At the close of the day Jesus withdrew to the Mount of Olives, and it is interesting to trace in Him once more that dislike of crowded cities, that love for the pure, sweet, fresh air, and for the quiet of the lonely hill, which we see in all parts of His career. There was, indeed, in Him nothing of that supercilious sentimentality and morbid egotism which makes men shrink from all contact with their brother men; nor can they who would be His true servants belong to those merely fantastic philanthropists "who," as Coleridge says, "sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched, nursing in some delicious solitude their dainty loves and slothful sympathies." On the contrary, day after day, while His daytime of work continued, we find Him sacrificing all that was dearest and most elevating to His soul, and in spite of heat and pressure and conflict and weariness, calmly pursuing His labours of love amid "the madding crowd's ignoble strife." But in the nigh...
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