grief and solitude, began to turn to things divine. Rigidly brought up in strict morality, devoted to their parents, they had to witness the death of their mother, through grief at the disgrace wrought in the family by the plight of Simon. A horror of sin, if such were its results, had terrified them into submission to the divine will; but to Mary alone had been vouchsafed the revelation of the possibility of an inner life of love and devotion that depended neither on necessity nor fear—that true philosophy that comes of faith, that choosing of a good part which should not be taken away from her. Who can tell when her heart first burned within her? Perhaps abuses of the Jewish law had excited in her revolt at all that was not true. Perhaps the narrow-mindedness of Martha's views, or the love of luxury in which Lazarus had indulged; or, perhaps, the favour of the Lord. Who can tell what gave to Mary the loving heart of a little child who seeks but to be with the object loved, that trustfulness which Jesus had so often upheld in contrast to the self-righteousness of the self-seeking Pharisees? Doubtless it was in great measure due to the chastening influence of the griefs that she, in common with her brother and her sister, had endured; sorrow had drawn them to the Man of Sorrows. Who can apportion the quota of humanity in the Christ, or say how far He was constrained by cords of human sympathy and bands of human love? Sure, if the best emotions of humanity did not move Him as powerfully as they move mankind—yea, far more so—this Godhead were of none avail; for the will to love, to comfort, to redeem, could only come with absolute knowledge of man's
