n, and
upbraided them with their wickedness and vice. But, except to bless and
to encourage, and to add to the happiness and hope of others, Jesus
spoke not. So far as the malice of the passers-by, and of priests and
sanhedrists and soldiers, and of these poor robbers who suffered with
him, was concerned--as before during the trial so now upon the cross--he
maintained unbroken his kingly silence.

But that silence, joined to his patient majesty and the divine holiness
and innocence which radiated from him like a halo, was more eloquent
than any words. It told earliest on one of the crucified robbers. At
first this _bonus latro_ of the Apocryphal Gospels seems to have faintly
joined in the reproaches uttered by his fellow-sinner; but when those
reproaches merged into deeper blasphemy, he spoke out his inmost
thought. It is probable that he had met Jesus before, and heard him, and
perhaps been one of those thousands who had seen his miracles. There is
indeed no authority for the legend which assigns to him the name of
Dysmas, or for the beautiful story of his having saved the life of the
Virgin and her Child during their flight into Egypt. But on the plains
of Gennesareth, perhaps from some robber's cave in the wild ravines of
the Valley of the Doves, he may well have approached his presence--he
may well have been one of those publicans and sinners who drew near to
him for to hear him. And the words of Jesus had found some room in the
good ground of his heart; they had not all fallen upon stony places.
Even at this hour of shame and death, when he was suffering the just
consequence of his past evil deeds, faith triumphed. As a flame
sometimes leaps up among dying embers, so amid the white ashes of a
sinful life which lay so thick upon his heart, the flame of love toward
his God and his Saviour was not quite quenched. Under the hellish
outcries which had broken loose around the cross of Jesus there had lain
a deep misgiving. Half of them seem to have been instigated by doubt and
fear. Even in the self-congratulations of the priests we catch an
undertone of dread. Suppose that even now some imposing miracle should
be wrought! Suppose that even now that martyr-form should burst indeed
into messianic splendor, and the King, who seemed to be in the slow
misery of death, should suddenly with a great voice summon his legions
of angels, and, springing from his cross upon the rolling clouds of
heaven, come in flaming fire to take