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inconsolable Parent, she saw Him yet hanging by His wounded hands, His head crowned with thorns, His body mangled, pale, agonizing and dying, and in His agony casting a look from His dying eyes on her. It was here that she caught His last sigh—here, that she had seen the lance enter His heart—here, that she had received into her arms, and clasped to her bosom, His sacred body weltering in its blood. How could she do otherwise than recur often to such scenes, kissing, a thousand times, the earth which had been reddened with His blood, and watering it incessantly with her tears?
How, also, must St. John and the holy women have accompanied the Mother of sorrows, and in these same spots, mingled their tears with hers! The Apostles too, must they not have followed in the same track, when by the descent of the Holy Ghost, they had been changed into other men? In their burning love for their good Master, could they have chosen a more fitting place of re-
