in which their philosophers were accustomed to propound their flimsy abstractions. But the Great Teacher would not thus debase his gospel, and frustrate his design. He sought to make himself universal; to speak to humanity. His tongue was only the interpreter for his heart; and he aimed to render his teaching a contact of hearts. The 'key of knowledge had been taken away,' by those who should have held it only for the people; they had 'shut up the kingdom of heaven' from the poor, and left them to perish and, while he charged them with this awful fraud on the well-being of man, he hastened to supply the perishing with superior means of salvation. He sought out, and set in order, acceptable words.' His leading topics were few, that he might not confuse; but so personal and important, that they found a response and an interpreter in every bosom. He simplified knowledge, and reduced it to its elements: now removing the veil from an ancient prophecy, now uttering a touching parable, now a graphic illustration from familiar life, now an easy precept or weighty truth, and presently returning again to place the same truth in a new light. Though all the science of eternity was hid in his mind, and the unspeakable words which it is not lawful for a man to utter could have flown from his tongue, he delighted to be known as the teacher of babes. He lowered himself down to their capacity, waited on their dulness, tasted knowledge for them, and fed them with food convenient for them. He went about as the the bread of life. And the simplicity of his teaching was only in accordance with its compassionate design-to console the wretched. The effect of sorrow is to reduce our nature to its elements; to suspend our intellectual powers, and resolve us into creatures of mere feeling; to shut up every avenue but that which leads to the heart. He knew that grief thus simplifies our nature, and he provided a remedy equal

ly simple. He imparted truths to which the heart listens and which the heart alone can understand; for he held the heart of the world in his hand; and knowing the secret of all its sympathies, he communed with its weakness, and sorrows by methods peculiarly his own. Sorrow was, in his eyes, among the most sacred things he found on earth; and had it not been so before, the reverent attention with which he honored it, and the simple and sympathetic terms in which he addressed it would have made it hallowed. He knew also that the time of affliction would be the season when numbers would first direct a look to the gospel for relief: when help, if it came to them at all, must come without effort; when the staff must not only be provided, but actually put into their hand. And knowing this, he published his gospel as a system of consolation for the miserable; and they who know it best are the readiest to confess how fully it answers to the character; after the trial of ages, it maintains its prerogative of binding up the broken heart.

Even the places in which he taught evinced his condescension. If he discoursed in the temple, it was not from any regard to its vastness, splendor or circumstantial sanctity; for, in his eyes, it was only the mausoleum of piety, the tomb of a departed dispensation; but because he could there teach 'before all the people;' could there especially at the great festivals when it became the centre of attraction, could there meet with and appeal to the heart of the nation. But during his ministry, it could be said literally, 'Wisdom crieth without; in the chief concourse of the people.' The ship, the strand, the desert, the mountain, were as eligible in his view, as the city and the temple, for the work of saving souls from death. By his godlike indifference to time and place, in the work of relig ious instruction, he consecrated the practice of itinerant

preaching. He embodied the conduct of the good shepherd in his own parable of the lost sheep, traversing with unwearied zeal, the moral wilderness of Judea; in quest of the lost sheep of the house of Israel.'

Wherever he found a multitude disposed to listen, he was prompt to address to them the words of eternal life. Some present object, some late occurrence or familiar incident, was the point from which he led them, step by step, up an easy ascent, to themes of heavenly altitude, of infinite importance. He was always ready to gratify the inquirer, provided his inquiries were made with sincerity, and were such as he could solve with propriety. Though he often enjoined his disciples to tell no man where he was ―for in his life were combined the active and the contemplative in perfect proportions—yet the eager suppliant who should succeed, at such times, in discovering and penetrating his retreat, never encountered a repulse,even though 'he came to Jesus by night.' Over the door of his most sacred retreat may be said to have been inscribed, ‘knock, and it shall be opened.' When his disciples came to him in private to request an explanation of the statements he had been making in public, he was always ready to descend to their low capacities, and to gratify their desires. When Peter replied to his inquiry concerning his personal claims, Thou art the Christ the Son of the living God;' like a teacher charmed with the progress of his pupil, and anxious to encourage him, he pronounced him blessed and rewarded him with an animating promise. He watched the progress of his disciples, however slow, with more than parental delight. He spoke in accents of encourage. ment to piety of the weakest pulse; feeding it with line upon line, and invigorating it with promise upon promise.

Lessons unwelcome to our depravity, but important to our happiness, he not only repeated often, but even devised

the most condescending expedients to make them live in our minds. His disciples had often contested the question of precedence in his kingdom. He could at once have rebuked their ambition with a denunciation of wrath, have withered their pride with a frown; but, in accordance with his characteristic benevolence, he chose to admonish them by an affecting sign which they could not easily forget. How beautiful, affecting, and instructive the sight! The Lord of glory folding in his arms a helpless babe, as an emblem of the humility which adorns his kingdom. Humility, from that day, needs to plead no other sanction for her lowliest acts.

Often had he inculcated the condescending offices of brotherly love, for well he knew, that, like the ligaments and arterial net-work of the human frame, the health and happiness of his body-the church-depended on their binding power and reciprocating influence. But by what new expedient can he deepen the effects of his past lessons? Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God; he riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and took a towel, and girded himself, and washed his disciples' feet. When he was about to ascend to the seat of universal empire; when the cross alone remained between him and the government of heaven, earth, and hell; even then he took a towel and girded himself, and poured water into a basin, and washed the disciples' feet, and wiped them with the towel wherewith he was girded; saying, Ye call me Master and Lord; and ye say well, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another's feet;'-to condescend to the lowest office of Christian beneficence and love. Beyond this, he might have said,

ye cannot go.

But, O, there was another lesson to be taught, the highest, and the last: a lesson comprehensive of every other; and he sought to steep it in the essence of his tenderness and love. He, who laid aside his garments to wash his disciples' feet, had laid aside his robes of celestial light, and taken upon him the form of a servant, that he might become obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. The same night, therefore, in which he was betrayed he took bread: and when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me. After the same manner, also, he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, This is my blood of the New Testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins; this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.' Thus tenderly did he seek to impress us with the great love wherewith he had loved us to remind us how essential he is to our happiness; and to live in our devout affections. By this touching rite, he would have us to erect his cross in our minds, that we may hold personal and perpetual communion with his dying love. He gives into our hands the doctrine of his atoning sacrifices, charging us to keep it-by all that is sacred in his death, precious in his love, valuable in our own happiness--charging us to keep it embalmed in his own blood. He gloried in his cross as the pillar of human hope; the column on which he desired. that his name might be inscribed as the great memento of his love to man, as that single act by which he is content to be known and on which he desires to rest his claim on the eternal gratitude of the world. Knowing the power which it would give him on human hearts, he has made his cross the depository of all the doctrines of salvation.

III. But, thirdly our professed object requires that we should present examples from our Lord's teaching, illus