Hark, that hoarse shouting, that trampling and hurrying of feet! The procession comes in sight; the centurion leads the way, the soldiers dragging Jesus and His heavy cross—then the maddened crowd surge around, about and behind her. She approaches to embrace Him, but the soldiers thrust her rudely back. He staggers, and falls with a dull, heavy sound upon the street. O God of heaven! He falls, and His sweet Mother must stand and look on. Well may she say, “Look and see if there be sorrow like unto my sorrow.” Men crowd around Him, and with curses and blows drag Him up, and sweep on again on the way to Calvary, to finish their impious designs. O my Mother, I too was one of the agents in that cruel work! Surely, when I see all that my most sorrowful Mother had to undergo, it will cost me no great effort to have a loving devotion to her. Can we look on this sinless, uncomplaining Mother, standing in the streets of Jerusalem, gazing on her Son and her God torn and bruised, crowned with cruel thorns, bending under the heavy cross which we gave Him, and refuse to bear the little crosses which He gives us? Oh, no! Let us look at our Mother, and like her see all the beauty of our Jesus in the blood‐stained countenance of the God made man, and carry most gladly all trials that our loving Lord may send us. Prayer. O most holy Mary, in the great battle in which I am now engaged with hell, do thou always help me! And when thou seest me wavering, and likely to fall, O my Lady, do thou extend thy hand and sustain me. Mary, my hope, my refuge, my strength, do thou protect me, and never allow me to lose the grace of God. And on my part, I resolve always and instantly to have recourse to thee in all temptations, saying, “Help me, Mary, help me.” Amen. Twelfth Day. The Crucifixion.