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STATUE OF PETER THE GREAT.

land, and thence fourteen by water to the imperial city. There was a convenient crack in one ONE of the ornaments of the city of St. Peters- part, by which a portion could be broken off, so burgh is the statue of its founder, the emperor as to give the remainder the steepness desired for Peter the Great. This monument is the work of the position of the horse. "The expense and difFalconet, a French artist. The monarch is re-ficulty of transporting it were no obstacles (says presented mounting a precipitous rock, the summit of which he has nearly reached his head is uncovered and crowned with laurel, while his right

hand is stretched out.

The granite mass which composes the pedestal is unrivalled. It is the remnant of a huge rock which the engineer found covered with moss about four miles from the shore of the gulf of Fin

VOL. XXV.

Coxe) to Catherine the Second: the morass was drained, the forest cleared, and a road formed to the gulf of Finland. It was set in motion on huge friction balls, and grooves of metal, by means of pulleys and windlasses worked by five hundred men. In this manner it was conveyed, with forty men seated on the top, 1,200 feet a day to the shore, then embarked on a nautical machine,

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transported by water to St. Petersburgh, and landed near the spot where it is now erected." Six months were occupied in this undertaking; for the rock weighed 1,500 tons. Had less of it been chiselled away, it would certainly have been more imposing; but those who blame the artist for what he has taken from it seem to forget how much has been left, and how difficult of management such an enormous mass of stone must have been.

The inscription is in good taste. It is simply, "To Peter the First, Catherine the Second," with the date of erection, marked on opposite sides of the pedestal, in Latin and Russ.

JESUS CHRIST OUR EXAMPLE.

No. IX.

WHEN we would enable the mind to comprehend any fact, whose circumstances lie beyond the region of ordinary observation, our usual mode is to illustrate it by things familiar, and in this manner to bring it within the sphere of our common thoughts. Thus only can we apprehend scientific truths; and thus must we proceed, if we would in any measure conceive the infinite love of our adorable Lord and Saviour. The most glorious and blessed truth, that the Son of God, who was in the beginning with God, who is indeed very God, emptied himself of his inconceivable glory, and came down to this narrow spot of earth, to suffer and to die for his own rebellious creatures, is a marvel so far beyond our finite comprehension, that, viewed abstractedly, our minds are utterly unable to grasp it it floats on their surface; and our hearts remain untouched, because the very greatness of the love disables us from realizing it. But our merciful God has provided a way by which, according to our measure, we may realize it: he has given us the record of our Saviour's holy path on earth; and by studying the marks of that wonderful love, which, shining through suffering, filled with tenderness the words and actions of his daily life, we may in some slight degree obtain an insight into that infinite love which led him to die for us. In my last paper I endeavoured to draw instruction from our Lord's perfect submission and unfailing patience: now I would make some reflections on the entire unselfishness, the invariable love and consideration for others, which accompanied that patience; how, in the midst of his own endurance, he deeply sympathized with and eagerly relieved their far lighter sufferings. Affliction is, we all know, one of God's appointed ways of producing and perfecting in us holiness: through his divine grace it becomes a powerful means of subduing and softening the heart. But this is not its natural effect; so far from it, experience continually proves that misfortune irritates rather than subdues, hardens the heart instead of softening it. Bodily and mental suffering, unsanctified by the grace of God, increases our natural selfishness. We should endeavour constantly to bear this in mind when assailed by sickness or sorrow, that our earnest efforts may be put forth to struggle against the depraved propensity of our evil nature. In his constant remembrance

and consideration of others, in the midst of his own bitter trials and intense sufferings, the Son of man leaves immeasurably behind God's holiest saints. Let us consider this, in a few instances out of the many that might be selected.

Our blessed Lord suffered from hunger, probably intense hunger, after his forty days' fast, when he resisted the temptation to relieve by a miracle the cravings of that nature he had condescended to take on himself. It is likely that the pangs of hunger were often felt by him in his wearisome life of poverty. On one occasion, it is said, the multitudes so pressed on him and his disciples, that "they had no leisure so much as to eat." At another time, when urged to take food, after, as it would appear, a long abstinence, his delight in doing his Father's will was such as to render him indifferent to the supply of his bodily wants: "I have meat to eat," said the holy Jesus to his disciples, "that ye know not of. My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work." But, while the Saviour thus submitted to the pains of hunger, he compassionated this feeling in others, and put forth his wonder-working power to relieve it. "I have compassion on the multitude," was the remark of the tenderhearted Redeemer, after his laborious teaching, "because they have now been with me three days, and have nothing to eat; and, if I send them fasting to their own houses, they will faint by the way. With his unvarying consideration he overlooked not the circumstance that "divers of them came from far."

Our Lord suffered from weariness. We remember how he sat, wearied with his journey, on the well of Samaria; and again, the affecting incident mentioned in my last, of his disciples bearing him, "as he was," into the ship. In his continual foot journeys through the hot country of Judæa, how often must he have undergone extreme bodily fatigue! He chose the path of weariness, and rested not from his labours; but this did not make him less considerate for the weariness of others: "Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile," was his pitying language to his disciples.

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Jesus suffered the extremity of bodily agony; yet we never hear of his beholding pain in others without exerting his divine power to relieve it; and the evangelists frequently accompany their account of such exertion with the touching remark, "He was moved with compassion. Again, we read: "Looking up to heaven, he sighed." He considered every circumstance of the affliction; as, when healing the woman bowed together by a spirit of infirmity, he mentioned her having been eighteen years thus suffering, as a reason for giving her immediate relief; and in the case of the poor sufferer who had lain thirtyeight years at the pool of Bethesda, it is said, "When Jesus saw him lie, and knew he had been now a long time" thus.

The Son of man for our sakes endured such extreme mental agony as surpasses our power of conception. What must have been the tortures of his pure and holy soul, under that mysterious suffering which caused his sweat to fall to the ground as it were great drops of blood"! or, again, that which wrung from him the agonized cry of "My God, my God, why hast thou for

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saken me?" Yet he never inflicted one unne- | cessary pang. In the beautiful narrative of his raising Jairus's daughter, when certain persons came to inform the anxious father that his child was dead, and therefore it was useless to trouble the Master any further, it is related, "As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken," or, as it is said the passage might be translated, "While it was being spoken, he saith unto the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid: only believe." He would not leave him an instant in doubt either of his power or will to relieve him.

I might give many other instances of the Saviour's regard for the feelings of others, but will pass over them, to dwell on the most striking of all--his earnest care to prepare the minds of his disciples for the great trial that was about to come on them, in their loss of him. How exquisitely tender is his discourse, as related by St. John, when he was himself about to enter on that bitter conflict which made him "", sore amazed, and exceeding sorrowful, even unto death;" that conflict, of which he knew beforehand every sad particular! Yet, so far from his soul being en- | grossed by his own sufferings, his blessed words are employed in comforting the infinitely lighter sorrows of those who were about to desert, and one, alas! to deny him: "Let not your heart be troubled; neither let it be afraid. I go to prepare a place for you. I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am ye may be also. If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it. Ask, and receive, that your joy may be full. I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you. Peace I leave with you: my peace I give unto you. As my Father hath loved me, so have I loved you. Greater love hath no man than this-that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends if ye do whatsoever I command you. Because I have said these things, sorrow hath filled your heart. Nevertheless, I tell you the truth: it is expedient for you that I go away; for, if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but, if I depart, I will send him unto you. Ye now have sorrow; but I will see you again; and your heart shall rejoice; and your joy no man taketh from you. The Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me. These things have I spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer: I have overcome the world." Such were some of the loving words with which the sorrow ing Saviour comforted those who were about to be scattered, every man to his own, and to leave him alone; followed by his no less touching prayer, in which he supplicated "that they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us. Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me ;" concluding with the memorable words, "I have declared unto them thy name, and will declare it; that the love wherewith thou hast loved me may be in them, and I in them." When delivered into the hands of his merciless enemies, still did the considerate Redeemer provide for the safety of his followers: "If ye seek me, let these go their way." At that bitter moment, when reproach had broken his

heart; when he looked for some to take pity, and there was none; for comforters, and found none; at that moment of sore trial did the gracious Lord remember his denying apostle, Peter, and cast on him the look which melted him into tears of penitential sorrow. In the midst of the anguish of the cross the Son of God provided for the temporal comfort of his mother.

But it was not only of those who loved him that the suffering Saviour was mindful. His thoughtful consideration extended to his bitterest enemies. After his ineffable condescension in washing the feet of the traitor Judas, we find the holy Jesus deeply moved at the thought that it would be one of those who had eaten bread with him who should lift up his heel against him; but it was for the base deceiver he especially sorrowed, as shown in his pathetic lamentation: "Woe unto that man by whom the Son of man is betrayed! it had been good for that man if he had never been born." His last miracle of mercy was performed on one of those who had seized him. The woes about to come on the guilty city of his murderers, which had before drawn tears from his heavenly eyes, occupied some of the rejected Saviour's latest thoughts. When led forth, assisting to bear his heavy cross, to the women bewailing and lamenting him he turned and said: "Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me; but weep for yourselves and for your children. For, behold, the days are coming, in which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck."

Such are a few instances of the adorable Redeemer's care and consideration of others, in the midst of his own sufferings, and which may help to give us some idea of that infinite love which brought him down to die for us; but let us also deeply study them, as affording us a perfect pattern of unselfishness. We saw, in my last paper, how, as followers of him, we should bow down with submissive reverence under the band of our God: here we have the lovely example of the holy One's constant thought of others, while undergoing the most agonizing trials, and this not for a time only, but through the whole course of his life. Let us examine how far we imitate him in considerate thoughtfulness.

We are all vividly alive to the feeling of our own wants. Are we equally mindful of the wants of others? Are we moved with compassion for the sufferings of the hungry poor around us, who, though raised above starvation, must yet continually undergo those painful sensations which arise from deficiency of nourishment? Do we sympathize with, and as far as lies in our power relieve, them? Do we deny ourselves, in order to supply their necessities? And are we active in our exertions for them?

Again, with regard to bodily fatigue. Are we tenderly mindful of the weariness of others? Are we careful to exact from those dependent on us no greater portion of labour than what is quite consistent with their health and comfort? We, who are generally so careful of ourselves, so sensitive of our own teelings of weariness, so reagy to take rest, are we equally considerate for others? Are we ready to exert ourselves to save them, and occasionally to sacrifice our own ease, in order to promote theirs.

Then as to bodily pain, to which all, both rich | and poor, are equally liable. Do we seek to soothe the bed of sickness? to relieve, by our sympathy and kind attention, the sufferers around us? If afflicted by illness ourselves, can we yet be considerate for others? can we still regard their wants rather than our own?

It will be well if our conscience acquit us on these points; but let us further examine ourselves as to our careful avoidance of wounding the minds of our fellow-creatures, and our anxiety to soothe and lessen mental distress. Alas! of what sins of omission and commission must the greater number of us accuse ourselves in these respects? We complain of our fellow-creatures as selfish and cold-hearted; but let us look into our own hearts: let us compare the interest we take in whatever concerns ourselves with that which we feel in the affairs of others. Are we ready to rejoice with them that do rejoice, and to weep with them that weep? Does not a trifle immediately affecting ourselves engage us more deeply than an affair of the deepest import to another? How small a portion of pain and suffering is apt to make us forgetful of the feelings even of our friends, while our blessed Lord in the severest agony was considerate for his bitter enemies! Again; how regardless, generally speaking, are we of wounding by neglect or by inconsiderate words, while deeply sensitive of such conduct towards ourselves! We are continually thinking of our own feelings, and at the same time careless of those of others. And what is it that makes us so sensitive of neglect, or want of consideration, in those with whom we associate, but our thought and care for ourselves, in a word, our selfishness? It is our own selfishness which makes us alive to the selfishness of others: it would be well for us to remember this, instead of attributing, as we are apt to do, our proneness to take offence to our great sensibility. Such feelings as I have been describing are, indeed, natural to us; for selfishness is an inherent part of our nature; but they are the very opposite to the mind of Christ.

tain; and he opened his mouth, and taught them." He took advantage of so many being present, to declare fully his pure and holy doctrine. He showed them the character which those must possess who would be his disciples, and the expectations they must entertain. He spoke of purity, and meekness, and lowliness; that they must not only be ready to forgive, but to bless their enemies, returning good for evil. And he showed them, too, of their expectations, that they were not to look for, or lay up, treasures upon earth; but their treasure was to be in heaven. He bade them not only to expect persecution for righteousness' sake, but to regard it as a blessing, to rejoice at it. Thus did the Lord embrace this precious opportunity of showing the multitudes the true nature of his religion; that it was to make men holy, and prepare them not to be great in this life, but happy in the life to come. On another occasion, recorded by St. Luke, when great multitudes followed him, expecting, in all probability, earthly advantages, the Saviour took the opportunity of testing their discipleship by declaring the self-denial that would be required. They must be ready for his sake to give up the nearest and dearest ties, nay, even life itself, to take up their cross daily, or they could not be his disciples. Calling their attention to the folly of that man who should commence building a tower without considering his means of finishing it; and the king who with ten thousand men should make war against another with twenty thousand, he showed them how before following him they too should count the cost, and in the most forcible words exhibited the sacrifice that would be required: "Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he bath, he cannot be my disciple."

The same principle seems to have actuated our Lord in his address to the scribe, recorded by St. Matthew, when again great multitudes were following him: "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man nath not where to lay his head." What worldly advantages could be gained by following a master thus utterly destitute?

Having thus endeavoured to derive instruction from a consideration of our Saviour's tender care In our Redeemer's conduct to his disciples we for the minds and bodies of others, while he was find a similar embracing of opportunities. When leading a life of intense hardship, and even while asked to teach them to pray, be not only comhe was preparing for and undergoing an exqui-plied with their request by giving them a comsitely painful death, let us now consider a little his unceasing care for their spiritual interests: let us see how he was ever on the watch to take advantage of every opportunity to administer that divine instruction which would, if rightly received, make them wise unto salvation. A very few instances, of course, can only be selected out of the multitude that occurred in his holy life. Jesus went about doing good; but it was with the wisdom of the serpent, as well as the harmlessness of the dove: his words and actions were never out of place, but always exactly fitted to the occasion.

The first long discourse recorded of our Lord, as addressed to the people in general, is that commonly called "the sermon on the mount"; and it seems to have been drawn forth by the observant Saviour's having remarked the concourse of people assembled together; for it is said, "And sceing the multitudes, he went up into a moun

prehensive form of prayer, but went on to instruct them by a parable with what importunity they should pray, how persevering should be their supplications. They were not only to ask, but to seek; not only to seek, but to knock; encouraging them to expect an answer, by appealing to one of the tenderest feelings of our nature-the love of a father for his child.

He taught them humility by setting in the midst of them a little child, an exemplification of helplessness and dependence, assuring them they must humble themselves as that little child, if they would be great in the kingdom of heaven. Watchfui of every occasion on which pride might arise in their hearts, when the seventy returned with joy, that even the devils were subject to them through his name, he uttered in their hearing a thanksgiving to his Father, that, while he had hid these things from the wise and prudent, he had revealed them unto babes; and that not for

any merit on their part, but, "Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight." When they were elated by the display of his wonderworking power, and probably thought only of the shining forth of his glory, then did their watchful Master bid them let these sayings sink down into their ears; that the Son of man should be delivered into the hands of men. Yet, in the midst of the trials and persecutions he prepared them to expect, his tenderness supported their weak faith, sometimes by opening to them their future glorious prospects, sometimes by assurances of his love; as when bestowing on them his inexpressibly winning look, and stretching forth his hand towards them, he uttered the words, "Behold my mother and my brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother."

deprive their possessor. The dreadful accident which occurred from the fall of the tower of Siloam, and the cruel death of those Galileans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices, were made the occasion of that solemn denunciation, "Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish."

The very necessities and infirmities of nature became, in our Saviour's hands, an opportunity for conveying instruction; as his thirst, when he sat wearied on the well of Samaria, became the foundation of his sublime discourse on that occasion; the miracle of the loaves and fishes led to the discourse related in the sixth chapter of St. John; and his restoration of light to the blind man, to his declaration that he was the Light of the world, recorded in the ninth chapter of the same gospel. But examples of this sort are too numerous to be overlooked by the most casual Thus was their gracious Lord ever sowing the reader of scripture, as are also those many inprecious seed of his heavenly doctrine in the hearts stances of our Lord's instructions, derived from of his followers, and fostering it with his un- inanimate objects, and from the brute creation. speakable love. He scattered the seed, not pro- We are accustomed to read these discourses in demiscuously, but here a little, and there a little, as tached portions, or to consider them separately, they were able to bear it. We are even permitted endeavouring thus to deduce the vital truths they in some degree to trace how he adapted it to the are intended to convey; and it is of the last imrespective wants of each; as, for instance, with portance that we should do this. But it would be St. Peter, how, while he encouraged that apos- of unspeakable advantage for us also to study tle's ardent affection, he would yet make him them as one continuous whole; to consider our sensible of his weakness when unsupported by di- Lord's position while uttering them; to view vine power; and we see this mode of our Lord's them as portions of his history, as illustrations of teaching remarkably exemplified, among other his heavenly character. Thus, through God's instances, in the permission given to the forward blessing, we might obtain some glimpses of that disciple, to come to his Master on the sea. noble calmness, that entire freedom from selfAgain, we find this same discriminating thought-contemplation, that complete absorption of his fulness in the Redeemer's question to the warmhearted but undiscerning Philip, on the occasion of multiplying the loaves; and on which I have before remarked in my paper on that miracle.

But it was not only to the respective wants of his more immediate followers that our considerate Saviour adapted his divine teaching: a similar discrimination appears in his instructions to the different classes of his hearers. Thus those who "trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others," were reproved by the parable of the proud, self-righteous Pharisee, and the humble, self-condemned publican; while, when all the publicans and sinners drew near to the perfectly pure yet condescending Instructor, he showed them, in a series of beautiful parables, God's readiness to receive those who had wandered farthest from his fold, if they would return to him with the feeling of surrender so powerfully manifested in the repentant prodigal. To these publicans, despised and shunned by their fellowcreatures, the benevolent Saviour held out the beautiful picture of their heavenly Father yearning to embrace them in the arms of his mercy; running to receive them when yet a great way off; rejoicing over them with a parent's unspeakable joy, when once more returned to the home of his love.

Every incident was embraced by our Lord as an opening, or vehicle, for spiritual teaching. Thus, when asked by one to speak to his brother, that he would divide an inheritance with him, instead of complying with the request, Jesus, in an awful parable, showed the worthlessness of those riches, of which death might in one short hour

human will into the will of his Father, which marked our Redeemer's whole course on earth.

Let us observe also that it was not only throughout the sore trials of a suffering and persecuted life our Saviour was unceasingly mindful of the spiritual good of those for whom he came to die: the same watchfulness is apparent amidst the horrors of his mock trial, and the tortures of his agonizing death. The heathen governor might have heard the truth from the lips of his divine prisoner, if he would have yielded to the strong impulse of his feelings, and the powerful pleadings of his half-awakened conscience. With what gracious condescension did the meek and lowly Redeemer set forth his doctrine to that unrighteous man, whose base fears were about to give up One in whom he could find no fault, whom he himself called this just person, into the power of his relentless persecutors! While the torturing nails were being driven into his blessed hands and feet, Jesus prayed for his murderers: while the horrors of darkness were over his soul from the hiding of his Father's face, he received the penitent thief into paradise. Thus to his last breath was he occupied in his great work for the salvation of souls.

Such was the love of the Son of God, who came down from heaven, not to do his own will, but the will of him that sent him. "He pleased not himself." Glorious and most sublime example of complete unselfishness! Such a life, the life of God on earth, fills us with thoughts far beyond the power of language to express, and perhaps we may think it almost beyond the reach of our imitation; but we must remem

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