praise to God which sounded along the courts and porches of the temple, were no doubt heard, too, the thanks of many a grateful Hebrew for the goodness of the generous king, who had pledged his royal word to complete the noble plan of that holy pile, as suited the splendid conceptions of the founder. And this was the king whose decree had doomed that lonely and desolate prisoner in the castle, to a bloody and shameful death,—as a crowning offering at the close of the great festival; and how few among that vast throng, before whose eyes he was to yield his life, would repine at the sentence that dealt exterminating vengeance on the obstinately heretical preacher of the crucified Nazarene's faith! Well might such dark visions of threatening ruin appal a heart whose enthusiasm had caught its flame from the unholy fires of worldly ambition, or devoted its energies to the low purpose of human ascendency. And truly sad would have been the lonely thoughts of this very apostle, if this doom had found him in the spirit which first moved him to devote himself to the cause which now required the sacrifice of life. But higher hopes and feelings had inspired his devoted exertions for ten years, and higher far, the consolations which now sustained him in his friendless desolation. This very fate, he had long been accustomed to regard as the earthly meed of his labors; and he had too often been threatened with it, to be overwhelmed by its near prospect. Vain, then, were all solemn details of that awful sentence, to strike terror into his fixed soul,—vain the dark sureties of the high, steep rock, the massive, lofty walls, the iron gates, the ever-watchful Roman guards, the fetters and manacles, to control or check the
"Eternal spirit of the chainless mind!—
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art,
For there thy habitation is the heart."
Thus sublimely calm, sat Peter in his prison, waiting for death. Day after day, all day long, the joyous feast went on beneath him:—the offering, the prayer and the hymn varying the mighty course, from the earliest morning supplication to the great evening sacrifice. Up rolled the glorious symphony of the Levites' thousand horns, and the choral harmony of their chanting voices,—up rolled the clouds of precious incense to the skiey throne of Israel's God,—and with this music and fragrance, up rolled the prayers of Israel's worshiping children; but though the glorious sound and odor fell delightfully on the senses of the lonely captive, as they passed upwards by his high prison-tower, no voice
