e beloved disciple! He had
doubtless heard words spoken which no other ear had heard; he who was
nearest to the heart of Jesus, must have listened to mysteries which
the rest could not hear. Day by day as the old Bishop lies in the dim
religious light of the minster, he looks back and sees, as in a vision,
the story of the vanished years. What sees he? He looks in memory
upon a marriage feast, far away in Cana of Galilee. He sees the giver
of the feast anxious and troubled. The wine is exhausted. He hears
the Master give the answer to the Virgin Mother's request, and His
command to the servants. He recalls the astonishment of all present
when "the conscious water saw its God, and blushed;" and he learns from
that first miracle of the Master a lesson of love. Many another loving
act of mercy comes back to his memory. He seems to see once more the
impotent man, lying sadly at the pool of Bethesda. Again he looks on
the multitude thronging the mountain by the Lake of Galilee; and in the
broken bread which feeds the crowd, S. John sees a lesson of love.
Once more he looks upon the trembling, sinful, sorrowful woman, whom
the Jewish rulers drag to condemnation. Once more he sees the Master's
hand-writing upon the ground, and hears this gentle sentence, "Go, and
sin no more." Once more he hears the wondrous lessons of the Light of
the World, and the True Vine, and the Good Shepherd, which his own hand
had written from the Master's mouth. Once more he seems to stand
beside the grave of dead Lazarus, and as he sees the dead alive again,
he learns another lesson of love, and whispers, "We know that we have
passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." After all
that lapse of ages, the old man seems to see the sparkle of Mary's
tears, and to smell the perfume of her precious gift.

Then, too, there comes the memory of Palm Sunday, with its glad
procession, its waving branches, its joyful shouts, in which S. John,
then young and vigorous, had delighted to take part. Then the
beginning of sorrow, the days of wonder, and of terror, and of gloom,
begin to darken round the old man's sight. The night comes back to him
when the dear Hands of Jesus washed his feet, and when, at that sad and
solemn parting feast, he had lain close to the loving Heart of the
Master. Once more he sees Judas go forth on his dark errand; once more
he sees the gloomy shadows of Gethsemane, and hears the clash of arms
as the sold