words, "He became obedient even to the death of the cross." It was not death alone, but death through the cross. The work of the Saviour's soul would have been left imperfect if one single drop of agony had been left untasted; and this seems to be shown by His refusing the mixture of gall and myrrh offered to Him in order to dull His sufferings: for it is written that "after He had tasted thereof He would not drink." He knew the strength and blessedness of suffering, and would not meet His death without intensely feeling it; He would bear all; He would suffer all; the Father had put into His hand the cup to drink, and He had, as it were, carried that cup, though brimful of agony, to His lips, with a hand so steady that not one drop of all its suffering trickled down.

Here is a lesson for us. Part of our obedience and work here on earth is to be done in vigor and in health; part when laid aside in suffering. Much of this must be unintelligible to us here. There is not one present who will not some day exchange the vigor of life for a broken constitution and a suffering frame; no one can know what suffering is till he has known mental torture; and no one can know the extremity of corporeal suffering till, like his Master, he has counted the long hours of torture one by one, and through night after night has heard the clock strike in protracted

anguish. This is what we are called upon to endure, and then often it is that fretfulness and impatience break across our souls, and we wish that the whole of our future could be concentrated into one sharp hour. Brethren, a man's work is not done upon earth, so long as God has anything for him to suffer; the greatest of our victories is to be won in passive endurance; in humbleness, in reliance, and in trust, we are to learn to be still, and know that He is God.

In the next place, we learn from that dying hour the influence of personal holiness. The Son of Man came not to the cross to preach, but to suffer; yet in that hour two at least were added to the Church, two at least were enrolled in the number of those that shall be saved hereafter.

When God threw Christianity down upon the world to win her way through almost insuperable impediments, the weapon which He put into her hand, the only weapon, was the talent and eloquence of a life of holiness. Brethren, let the distinction be drawn between the life of holiness and the life of mere blamelessness. Blamelessness and accuracy are beautiful to look upon, but they do not save the soul. The world has enlisted into her scrvice the power of talent and eloquence, but these are not the things that lead to God; men listen to your talent and your eloquence, and recognize the power of your influence; but they know that all you say may be unreal and unfelt; and, therefore, they come merely as looking upon a picture, and admire, but nothing further. It is not this, it is the divine, mysterious power of holiness that tells upon the world.

What these two men saw upon the cross was different from what they had ever seen before. And in the one case contempt was softened into adoration, “Truly this man was the Son of God;" in the other case, hardness was changed into adoring love, "This man hath done nothing amiss." Now, what was it that produced this change? It was not the courage, for thousands had died upon the cross before. And if they wanted recklessness, they had but to turn to the other cross where was one dying bravely enough, but where was none of the marvellous meekness that was seen on the centre cross, none of those words of infinite tenderness, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do;" there was a recklessness there which enabled him to meet pain with defiance, but none of those words of meekness and trust, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit."

Brethren, it is not talent, nor power, nor gifts, that do the work of God, but it is that which lies within the power of the humblest: it is the simple, earnest life led with Christ in God.

II. We are now, secondly, to consider the lesson which comes from the dying hour of impenitence.

Round the cross of the dying thief were accumulated such means as never before met together to bring a man to God. He had felt the power of pain, that power which is often exerted in the soul to soften it. He had heard the truth preached by one recently converted, and we all know the intensity and earnestness of fresh love; preached also by a dying man, whose words are generally received with a kind of veneration, or, at least, attention. There was one beside that cross, moreover, a teacher such as no other man had ever had in his dying hour. And yet, with all these means and advantages, there was nothing but a soul steeled against the truth.

Brethren, the lesson we learn from this is the improbability of a late repentance. There are some men not looking for anything of the kind, but desperately looking forward to certain ruin hereafter, who can receive the announcement of approaching misery even with calmness. But this is not the feeling of most men towards death. The oldest among us here thinks there is yet space enough between him and death for a work still to be done; the day is to come when his present pursuits will be given up, and the things of this world exchanged for the care of his immortal soul; that which he loves now, he thinks he shall hate then, forgetting that what is pleasant now will be pleasant to the last. And this is what, more or less, we are all doing; there is not one of us who can lay his hand upon his heart and say, “I have given up all; I am living now as I should wish to die."

Now, let us endeavor to remember some of the arguments which make a future change improbable. The first argument is this, that there comes a dulness and rigidity of the intellect as life goes on; in the old man's mind channels cut themselves. - channels through which thoughts flow; the opinions of the man become fixed; rarely does a man change his opinions after forty years of age. And then add to this the feeling of insecurity which comes from trembling between life and death, the agitation which comes with the dying hour. The probability of repentance is thus re