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Professor Tholuck has had no children, and is exceedingly attached to the students; perhaps the more warmly from the fact alluded to. He not only freely invites them to his house and table, but almost invariably has some of them at his side in his morning and evening walks for recreation, whom he entertains by his wit, wins by his affections, rouses to thought by odd and startling questions, and edifies by his piety.

In personal appearance, Professor Tholuck is modest, unprepossessing, and quite original. He is of delicate, stooping frame, medium size, meagre and emaciated, extremely nervous and excitable, and at times almost blind by excessive study. A recent writer from Germany says of him: "Although it may be true, as scme maintain who heard him twenty years ago, that his eloquence has lost a little of its brilliancy and edge, it must have gained in depth and subdued pathos, more than an equivalent for what it has lost. Nay, one should not speak of loss; it is a result of growth-the brilliant flower is not lost; it ripens into solid, luscious fruit. It is a repetition of the same process of development by which the impetuous 'Son of thunder' matured into the white-haired 'Apostle of love.”

The Sermons which follow will convey some idea of the originality and freshness of his thoughts, and the richness of his eloquence.

DISCOURSE XV.

THE BETRAYAL OF JESUS.

Beloved Friends: We have with our Saviour fought through the fight in Gethsemane, and our eyes have seen him marching in the van victorious. As the uprising sun, before which a morning tempest had suddenly encamped, after its thunder was spent, mounts majestically in the heavens-unclouded and spotless-so walked he forth from the inclosures of the garden. With like dignity we see him standing again in presence of his betrayer and his judges. And yet in this day's discourse we intend not to leave the spot where the bloody sweat had fallen, and where, through the lonely night, there thrice rang out, in earnest tones, those memorable words, "Father, not my will but thine be done." Our purpose now is to direct attention to the last address made by our Saviour to the traitor. It is to be found in Luke, xxii. 47, 48.

"And while he yet spake, behold a multitude, and he that was called Judas, one of the twelve, went before them and drew near to Jesus to kiss him. But Jesus said unto him, Judas, betray est thou the Son of man with a kiss ?"

Let us first glance at the act of the traitor-at the cunning, the inward compunction, and the deep turpitude evinced therein; and then at the words of our Lord-at the serenity, the love, the majesty which they manifest.

A long struggle, perhaps of many weeks, yea, it may be, of months, came to its decisive close at that moment, when Jesus extended to Judas the sop, and to the disciple who lay on his bosom, replied, "He it is to whom I shall give the sop, when I have dipped it." "And after the sop," it is said, "Satan entered into him." So long as he kept up the conflict with his black thoughts, he was still in the power of God-now advancing now retreating. But from the moment the resolve ripened, he fell wholly under Satan's control, and at every step trod the sloping path down towards the abyss. He goes out into the night and what a contrast !—there in the lighted chamber they are celebrating the last feast of love; and he he goes out into the night-and unto the children of night. Already had the preliminary arrangements been made, and there only remained the execution.

Now mark, in the first place, the cunning of the act. As a general rule, it is admitted, that "the children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light." The serpent in Paradise was also crafty. Alas! that when once the heart has been enslaved to sin, the noble gift of reason, which God has given man, should also become degraded to the same vile service; and that, instead of that wisdom, which it is ever wont to produce while the heart remains true to God, it should generate only policy-a policy which works in the service of hell. Oh, be not deceived, ye who imagine, that by reason and science ye will be able to secure yourselves from sin. "Where your

treasure is, there will your heart be also," said the Saviour; and where your heart, the inmost tendency of your will is, there will your reason be. And know ye unto what ends it will serve ? Before the commission of your deed, it will devise the necessary means for its accomplishment; during its commission, it will spread a veil over its enormity; after its commission, when conscience begins to storm, its business will be to lull it to silence by crafty apologies and lying justifications. These are the ends it will serve. So was it with Judas. Because his heart was

not right with God, therefore was his reason blind to the nature of the act he was on the point of perpetrating.

It was not, however, blind to the means necessary for its execution. He decides to act under cover of night. This was sagacious both for the sake of his enterprise, and for the sake of his conscience. It was sagacious for his enterprise; for had it been undertaken by day, how many swords, besides that of Peter, would have leaped from their scabbards in Christ's defence? The Saviour had servants who would not have hesitated a moment to risk their lives in his behalf. But the prudent traitor chose for his work the time "when men slept." And the time when men sleep, is the chosen time for the enemy to sow tares. This was also politic in regard of his conscience. "If I can only betray him in his sleep," thought he to himself, "then there will be no need of looking him in the eye." And would not this be an advantage gained? It is, indeed, a shameful betrayal, to surrender a friend-and in this case, how much, yea many, many times more than a friend-into the hands of his enemies while asleep. But how can it be helped, if conscience be so cowardly that it dare not look the man in the eye? Betray him in sleep." Ah, that is a wise thought. The friends of Jesus betrayed, and at the same time, one's own consciences.

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But this first contrivance, at least, miscarries. In the house through which the way to the garden runs, Judas is informed that the e -eye of the dreaded was awake-that Jesus was with the disciples in the garden. How now, Judas? How wilt thou now secure thy prey? How cheat thy conscience? Cunning must invent some new plan. What the cowardly soul expects of itself, that it expects also from the Lord. Judas fears his flight. How shall he make sure of his prey? It will not do to approach him with the audible sounds of treachery—he may not call aloud, "This is he-seize him." Softly must he steal on his way, unsuspected, like the snake gliding under the grass. The armed troop remain behind at the garden door, and the traitor advances alone, as if it were the visit of a friend at the

hour of night. Ah, Judas; amid all these various manœuvres, has nothing within, meanwhile, spoken to thee? When the first step failed, was there no rebuke of conscience?

Sin ever treads upon uncertain ground. Especially is it wont to take alarm, and feel insecure after the first effort has miscarried. It takes long years of hardening, before the sinner comes to feel the ground so firm beneath his tread as not to tremble at his first failure. Novices in crime cannot endure to be thus frustrated; they are startled by it, and fancy they see the ministers of God's justice close at their heels. They shrink back at every step, as if there were traps right and left, and each moment brought them to an abyss. Here you perceive how difficult it is for the sinner to rid himself of the conviction, that sin has no right in the world-that it is already judged that the divine administration has set a curse upon it, that it is nowhere safe, and exists only as an outlaw. Judas, art thou only a novice in the business, or hast thou learned to flout thy conscience? Oh, couldst thou not even then have paused to reflect and amend, when thou foundest awake and watchful the eye of Him whom thou didst hope to arrest in sleep? Couldst thou not then have discerned the finger of thy God directing thy notice within? Alas! it is all in vain. Conscience may have spoken never so loud; for Judas its voice was but a challenge to exert himself the more skillfully to deceive it, as he proceeded.

Observe ye not, how in this kiss of Judas, there is evinced a cunning which would fain not only deceive Jesus, but even his own conscience itself? That kiss shows conclusively, that he had entered upon this whole work of treachery with great inward compunctions, and that as he encountered the waking eye of his Lord, these compunctions stung him more deeply to the quick. That kiss was a token of respect and love, and with it he hoped to lay his rebuking conscience asleep. But there was also another advantage counted on. Judas thought by his greeting to avoid the necessity of encountering in Jesus the eye of a Judge, and to enjoy the chance of once more beholding in Him, as a friend, a

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