Nothing could have been simpler than the ancient method of their commemorating their deliverance from Egypt and from the destroying angel. The central custom of the feast was the hasty eating of the Paschal lamb, with unleavened bread and bitter herbs, in a standing attitude, with loins girt and shoes upon the feet, as they had eaten hastily on the night of their deliverance. In this way the Passover is still yearly eaten by the Samaritans at the summit of Gerizim, and there to this day they will hand to the stranger the little olive-shaped morsel of unleavened bread, enclosing a green fragment of wild endive or some other bitter herb, which may perhaps resemble, except that it is not dipped in the dish, the very wμíov which Judas received at the hands of Christ. But even if the Last Supper was a Passover, we are told that the Jews had long ceased to eat it standing, or to observe the rule which forbade any guest to leave the house till morning. They made, in fact, many radical distinctions between the Egyptian (D) and the permanent Passover (DD) which was subsequently observed. The latter meal began by filling each guest a cup of wine, over which the head of the family pronounced a benediction. After this the hands were washed in a bason of water, and a table was brought in, on which were placed the bitter herbs, the unleavened bread, the charoseth (a dish made of dates, raisins, and vinegar), the Paschal lamb, and the flesh of the chagigah. The father dipped a piece of herb in the charoseth, ate it, with a benediction, and distributed a similar morsel to all. A second cup of wine was then poured out; the youngest present inquired the meaning of the Paschal night; the father replied with a full account of the observance; the first part of the Hallel (Ps. cvii.-cxiv.) was then sung, a blessing repeated, a third cup of wine was drunk, grace was said, a fourth cup poured out, the rest of the Hallel (Ps. cxv.-cxviii.) sung, and the ceremony ended by the blessing of the song. Some, no doubt, of the facts mentioned at the Last Supper may be brought into comparison with parts of this ceremony. It appears, for instance, that the supper began with a benediction, and the passing of a cup of wine, which Jesus bade them divide among themselves, saying that he would not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God should come. The other cuppassed round after supper-has been identified by some with the third cup, the Côs ha-beráchah or cup of blessing" of the Jewish ceremonial (1 Cor. x. 16); and the hymn which was sung before the departure of the little company to Gethsemane has, with much

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probability, been supposed to be the second part of the great Hallel.

The relation of these incidents of the meal to the various Paschal observances which we have detailed is, however, doubtful. What is not doubtful, and what has the deepest interest for all Christians, is the establishment at this last supper of the Sacrament of the Eucharist. Of this we have no fewer than four accounts-the brief description of St. Paul agreeing in almost verbal exactness with those of the Synoptists. In each account we clearly recognise the main facts which St. Paul expressly tells us that "he had received of the Lord "—viz., “that the Lord Jesus, on the same night in which He was betrayed, 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 cup is the New Testament in my blood; this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me" (1 Cor. xi. 23-25). Never since that memorable evening has the Church ceased to observe the commandment of her Lord; ever since that day, from age to age, has this blessed and holy Sacrament been a memorial of the death of Christ, and a strengthening and refreshing of the soul by the body and blood, as the body is refreshed and strengthened by the bread and wine.

CHAPTER LVI.

THE LAST DISCOURSE.

No sooner had Judas left the room, than, as though they had been relieved of some ghastly incubus, the spirits of the little company revived. The presence of that haunted soul lay with a weight of horror on the heart of his Master, and no sooner had he departed than the sadness of the feast seems to have been sensibly relieved. The solemn exultation which dilated the soul of their Lord-that joy like the sense of a boundless sunlight behind the earth-born mists-communicated itself to the spirits of His followers. The dull clouds caught the sunset colouring. In sweet and tender communion, per

haps two hours glided away at that quiet banquet. Now it was that, conscious of the impending separation, and fixed unalterably in His sublime resolve, He opened His heart to the little band of those who loved Him, and spoke among them those farewell discourses preserved for us by St. John alone, so "rarely mixed of sadness and joys, and studded with mysteries as with emeralds." "Now," He said, as though with a sigh of relief, "now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in Him." The hour of that glorification-the glorification which was to be won through the path of humility and agony -was at hand. The time which remained for Him to be with them was short; as He had said to the Jews, so now He said to them, that whither He was going they could not come. And in telling them this, for the first and last time, He calls them "little children." In that company were Peter and John, men whose words and deeds should thenceforth influence the whole world of man until the end-Len who should become the patron saints of nations-in whose honour cathedrals should be built, and from whom cities should be named; but their greatness was but a dim faint reflection from His risen glory, and a gleam caught from that spirit which He would send. Apart from Him they were nothing, and less than nothing-ignorant Galilæan fishermen, unknown and unheard of beyond their native villagehaving no intellect and no knowledge save that He had thus regarded them as His "little children." And though they could not follow Him whither He went, yet He did not say to them, as He had said to the Jews (John vii. 34; viii. 21), that they should seek Him and not find Him. Nay, more, He gave them a new commandment, by which, walking in His steps, and being known by all men as His disciples, they should find Him soon. That new commandment was that they should love one another. In one sense, indeed, it was not new. Even in the law of Moses (Lev. xix. 18), not only had there been room for the precept, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," but that precept had even been regarded by wise Jewish teachers as cardinal and inclusive-as "the royal law according to the Scripture," as "the message from the beginning" (James ii. 8; 1 John iii. 11). And yet, as St. John points out in his Epistle, though in one sense old, it was, in another, wholly new-new in the new prominence given to it-new in the new motives by which it was enforced-new because of the new example by which it was recommended-new from the new influence which it was henceforth destined to exercise. It was Love, as the test and

condition of discipleship, Love as greater than even Faith and Hope, Love as the fulfilling of the Law.

At this point St. Peter interposed a question. Before Jesus entered on a new topic, he wished for an explanation of something which he had not understood. Why was this farewell aspect about the Lord's discourse?"Lord, whither goest thou?"

"Whither I go thou canst not follow me now, but thou shalt follow me afterwards."

Peter now understood that death was meant, but why could he not also die? was he not as ready as Thomas to say (John xi. 16), “Let us also go that we may die with Him?" "Lord, why cannot I follow thee now? I will lay down my life for thy sake."

Why? Our Lord might have answered, Because the heart is deceitful above all things; because thy want of deep humility deceives thee; because it is hidden, even from thyself, how much there still is of cowardice and self-seeking in thy motives. But He would not deal thus with the noble-hearted but weak and impetuous Apostle, whose love was perfectly sincere, though it did not stand the test. He spares him all reproach; only very gently He repeats the question, "Wilt thou lay down thy life for my sake? Verily, verily, I say unto thee, The cock shall not crow till thou hast denied me thrice!" Already it was night; ere the dawn of that fatal morning shuddered in the eastern sky-before the cock crow, uttered in the deep darkness, prophesied that the dawn was near-Jesus would have begun to lay down His life for Peter and for all who sin; but already by that time Peter, unmindful even of this warning, should have thrice repudiated his Lord and Saviour, thrice have rejected as a calumny and an insult the mere imputation that he even knew Him. All that Jesus could do to save him from the agony of this moral humiliation-by admonition, by tenderness, by prayer to His Heavenly Father-He had done. He had prayed for him that his faith might not finally fail Satan indeed had obtained permission to sift them all as wheat, and in spite of all his self-confidence, in spite of all his protested devotion, in spite of all his imaginary sincerity, he should be but as the chaff. It is remarkable that in the parallel passage of St. Luke occurs the only instance recorded in the Gospel of our Lord having addressed Simon by that name of Peter which he had Himself bestowed. It is as though He meant to remind the Man of Rock that his strength lay, not in himself, but in that good confession which he once had uttered. And yet Christ heid out to him a gracious hope. He should repent and return to the

Lord whom he should deny, and, when that day should come, Jesus bado him show that truest and most acceptable proof of penitence-the strengthening of others. And if his fall gave only too terrible a significance to his Saviour's warnings, yet his repentance nobly fulfilled those consolatory prophecies; and it is most interesting to find that the very word which Jesus had used to him recurs in his Epistle in a connection which shows how deeply it had sunk into his soul.

But Jesus wished His Apostles to feel that the time was come when all was to be very different from the old spring-tide of their happy mission days in Galilee. Then He had sent them forth without purse or scrip or sandals, and yet they had lacked nothing. But the purse and the scrip were needful now-even the sword might become a fatal necessity-and therefore "he that hath no sword let him sell his garment and buy one." The very tone of the expression showed that it was not to be taken in strict literalness. It was our Lord's custom-because His words, which were spoken for all time, were intended to be fixed as goads and as nails in a sure place-to clothe His moral teachings in the form of vivid metaphor and searching paradox. It was His object now to warn them of a changed condition, in which they must expect hatred, neglect, opposition, and in which even self-defence might become a paramount duty; but, as though to warn them clearly that He did not mean any immediate effort as though beforehand to discourage any blow struck in defence of that life which He willingly resigned-He added that the end was near, and that in accordance with olden prophecy He should be numbered with the transgressors. But, as usual, the Apostles carelessly and ignorantly mistook His words, seeing in them no spiritual lesson, but only the barest and baldest literal meaning. "Lord, behold here are two swords," was their almost childish comment on His words. Two swords!-as though that were enough to defend from physical violence His sacred life! as though that were an adequate provision for Him who, at a word, might have commanded more than twelve legions of angels! as though such feeble might, wielded by such feeble hands, could save Him from the banded hate of a nation of His enemies! "It is enough," He sadly said. It was not needful to pursue the subject; the subsequent lesson in Gethsemane would unteach them their weak misapprehensions of His words. He dropped the subject, and waiving aside their proffered swords, proceeded to that tenderer task of consolation, about which He had so many things to say.