in love with him, however gallant a fellow he is, or I shall be sorry that I brought him here, though I should never suppose you likely to be guilty of such a weakness. Perhaps I ought to have told you at once that I know to a certainty he is not a marrying man. He and I have frequently talked the subject over, and he has assured me that he should never think of taking a wife unless, in the first place, she was charming and lovely and refined, and highly educated and perfect in every way-indeed next door to an angel-and would love him entirely for himself. Perhaps also I ought to have told you before that he is a man of no family, or rather he does not know to what family he belongs, as he was separated from them when an infant, and has lost all means by which he can discover who his parents were."

Harry did not observe the colour which his remarks brought to his sister's cheeks while they walked on, for she turned her head as if looking at the flowers at her side.

"I have not liked to mention this circumstance to any one, not thinking it fair to my friend, as it would set people talking about him. But you well know how very tenacious our father is on the subject of birth, and so I fancy is our mother, and they would blame me excessively if you were to captivate Headland, and be captivated by him. Algernon, who I confess put me up to speak to you on the subject, says he is certain that they would never give their consent to your marrying my friend, though, to confess the truth, there is nothing I should like so much. In fact, Julia, whether or not he thinks you come up to his standard of perfection, I cannot help fancying that he admires you vastly, and so, as Algernon insisted on it, I felt that I must warn you in time."

"In time!" murmured Julia; "you should have said this before."

"I never should have thought of saying it at all, my dear sister, if it had not been for Algernon, answered Harry. "You know, intimate as I am with Headland, I could not say anything of the sort to him. Algernon agrees with me on that, for to a man of his delicate honour and sensitive feeling, it would be equivalent to telling him he must leave Texford, or it would appear as if I wanted to put the notion into his head."

"Oh, pray do not on any account say a word to him," exclaimed Julia; "you would not be justified in saying anything which might make your friend suppose he is not welcome at Texford."

"Oh no, depend on my discretion," said Harry, now for the first time observing Julia's countenance, which in spite of her efforts betrayed the agitation of her feelings. "My dear Julia, I almost wish that I had not spoken. I am afraid that what I have said has in some way annoyed you. Believe me that nothing would give me greater pleasure in life than to see you become Headland's wife; in fact, it used to be one of my boyish dreams. But I felt that I must do as Algernon wished, and warn you, should he pay you any particular attention, not to encourage him, as also not to allow the admiration you naturally have for him to ripen into a warmer feeling. There, I have done my duty, and I will not say another word on the subject; and I would not have said it now if I had not been persuaded that I ought to do so for your happiness." And honest Harry stopped at last, greatly to his sister's relief.

She pressed her brother's hand, showing that she

believed his sincerity, and then hurried to her room. She would rather have remained in the fresh air, but she was afraid of meeting any one, and she felt that she could not just then enter into conversation. Least of all would she wish to meet Captain Headland. Her brother's words had suddenly revealed to her the state of her own heart. She had heard Captain Headland praised and spoken of as one of the most gallant among the gallant officers of the day, and he had himself recounted to her in modest language some of the daring deeds he had performed; and yet this brave officer, when speaking to her, was so gentle and deferential, that it really seemed as if he was addressing a being greatly his superior. He evidently preferred her society to that of any other lady in the house, and he always, when an opportunity occurred, singled her out from the rest, and several times when he fancied she was not watching him, she had observed his eyes fixed on her; while, whenever he addressed her, his features brightened up in a way which she had not observed when he was speaking to any one else. She could not be mistaken with regard to his manner towards her, for she was confident, noble and honourable as he was, he would not trifle with her feelings.

If

"Harry ought indeed to have told me this before," she said, with a sigh. "It is now too late. Headland really loves me-and I am sure he does, I cannot be mistaken-if he proposes to me, I must not leave him to suppose that I am indifferent to his preference."

During the morning Miss Castleton did not appear, and many inquiries mere made. General Sampson especially was very anxious to know what had become of her, and, having his suspicions, was not satisfied that they might not possibly be correct till Captain Headland came in alone, and, when asked, assured him that he had not seen Miss Castleton since the morning.

"Ah! I thought, captain, that she might have put your nautical experience into requisition, and employed you in rowing the boat on the lake."

No," said Headland; "I hope to have the pleasure of being employed in that way in the afternoon, and I shall be glad if any other lady will trust herself to my pilotage.

Harry, in the meantime recollecting that he had promised to pay the Miss Pembertons a visit, ordered his horse and took the road to Hurlston.

As he approached the village, having never been at Downside, he thought he would first call at Adam Halliburt's cottage and inquire the way. The cottage, from its remarkable structure, he remembered well. Calling to a boy to take care of his horse, he dismounted and knocked at the door. The dame opened it.

"This is an honour, Mr. Harry," she said, begging him to enter with a look of pleased surprise on her countenance. "To think that now you are a grand officer you have come to see poor folks like us," she continued, dusting a chair, while Adam, in his frank, hearty way, held out his hand to welcome his guest. He would probably have done the same had the king come to his cottage.

"To tell you the truth, I am on my way to Downside, and thought I would call here first to inquire the road," said Harry. "I hope you and your daughter were not tired by walking about so much yesterday at the fête."

"Thank you, Mr. Harry, not a bit; besides, as

our May didn't dance, she hadn't so much cause to be tired as most of the young people had."

"She looks somewhat delicate and ill able to go through what many girls would think nothing of," observed Harry, for he wished to get the dame to talk about her daughter.

"Thank you, she is strong and hearty as she ever was, and some time ago, when both the ladies were ill, she sat up night after night watching them, and was none the worse for it; and, fine weather or foul, she goes about the village, for that matter, all the year round, visiting the poor and sick, when the Miss Pembertons cannot go to them," and the good dame ran on expatiating on her favourite theme, the praises of May.

Harry was somewhat surprised to hear her speak in such unmeasured terms of her daughter's good qualities.

"The worthy woman naturally appreciates her daughter, and in her honest pride feels that she can never speak too highly of her," he thought.

While she was speaking the door opened and May entered, looking bright and beautiful as usual, and Harry thought her even more lovely than the day before. She started, and the colour rose slightly to her cheeks as she saw him. She evidently did not expect to find a visitor.

Harry naturally inquired if she had enjoyed the fête.

"Yes, she had been amused, at all events," she answered, with a smile. "And it was a pleasure to be able afterwards to describe it to the Miss Pembertons. I mentioned meeting you," she added, "and they look forward to seeing you before long.' Harry, of course, said he was on his way to his respects to his cousins; but being uncertain as to their house, had called at her father's to inquire which it was.

pay

"Our May will be able to show it to you, Mr. Harry," said the dame. "She seldom likes to be long away from the ladies, and I suppose will soon be going back there."

May hesitated. She did not look upon Mr. Castleton as a stranger, but she naturally felt a degree of timidity at the thought of walking with him alone. When, however, she looked up into his frank, open countenance, after he had sat talking for some time, the feeling vanished.

He told Adam how well he recollected his trip in the Nancy, and declared that even now he should like to take another. Then he remembered the little blue-eyed girl he had seen rush into Adam's arms, utterly regardless of his wet clothes.

Maiden May smiled.

"I remember that I was dreadfully frightened at seeing the boat coming in, thinking you would all be lost."

She was about to make another remark which would possibly have greatly puzzled Harry, when, looking up at the clock, she exclaimed:

"I had no idea it had been so late. I got leave to run down and see you for a few minutes, mother, and ought to have been back again by this time." Harry instantly rose.

"I hope that I have not detained you; but if you will kindly, as your mother proposes, show me the Miss Pembertons' house, I shall be grateful to you." May replied that she should be happy to do so, and Harry, wishing the fisherman and his wife good-by, went to look for the boy who had charge

of his horse. May, stopping to say a few words to the dame, came out by the time he had returned to the door of the cottage.

Harry, instead of mounting, taking the rein in his hand, walked by her side.

The subject of their conversation might seem commonplace, though perhaps it was interesting to themselves. Harry was at length led to speak of some of his adventures at sea from a question May had asked him, and on mentioning one of the battles in which he was engaged, he was surprised to find that his companion was thoroughly well acquainted with the details as well as with all the events which had lately taken place. During the walk Harry could not accuse himself of having said anything which could have been construed into making love to the fisherman's fair daughter.

On reaching Downside, May went into the house to send for the gardener to hold his horse, and to announce his visit. The two ladies came to the door to welcome him.

"I should have known you by your voice," said Miss Mary, taking his hand, "though you have grown from a boy into a man since we met you last. But there is something I discern in a voice which never alters; yours is the tone I like to hear."

"We must not flatter Harry, and I do not do it," observed Miss Jane. "I see the same expression in his countenance which won my regard when he was a midshipman. You recollect him, May, do you not?"

"I recognised Mr. Castleton at once yesterday," said May, without hesitation; "I should have been ungrateful had I not," and May turned her blue eyes towards the young officer.

His eyes met hers, and May speedily looked down, while a slight blush rose on her cheeks.

"I am indebted to Miss Halliburt for finding my way here so easily," observed Harry, "for I have never been in this part of Hurlston before, and did not know where your cottage was situated. What a beautiful spot it is! If I ever settle on shore, it is the sort of place I should like, with just that peep through the trees to remind me of the ocean which I have been wont to live on. Perhaps, if peace lasts, I shall be compelled to take up my abode on shore."

"Grant that it may!" said Miss Jane. "I should think the nations of Europe must be sick of the fearful strife which has raged so long, and will be very unwilling to recommence it."

66

Things do not look much like it," answered Harry. "The First Consul has shown no great love for peace; and, as I wish to obtain my promotion, I confess that I should like to have a little active service before long."

66

"I suppose that is but a natural wish for you to entertain," observed Miss Jane, with a sigh; yet I would that you saw the case in a different light, and might thus be led to reflect how contrary is the love of fighting to the religion of mercy and peace which we profess; and even though I acknowledge that fighting may be necessary for the defence of one's country, we should mourn the stern necessity which compels men to engage in it."

Harry had no wish to dispute the point with his cousins, although perhaps he did not quite enter into their views on the subject.

He gladly accepted their invitation to remain to luncheon. As he watched May attending to Miss Mary, he could not help remarking how ladylike and

graceful was every movement she made; he could scarcely believe that she had been born and bred in a fisherman's cottage, for honest and worthy as Adam and his wife appeared, they were plain and blunt in their manners, though the dame was in some respects certainly above her class.

"We must show you the grounds," said Miss Jane, when luncheon was over, "if you are not in a hurry to return home."

Harry was sure he should not be missed at Texford, and would very much like to see their garden. The ladies got their bonnets and shawls, and went out, May leading Miss Mary.

"Our dear May has quite spoilt me," observed the blind lady. "Instead of letting me learn to grope my way about, she always insists on my taking her arm, so that I can step out without fear of falling over anything in the path."

May looked affectionately at Miss Mary, as if she felt the duty was one in which she delighted.

They had just left the house when a girl came running up, saying that her mother was ill, and would be grateful if Miss Jane would come down and visit her.

"I must go at once, Mary," she said, "and leave you and May to do the honours to Harry. I dare say I shall be back before you go," she added, turning to him, "as the cottage is not far off."

Harry begged her not to hurry.

The grounds, though not extensive, were very pretty, for the Miss Pembertons had done much to improve them since their arrival. There was a lawn on the garden side of the house, with a number of flower-beds and shrubberies and walks, and here and there seats, with a rustic arbour covered with creepers. At the farther end of the grounds, where a spring of water bubbling up formed a pool surrounded by rocks, over which moisture-loving plants had been taught to creep, was a grotto artificially constructed of masses of rock. Miss Mary called Harry's attention to it, as she and her sister were very proud of the work, it having been formed under their directions; and she begged him especially to admire some figures formed with shells, a few only of which were finished, though they intended that the whole of the interior should be ornamented in the same style.

"This is just the sort of thing I should like to work at," exclaimed Harry. "It should be a thoroughly marine grotto. I see that there is a covey of flying-fish already finished. You might have Neptune and his car and attendant tritons at the farther end, dolphins and sword-fish and other inhabitants of the sea on either side. I must compliment the artist who executed those flying-fishthey are most natural."

"Here she is, then, to hear your praises," said Miss Mary; "but we shall be very glad if you will come and assist, as you take an interest in the sort of thing, as I am afraid that otherwise it will be a long time before it is completed."

"I shall be very glad to be of use, and to serve under Miss Halliburt, for she has made so admirable a beginning that she must remain director of the works. Will you accept my services?" he asked, looking at May.

"I cannot refuse them when they are so frankly offered," she said, looking up somewhat timidly as she spoke; "though I must leave the Miss Pembertons to decide who is to be director."

As some baskets of shells, and cement for sticking them on, were in the grotto, Harry, with May's assistance, tried his skill, and produced a very creditable flying-fish in addition to the covey she had commenced.

"I am very certain I could not have produced the result had I not had your model to copy from," said Harry.

Miss Mary seemed as much interested as if she could have seen the designs, and May and Harry worked on till Miss Jane returned, apologising to him for her long delay. He thought that she had been absent only a few minutes, and was quite surprised to find that an hour or more had passed away. They had still some portion of the grounds to visit, and on their return to the house he was surprised to find, on looking at a clock in the hall, that he had barely time to gallop back to Texford and to dress for dinner.

CHAPTER XXVIII.-MILES GAFFIN'S PROPOSAL

JACOB had been at work on board the Nancy, when he found that it was time to return home for dinner. He caught sight, as he approached the cottage, of May, as she and Harry Castleton were setting off on their way to Downside.

"Who can that be?" he thought, a strange feeling oppressing his heart. "It is not that scoundrel, young Gaffin. No, no; she would not walk so quietly alongside him. But I don't like it, that I don't; though as far as she is concerned it's all right, she would not do what is wrong. I am sure of that, and mother must know all about it."

He

Jacob watched May and Harry as long as they were in sight, and then something like a sigh broke from his bosom. After some time he entered the cottage. The information he gained from his mother did not make him much happier, for he could not believe that a young man such as his mother described Mr. Harry could see May without falling in love with her, and if so- Poor Jacob groaned as he thought of what might be the consequence. mechanically hurried over his dinner without appetite, and then, taking a basket, went off to the beach to collect some more shells and to fetch some which he had deputed some fisher-boys living at a considerable distance along the coast to obtain for him. He felt more downcast than he had ever been in his life, as he now began to realise the wide distance which existed between himself and May.

on.

"Of course she is just like an angel of light to a poor rough chap like me, yet I love the very ground she treads on," he murmured to himself as he went "There's not anything I would not do if she was to ask me, yet if I was to tell her so, I don't know what she would say. It would not make her angry; it would frighten her, though, I am afraid, and maybe she would be very sorry, and tell me I must not think of such a thing. Of course she would. I wish I had never been born," and Jacob felt as if he could have thrown himself down on the sand and cried his big honest heart out. Though the struggle was a rough one, he overcame his feelings for the moment and trudged on.

"I said I would get some shells for her and the ladies, and I will; and if I do but have a sight of her but for a little it is recompense enough."

Jacob went on collecting shells on the way till he reached the farthest point to which he intended to go, where he met the lads, who had collected a good

supply. He was returning pretty heavily laden under the cliffs, when, weary with his walk, he sat down on a bank of sand thrown up by the tide, placing his basket by his side. Thoughts such as seldom troubled him were passing through his mind, when he saw a man approaching him from the direction of Hurlston. As the stranger drew near he recognised Miles Gaffin.

The miller coming up to him, slapped him on the shoulder and sat down close to him, and in the frank, hearty tone he often assumed, said, "How fares it with you, Jacob? Why, lad, you look somewhat out of sorts."

"Do I, Mr. Gaffin? It's more than I wish to do, then," answered Jacob, who had no desire to enter into conversation with the miller.

"Perhaps I know the reason why you are not as happy as you would wish to be," said Gaffin, fixing his eyes on the young man's face. "There is a pretty girl in the case, whom you thought you would like to make your wife."

"Every man's thoughts are his own, Mr. Gaffin," answered Jacob, "and I do not see how you can know mine more than I can know yours."

Miles Gaffin laughed, not pleasantly. "The old can read the thoughts of the young better than you may think. Now, lad, I tell you that you are following a will-o'-the-wisp if you ever think to make the girl your father saved from the wreck your wife. She would laugh you to scorn if you breathed such a notion in her ear, and tell you to go and hide yourself, or be off to foreign lands, so that she might never set eyes on you again. Don't I say what is true, lad?"

In spite of his resolution a groan escaped Jacob's

breast.

"I thought so," continued his tormentor. "Now, Jacob, I have known you from a boy, and I will be frank with you. You fancy that I want my son to succeed where you are certain to fail; but I have no such notion in my head, though there is a difference, you will allow, between him and you. I don't, however, guide the young man's proceedings, or pretend to dictate to him; he is old enough and clever enough to act for himself, and I want it to be understood that I have nothing to do with his movements. You will mention that, if you have the opportunity. And now, my honest Jacob, if you are disposed for a trip to sea just let me know, and I will give you a chance which will suit your taste, I have a notion, and fill your pockets with gold. I know I can trust you, so I can say to you what I would not to others. Are you inclined for a trip on board the Lively? There is a berth for you if you are. Whatever way you may think she is employed, I can tell you that she carries a commission as good as any of the king's cruisers; though I do not pretend to say that in peace time she does not engage in a little free trade occasionally, yet that is not the business which I am employed on."

Miles had laid his hand on Jacob's arm so as to prevent him rising, which he showed an intention of doing.

"Do you wish to be convinced, lad? Look here, I know you can read," and Gaffin drew from his pocket a paper signed by Mr. Pitt, desiring any naval officers or others who might fall in with Miles Gaffin, the bearer, not to interfere with him, he being engaged in the secret service of his Majesty's government.

Jacob read the paper, and though he did not very clearly comprehend its meaning, it made him feel a greater fear, if not respect, for the bearer than he had before entertained.

Gaffin might possibly have shown one from the First Consul of France of the same description had he been disposed, but that was kept for use on the other side of the Channel. He was not the only person so employed at that time by the rival powers, to whom it was of the greatest importance to obtain information of each other's preparations.

"You see, my friend, that I invite you to engage in the service of your country. We want a few fresh, steady hands, and if you know any lads who would like to accompany you, your recommendation will be in their favour."

At no time could Gaffin have made such a proposition with a better prospect of success. Still the honest fellow was far from trusting his tempter. He knew well enough that, whatever Gaffin might say to the contrary, the Lively was engaged in smuggling, though she certainly had escaped capture in a wonderful way, which was perhaps now partly accounted for. His father had always set his face against contraband traders, and had warned his sons never to have anything to do with them. But there was another motive influencing him still more; May was in danger of being insulted by the son of the very man who was trying to persuade him to leave home. She might scorn him, but he would stop near her to watch over her safety. Neither would he ever leave his father and mother without their sanction.

Gaffin, not aware of the thoughts which were passing through his mind, watched him for some minutes without speaking.

"Well, my lad, what do you say to my offer?" he at length asked.

"That I am not going to leave my old father and mother, whatever you or any other man may say to me, Mr. Gaffin," answered Jacob, putting his arm through the handle of his basket, and rising; "good evening to you."

He walked on.

Gaffin, after sitting for a moment, somewhat taken aback, followed him.

"Come, think of my offer, lad; I wish you well. I have no reason to do otherwise," he said, in his most insinuating tone.

"It's no use your wasting words on me, Mr. Gaffin; if you are going to the south'ard you had better go, I am homeward bound."

"That was not a civil remark, my lad; but I will overlook it, and perhaps you will think better of the matter."

"I can't think better of a bad matter, Mr. Gaffin," answered Jacob, firmly, hurrying on.

The smuggler folded his arms, and stood watching the young man as he trudged sturdily over the

sands.

"I will win him over yet, though his father may be too obstinate to move," he muttered to himself as he made his way up the cliff to the mill.

Jacob carried his basket of shells to Downside, and deposited them with Susan; for the ladies were at tea, and they did not hear of his coming. Susan spoke of the visit Mr. Harry Castleton had just paid.

"Such a nice gentleman," she observed; "the ladies kept him here all the afternoon, helping Miss

May to work at the grotto; and I have a notion that he was very well pleased to be so employed. I should not be surprised if he is back here again before long," she added.

Jacob did not stop to hear more, but emptying his basket of shells, hurried home. What he had heard did not contribute to raise his spirits. He at once told his father of his meeting with Miles Gaffin.

"If you care for me or for your own happiness, don't have anything to say to him," said Adam, earnestly; "he bears none of us any love, and, depend on't, he means mischief.”.

THE SITE OF THE CRUCIFIXION.*

THE

HE Church of the Holy Sepulchre stands in a crowded part of the city, at some distance to the north-west of the Temple. It is a comparatively modern structure, no portion being probably older than the period of the Crusades. Those who are concerned to maintain the authenticity of the site, assert that fragments of a much earlier edifice may be found; but the best architectural authorities agree that this is not the case. It is entered through a courtyard, in which a market is now held for the sale of trinkets, rosaries, pictures, and curiosities. Just inside the principal entrance a Turkish guard is stationed to keep order and repress disturbances amongst the hostile sects and nationalities who visit it.

In passing round the church, attention is distracted and incredulity excited by the aggregation under one roof of all kinds of shrines and holy places. Here are shown not only the sites of the crucifixion and the resurrection, but the tombs of Adam, Melchisedek, Joseph of Arimathea, and Nicodemus; the place where our Lord was crowned with thorns, and where he appeared to Mary Magdalene; the pillar to which he was bound during the scourging; the slab upon which his body was laid for the anointing; the spot where he first appeared to his mother after the resurrection; the centre of the earth; the place whence the earth was taken from which Adam was made, with many other marvels. Even those who come with simple faith to "see the place where the Lord lay," depart indignant at the frauds and lying legends palmed off upon them. This feeling is increased by the tinsel and frippery which abound everywhere. The very Chapel of the Resurrection is made offensive by puerile ornamentation and tawdry finery. Yet in spite of all it is strangely affecting to see the agony of earnestness, the passionate fervour of devotion, displayed by pilgrims, many of whom have travelled on foot from incredible ances to pray at the sacred shrine.

ין

We now proceed to inquire what is the evidence upon which the authenticity of the site rests. We may dismiss, without a moment's hesitation, the legends which cluster around the main central tradition; but have we reasonable ground for believing that our Lord was crucified and buried upon this spot? In the reign of Constantine the city had been laid utterly waste, its very name had ceased to be used, and Christians and Jews had been banished from it

* From a forthcoming volume on the Holy Land, by the author of "Swiss, Italian," and "Spanish" Pictures.

"

for generations. The superstitious zeal of the Empress Helena prompted her to visit the sacred places, and the site of Calvary had been fixed by the alleged discovery of the three crosses which were found in a pit, and their authenticity attested by the miracles. which were worked. Constantine now resolved to discover the sepulchre and to erect a church, the splendour and beauty of which should surpass all others. Eusebius tells that the pagans had piled a mound of earth over the cave, had paved the surface, and placed upon it a temple to Venus. The Emperor caused these to be removed, when, " as soon as the original surface of the ground, beneath its covering of earth, appeared, immediately and contrary to all expectation, the venerable and hallowed monument of our Saviour's resurrection was discovered." The cave was adorned with marbles, a colonnade was erected round it, and a basilica was built in honour of the Anastasis, or resurrection.

Constantine discover the true site? Does the present Two questions at once suggest themselves. Did church stand upon the same spot with his basilica? To these questions the most contradictory answers are given. By some it is maintained that the Emperor was guided in his search by accurate information, that a continuous tradition connects his edifice with the present church, and that, consequently, we have the very place of the entombment and resurrection fixed beyond reasonable doubt. Others holding that the true site was discovered by Constantine, yet assert that during the intervals in which Christians were banished from Jerusalem by Persian and Mohammedan conquerors, the original edifice was destroyed, the locality forgotten, and that a new church has sprung up around which legends have clustered in the lapse of ages which have no historical basis. Others, again, assert that Constantine was the dupe either of superstition or of imposture, and that there was absolutely no evidence that the sepulchre was where he sought for it.

have raged upon these questions I do not propose to Into the protracted and angry discussions which enter here. But after a careful examination of the site, and of the arguments urged by the various disputants, I come to the conclusion that the place of the crucifixion and the entombment must be sought elsewhere, and not on the spot which tradition points out. Though the indications of Scripture may be insufficient to show us where it was, they are yet quite adequate to tell us where it was not.

1. It was outside the city, yet near to it (John xix. 20; Hebrews xiii. 12).

2. It was a place where interments were permitted, and as a matter of fact did take place (Matt. xxvii. 59, 60; Mark xv. 46, 47; Luke xxiii. 53; John xix. 41, 42).

3. There was a garden in "the place" (John xix. 40-42).

4. It was by the side of a road leading up from the country (Matt xxvii. 39; Mark xv. 21, 29; Luke xxiii. 26).

siderable number of persons from a distance (Matt. 5. It was a spot capable of being seen by a conxxvii. 55; Mark xv. 40; Luke xxiii. 49).

6. It was within sight and hearing of a spot where the priests could stand without danger of defilement (Matt. xxvii. 41; Mark xv. 31; John xviii. 28).

7. It was not far from the barracks of the Roman soldiers, some of whom ran and fetched the vinegar—