my heart was filled full of comfort and hope, and now I could believe that my sins could be forgiven me; yea, I was now so taken with the love and mercy of God, that I remember I could not tell how to contain till I got home: I thought I could have spoken of his love, and have told of his mercy to me, even to the very crows that sat upon the ploughed lands before me, had they been capable to have understood me; wherefore, I said in my soul with much gladness, Well, would I had a pen and ink here, I would write this down before I go any farther; for surely I will not forget this forty years hence."

This passage does, indeed, exhibit Bunyan at the cross, the glory of Christ shining round about him, and the love of Christ burning within him, and that love casting out fear-causing his burden to fall off. That this morning should never be obscured by clouds, that Bunyan should continue in this joyful and extatic frame during the whole period of his remaining life, would have been contrary to all experience, and would have been a favour, if favour it can be called, which could have been enjoyed only in the way of inflicting a loss both upon the Church of God at this day, and upon himself now in glory. Forty lays such was their full number-did Bunyan walk by the clear shining of the cross, and then he began again to enter into the darkness. Forty days of respite, and this sorely tried man was called to gird bimself for more terrible conflicts than any he ever ret waged. Now we shall go down with him into the low Valley of Humiliation.

The descent is not altogether without danger, but we have accomplished it, and are arrived in safety at the bottom. The air of this place is pleasant; the meadow-land on which we are treading, how fruitful is it! and the low heights that girdle it all around, how green and flourishing do they look; "also how beautified with lilies! " "Some have wished that the next way to their Father's house was here, that they might be troubled no more with either hills or mountains to go over; but the way is the way, and there is an end." Why has Bunyan made so sweet and beautiful a retreat the scene of so awful a combat? There is a wilderness beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Amid its solitudes it would not have surprised us to trace the scathing steps of the fiend, and to meet that horrid form in whose presence all joy dies and all beauty departs; but such an appearance here, amid the verdure, and the fruitfulness, and the enamelling flowers of this pleasant valley, is indeed unexpected. Yet Bunyan has acted in this with his usual spiritual discernment, and has contrived to embody in this part of his allegory a truth of no little importance, and a lesson of the utmost pregnancy. It is when we are oppressed by gloom and despondency, caused either by a sight of sin, or by worldly misfortune, or by bodily disorder, that Satan, knowing that we are less able to resist, sometimes comes in the greatest fury to assault. A little ago we saw Bunyan standing on the shining eminence of the cross. On that blissful spot he could fear nothing-no black cloud, no frowning enemy was in sight. Satan was too wise to assault him there. But he has come down from the mount, and is now to

walk in the low valley of ordinary Christian life. In taking the steep descent he has, like his own pilgrim, caught one or two slips-lost his footing, in part at least, on the promise of God, and his hold on an offered Saviour-these failings have not escaped the notice of that adversary who continually goeth about seeking whom he may destroy, and before Bunyan has recovered the confidence which his slips have shaken, the destroyer comes upon him with the intent of utterly making an end of him.

The account of this dreary period of his life extends over a great many of the pages of the little work from which we are quoting, and communicates a most affecting interest to them. No one can read it without being convinced that it was this part of his experience which suggested to Bunyan the idea of the combat, and furnished materials for its description. The very words with which Apollyon meets Christian are precisely the form under which the temptation was suggested to Bunyan. As we peruse the passage in question, we feel as if we walked side by side with Christian as he passes on through the valley. With him we descry the first appearance in the distance of the terrible form of Apollyon. With something of the awe and dismay which Christian felt, we behold him coming nearer and nearer, and mark the darkness which gathers over all surrounding objects at his approach. Now he has come up to us, that shape so "hideous to behold." Now we hear his voice, dreadful and terrible exceedingly, as first he questions Christian, then reasons with him, then tries to gain him over by wilespaints in glowing colours the dangers of the path on which he has adventured, under-rates its rewards, vaunts much of the great things he has done for his servants, and promises graciously that he will overlook all if Christian will but turn and go back; and next upbraids him with the instances of his unfaithfulness to his Prince, and demands of him how he can presume that all this will be forgiven; and then begins to storm and threaten, finding him still unyielding; and at last bursts into a transport of fiendish fury, and swears by his infernal den, that here he will spill his soul. Then there is the rush to arms; then the valley rings with the din of blows; then darts, fiery darts, thick as hail, come showering down from the uplifted arm of the fiend. Now Christian dextrously plies his sword; now covers himself with his shield from the murderous blows of his adversary. But now Christian is wounded in his head, his hand, and his foot, and he gives a little back. Apollyon presses harder upon him than ever. Again the courage of Christian revives; he strikes manfully, and the fiend is obliged to give way. For a whole half-day this dreadful combat is waged. The poor pilgrim fights with the prince of darkness. But now Christian begins to be spent-he sinks-he is down; in his fall he has lost his sword: the fiend stands right over him, and yells out, in the transport of anticipated victory, "I am sure of thee now;" and with that is fetching his last blow, to make a full end of the good man. But Christian is not doomed to die beneath the sword of Apollyon. Where otherwise would be the faithfulness of Christ: "I give unto

them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand?" Nimbly stretching out his hand, he grasps his sword, and withal gives his adversary so deadly a thrust, that the fiend is obliged to fall back, as one who has received his mortal wound. Christian gives a great shout, and with that Apollyon, spreading forth his dragon wings, speeds him away from the scene of his defeat. By this victory, so manfully achieved in this Valley of Humiliation, Christian retrieved the honour he had lost by the slips he had made in his descent thither.

From the symbol we now turn to the exposition. Bunyan did not encounter Apollyon in a visible form; his meeting with him was not less real notwithstanding. It was no shower of literal darts to which he was exposed, from which the brazen shield or the sword of steel might have sufficed to protect him, and which, at the worst, could but have destroyed the body. His soul was buffeted with hellish suggestions and blasphemies. Here is the history of the dreadful conflict, written by the man who fought it; and as we read it we can count every blow that was struck-we can see Bunyan, now down, now up again, holpen by a divine hand, and wrestling manfully as before, till at last, with a great shout, he puts an end to the battle: "After the Lord had in this manner thus graciously delivered me from this great and sore temptation, and had given me such strong consolation and blessed evidence from heaven, touching my interest in his love through Christ, the tempter came upon me again, and that with a more grievous and dreadful temptation than before. And that was to sell and part with the most blessed Christ -to exchange him for the things of this life, for anything. Sometimes it would run in my thoughts, not so little as a hundred times together, Sell him, sell him; against which I may say for whole hours together, I have been forced to stand as continually leaning and forcing my spirit against it. One morning as I did lie in my bed, I was, as at other times, most fiercely assaulted with this temptation, to sell and part with Christ; the wicked suggestion still running in my mind, Sell him, sell him, sell him, sell him, sell him, as fast as a man could speak; against which also in my mind, as at other times, I answered, No, no, not for thousands, thousands, thousands, at least twenty times together; but at last, after much striving, I felt this thought pass through my heart, Let him go if he will. And I thought also, that I felt my heart freely consent thereto. O the diligence of Satan! O the desperateness of man's heart!"

"Now was the battle won, and down fell I, as a bird that is shot from the top of a tree, into great guilt and fearful despair. And withal that Scripture did seize upon my soul: 'Or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright; for ye know, how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected; for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears. Now was I as one bound; I felt myself shut up unto the judgment to come; nothing now for years together would abide with me,

but damnation, and an expectation of damnation." During this long and, to all but those who have endured similar affliction, inconceivably gloomy period, passages of Scripture would occasionally bring relief for a day or two, but only for this brief space, and then his agony and despair would again return. Satan would tempt him that his sin was greater than any other person had ever been guilty of-that it was the unpardonable sin; and, at other times, that it was vain to pray, and that though Christ did pity him in his sad condition, he could afford him to relief, inasmuch as his sin was not in the number or of the nature of those for which Christ died, and that unless he should come and die a second time he could give him no help. Several years, we say, were passed in these wrestlings with Satan for his soul; at times we see him sinking beneath the terrible blows of his adversary, at others strengthened with a little strength by some promise brought seasonably to his mind. But at last God was pleased to hear his groanings from the height of his sanctuary, and to deliver him from the hand of his strong enemy. That deliverance came in the following manner: "One day," he tells us, suddenly this sentence fell upon my soul, Thy righteousness is in heaven;' and methought withal, I saw, with the eyes of my soul, Jesus Christ at God's right hand; there, I say, was my righteousness." Thus there came to Bunyan, as to Christian, a hand with some of the leaves of the tree of life to heal his wounds. The leaf from the tree was this: "He is made unto us of God wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption."

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"In this combat no man can imagine, unless be had seen and heard, as I did (it is not for effect that these words are introduced-Bunyan did indeed see it), that yelling and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the fight: he spake like a dragon. And, on the other side, what sighs and groans burst from Christian's heart! I never saw him all the while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two edged sword; then, indeed, he did smile and lock upward." And so did Bunyan. "Ah! these blessed considerations and Scriptures, were in those days made to spangle in mine eye, so that I have cause to say: 'Praise ye the Lord God in his sanctuary; praise him in the firmament of his power; praise him for his mighty acts; praise him according to his excellent greatness.""

THE POOL OF BETHESDA.

BY JOHN KITTO, D.D. THE interesting account in John v. 7, of the miraculous healing by Jesus of the man who had laboured under a hopeless infirmity for thirty-eight years, is intro duced by a particular account of the place where this miracle was performed: "Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches. In these lay a great multitude of impotent folk, of blind, halt, withered, waiting for the moving of the water. For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first

after the troubling of the water stepped in was made whole of whatsoever disease he had."-Verses 24. From the further account, it appears that the porches were thronged with diseased persons desirous to avail themselves of this means of cure; and that the benefit was usually received by those who needed it least that is, not by the most helpless and impotent, but by those who were strong and vigorous enough to push down into the water before the others. Hence, the man whom our Lord healed had remained there a great length of time, waiting his opportunity, but had never secured it; for, being so utterly helpless, some one had always stepped in before him.

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Struthium is the name of a root, the ashes of which formed a strong alkali, much used in making soap; and the corresponding Hebrew word is translated soap "in the only passages in which it occurs in the Bible.-Jer. ii. 22; Mal. iii. 2. It is now generally agreed, that Bethesda means "the house of effusion," washing;" and it seems, therefore, highly probable that the Greek word used by Josephus was intended as a translation of the Hebrew name.

or

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Now, that which is at present pointed out as the Pool of Bethesda, corresponds to these intimations, so far as they go. It is on the north side of the temple, just under its ancient outer wall, and near to that which is now called the gate of St Stephen, and

The intimations given by that evangelist are, for him, unusually precise, and ought to assist us in recognising the pool among the existing waters of Jerusalem. It may, indeed, have been only a reservoir, but even reservoirs have survived the destruction of the Holy City; for, being below the level of the ground, they have not been obvious to the overthrows which have befallen all its superstructures. Indeed, it has been remarked by critics, that the use of the present tense by the apostle in speaking of the pool, intimates that it had survived the destruction of Jerusalem, and was still well-known when he wrote his Gospel, which is generally believed to have been towards the close of the first century of the Christian era. First, the evangelist gives the situation-"At Jerusalem by the sheep market;" then the description-" A pool having five porches;" then the name- -"Bethesda." Now, we do not read in Scripture of any "sheep market," but we do of a "sheepgate" (Neh. iii. 1, 32); and as the word "market or "gate " are not in the original (i tỷ xpoßasinn), but the former is supplied to complete the sense, many commentators are of opinion that the word "gate," and not "market," should have been introduced. We are of that opinion; but the matter is of little consequence, for we know that the Jewish markets were held at the gates, as was, and is at this day in the East, more especially the case with regard to cattle-markets, for the convenience of the people who brought them in from the country, and to prevent such annoyance to the inhabitants from cattle being driven through the streets, as that to which the Londoners are exposed from the presence of a cattle-market in the middle of their city. We, therefore, take the pool of Bethesda to have been near to the sheep gate. Now, the sheep gate seems from the passages in Nehemiah, to which we have already referred, to have been on the north side of the temple-that is, of its outermost northern wall. Here the Jewish traditions fix not only a gate, but a large supply of water required for the sacred services of the temple. Josephus also teaches us to look for two pools in this quarter (De Bell. Jud. v. 11)-the ! one forming the fosse of the temple, described also by Strabo, and the other forming the trench of the Castle of Antonia. One or both of these pools have the name of Struthius, and this name affords some further ground of identification. It appears that

Furthermore, there was a gate on the north side of the temple wall, which may have been the sheep gate; for we cannot be sure whether that gate derived its name from the cattle being introduced into the city or into the temple through it; but as, in any case, it was north of the temple, it could not have been far from the Pool of Bethesda, whether it were a gate of the city or of the temple wall.

That the two pools, or rather the double pool, near the temple, described in the Jerusalem Itinerary of 333 A.D., is the same as that mentioned by Josephus, there can be no doubt; for, although the author does not fix them to the north of the temple area, as neither do Eusebius and Jerome in the same century, yet all these writers agree in their testimony to these pools being the Bethesdas, which we know to have been found by late writers in that situation. This, in substance, may be regarded as the evidence which exists in favour of the present site assigned to the Pool of Bethesda down to the fourth century; since which date an unbroken line of testimony in its favour might be indicated. Other evidence, from probability and from circumstances, will appear as

we go on.

One of the twin pools has, however, disappeared, having probably been filled up; but its position can be accurately defined by the language of the Christian writers, and the precise place which the fosse of Antonia must have occupied. Both existed in the "The fountain is extime of Eusebius, who says: hibited even at the present day, in two pools at that place. One of these pools is filled up by the yearly rains, but the other shows its waters wonderfully tinctured with red." That one of the pools is thus stated to have been filled by rain water, would perhaps imply that the other was supplied from a spring; and William of Tyre informs us that this was actually the case; indeed, even so late as the seventeenth century, that accomplished traveller George Sandys states that, into the Pool of Bethesda "a barren stream doth drill from between the stones of the northward wall, and stealeth away almost undiscerned." The most probable account of this small stream is, that, in the filling up of the other pool, which took place before the time of Sandys' visit, the water forced for itself a passage through the ground into the Birket Israil (Israel's Pool), which is the name given by the natives to the present reservoir.

The red appearance of the water in one of these pools, to which Eusebius refers, may possibly have been owing to the cement with which it was lined. But it was taken by early writers for a sign of the use to which it was formerly put, of washing the entrails of the animals offered in sacrifice. Whether thus used or not, the redness could not be thus explained, for, as noticed by Eusebius, it-existed long after sacrifices had ceased in Jerusalem.

The situation of the reservoir which now bears the honoured name of Bethesda, has already been generally indicated. It lies along the outside of the present northern wall of the sacred enclosure, of which wall its northern side may be said to form a part. Its eastern end is so near the wall of the city that only a narrow pass lies between them, leading from St Stephen's gate to the great mosque which occupies the site of the ancient temple. The pool is three hundred and sixty feet long, one hundred and thirty feet broad, and seventy-five feet deep to the bottom, besides the rubbish which has accumulated in it for ages. It was obviously a portion of the ancient fosse on this side, of which Josephus makes mention; but this is so far from being an argument against its being the Pool of Bethesda, that it is in fact a circumstance in its favour, according to the intimation already produced from the last named writer. And even those who have lately raised a question on the subject, are constrained to admit that it was also used as a reservoir; for the sides are internally cased over with small stones laid in cement, and impermeable to water. The western end is built up like the rest, except at the south-west corner, where two lofty arched vaults extend in westward, side by side, under the houses which now cover that part. It is probable that these vaulted passages anciently formed the communication with the fosse of Antonia, in which was the other pool now filled up; and at the sametime furnished a passage to the gate of the fort by a bridge over the arches. The vulgar notion which regards them as remains of the "five porches," deserves no attention. The word aí, indeed, does not mean "porches "—that is, covered places with pillars, where the sick might stand and walk, without exposure to the weather-but cloisters or cells in which the sick might find shelter, forming, it would seem, a kind of bath-house, devoted to the use of such as sought the benefit of the miraculous virtues which the descent of the angel imparted to the waters. From the intimations of Josephus and other Jewish writers, we may judge that there were other chambers for other purposes, adjoining the pool, with cisterns and fountains supplied from its waters. All these have long since disappeared; and the reservoir itself has not, probably, for some centuries, contained any water.

After this, we must regard as trivial the objections which have been urged against the identity of this pool with that of Bethesda. No substantial reason against its claims has been adduced, nor has any more suitable reservoir, within or without the walls, been indicated. The Rev. George Williams, in his recent work on "The Holy City;" and Lord Nugent, in his "Lands Classical and Sacred," have strongly,

and we think satisfactorily, re-asserted the old opinion in opposition to recent ill-considered cavils, which allege that it was only a ditch to the temple on the north side. This is a gratuitous assumption, for which no reason has been or can be given; and the fact that it was also a fosse, so far from being against its claims, is, as we have seen, highly in favour of them. Besides, if it were only a ditch, what need could there be of making it of so preposterous a width as one hundred and thirty feet, in a town so limited in its space for inhabitants and garrison, or of seventyfive feet to the bottom, where a fall of twenty feet in a wet ditch would have answered every purpose of defence? Nor does it appear why, if it were only for defence, it should be a wet ditch at all, where an enemy in possession of its northern bank could so easily have drained it into the Valley of Jehoshaphat. The most common-sense view is that to which all facts and authorities tend that it did answer the purpose of a ditch to the fortress Antonia, but was also for the purpose of a mighty pool or reservoir, to supply that part of the city or the temple with water. And if this were the case, and if it was a pool, but not the Pool of Bethesda, it might well excite our surprise that neither in the Bible nor by Josephus is mention made of any other such pool in that direction.

THE AGONY.

"Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: it pleased the Lord to bruise him; he put him to griel." ISAIAH.

HIERARCHIES in heaven paused while adoring-
The golden-stringed lyre of each angel grew mute;'
They came to dark earth, and in wonder bent o'er
Him,

Who knelt in deep anguish by Kidron's brook.

Bow'd low 'mong the olives, the night-cloud hung o'er Him;

No pen can portray what that anguish might be; With the gory-stain'd picture of Calv'ry before Him. When He groan'd in Gethsemane, sinner, for thee.

The friends of His pilgrimage calmly were sleeping. While He pour'd those deep sighs in the bosom of

night:

There came one to strengthen while lone He was weeping

From heaven a white-winged angel of light.

Ah! cold, cold and pale was that sorrow-marred brow,

Whence flow'd those His gore-drops that water`d

Then His heaven-lit features an agony wore,
The which to express every image were faint;
And we, like the Grecian painters of yore,
Must draw a veil o'er what no mortal can paint.
MISS AIRD.

A THREE YEARS' WOUND.

ONE of my visitors told me one day that there was a woman in her district who was very anxious to see me. She did not belong to my church, but still she wished a conversation, and seemed much in earnest about her soul.

I soon found her out, and found her not unwilling to open her mind to me; though she did this rather awkwardly and unconnectedly, as is commonly the case with those who have had no opportunity of speaking to any Christian friend upon spiritual subjects. She was earnestly seeking counsel, and groping her way to the light; but as yet all was darkness. She was in quest of the resting-place, but had not yet reached it.

She told me that she had been in this state of trouble for nearly three years. She had come to hear me one Sabbath evening, and had been arrested in her carelessness. That night the Holy Spirit had fastened an arrow in her conscience, that since then had been rankling there. Her convictions seemed sharp and deep, though by no means so overpowering as I have often seen them in other cases. Her guilt pressed heavily upon her; her sins were continually rising up within, and obtaining the mastery. She knew not what to do. Forgiveness and deliverance from sin seemed to her afar off, and almost hopeless. She was by no means ignorant or stupid; but to the way of peace and forgiveness she was a stranger. That salvation was through Christ, that rest for her soul was to be obtained only through his cross, she knew; but how this was to become hers, how she was to have peace with God, she did

not see.

There seemed an insurmountable barrier between her and Christ. She knew he was Jesus the Saviour, but this appeared nothing to her as long as sin had such dominion over her. Her awful unholiness weighed her down. It seemed utterly to bar all access to Christ. She felt as if she dared not go to Christ in that unholy state. She thought herself unfit to deal with him-unfit to receive forgiveness at his hands. She was sure he could not welcome and forgive her so long as she had such a heart of iniquity. She strove to get quit of some of it, that she might come in a better state, and have some hope of being received; but all in vain. She found no relief-her burden was as oppressive as ever.

Her whole idea was, that her unholiness stood between her and forgiveness; that she must be in some measure holy, or at least less unholy, before she could have any hope of pardon. She

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seemed fixed in this position, and her efforts were like those of one bent upon climbing some steep precipice, who is ever falling backward upon the ground, becoming more and more disabled by each successive endeavour.

She had forgotten "that this Man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." She had forgotten the description which the Pharisees gave of him-a description meant for mockery and contempt, yet still not the less on that account setting forth his true character and office: "He is gone to be guest with a man that is a sinner." I sought to show her this-to show her that it was just her being a sinner that fitted her for Christ the Saviour; that it was just as a sinner, and as nothing else, that she could be permitted to deal with him, or that he would have any dealings with her; that she could not make herself any better before going to him; and that if she could, she would not need him at all. She followed me as I went along, but said nothing. When, however, I came to show her pointedly that she was actually reversing God's way of salvation, by putting holiness before forgiveness, she immediately exclaimed very simply, "That's a weight off my mind."

"But am I not to be holy first at all? Am I to go just as I am at this moment?" said she. "Yes, just as you are at this moment; for the Son of Man came to seek and save that which

was lost."

"But is forgiveness really first?"

"Yes, it is first; holiness follows. There can be no holiness till there has been forgiveness first, and forgiveness comes from simply believing the record which God hath given us of his own Son."

This was good news to her weary soul. Her burden seemed to roll from off her shoulder into the tomb of Christ, so that she saw it no more; but, like Christian in the " Pilgrim's Progress," went upon her way rejoicing and singing as he did

"Blest cross, blest sepulchre; blest rather be
The Man that there was put to shame for me!"

VISIT TO ARRAN.
(Concluded.)

OUR walk altogether was about eight miles. As the steamer's hour was drawing near, the latter part of it required to be accomplished with all convenient speed. The day was lovely; the sun's beams were more powerful than I ever again felt them during the whole of the summer, so that I reached Lamlash in that semi-parboiled state which I have more than once made some approach to in Arran. Before we reached the quay we passed a considerable number of fishermen, who, having their nets spread on a framework of poles, were making preparation for the herring fishery. We had seen porpoises the evening before, tumbling playfully in the bay, after a satisfactory repast, it is probable, on some hundreds of