f this, for he says, "_I am now ready to be offered, and the
time of my departure is at hand_." It is probable, therefore, that
Demas feared lest by continuing with the apostle he might share his
dreadful fate. He pictured himself being carried away in chains by the
brutal soldiery, as he had seen many others, to the great amphitheatre,
to be thrown into the arena, and there to be drawn limb from limb by
ferocious beasts, for the amusement of the frivolous thousands who
gloated on such scenes. The bare thought of it made him tremble. He
"_loved the present world_"; to him life was too precious, too full of
delightful possibilities, to be thrown away in the prime of manhood--to
be thrown away especially in this awful fashion. Visions of former
days began to haunt him. His early home, the comrades of his youth,
his loving kindred, all that he had left when he became a convert,
completely engrossed his thoughts, and cast over him a fascination that
was becoming irresistible. There was nothing else for it; he must see
them once more, even though it should cost him his hope of heaven. And
so he "departed to Thessalonica," the place where he was bred and born.
Some suppose that he took this step for the sake of gain--for the sake
of engaging in some lucrative trade. It may be so; but there is no
evidence to prove it.

These considerations, though they explain, do not excuse Demas's
conduct. Far from it. He richly merits all the censure that has been
meted out to him. He ought to have played the man, and braved any
danger for the sake of his principles. Like the Psalmist, he ought to
have said: "_The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the strength of my life, of whom shall I be afraid_?"
Compared with the kingdom to which he belonged, what was Rome with all
its power? Compared with the King whom he served, what was Nero with
all his glory? Compared with the joys of holy living, what was the
world with all its attractions? But he failed to realise these great
facts, and hence he acted the part of a weakling; he bent as a reed,
when he ought to have stood firm as an oak. If all the first disciples
had been made of such pliable stuff as himself, what would have been
the condition of the world to-day? How mean and cowardly his action
appears when contrasted with the heroic endurance of weak women, who
rather than deny their Lord faced the "_violence of fire_!" Weakness
in certain s