on His shoulders, a fool's sceptre — a reed — in His hand. She sees the crowd sway hither and thither as the soldiers, in grim sport, struggle to reach Him, to mock Him, as a King whom she knows truly to be the King of kings; to spit on and buffet and load with dishonor Him whom she knows to be the soul of honor; to torture and torment Him who, she knows, was always good and kind to everybody, and feels even for His enemies naught but tenderness and love. Why, even the stony heart of Pilate is moved to pity as he looks on, and he is led to believe and hope that if that howling mob outside could only see the man now, they, too, would be moved to pity Him and let Him go. So once again he orders Him to be dragged up and out upon the balcony, with His hands bound, the crown on His head, the purple robe on His shoulders, the reed in His hand; and thinking to give them the full benefit of the piteous spectacle, Pilate suddenly presents Him to them and shouts out: " Behold the man! " Behold the man! Ah, if you have the smallest vein of sympathy in your nature; if your heart ever beat fast and swelled with pity for a poor fellow creature, for a poor Brother, — behold this man and shed one little tear over His deplorable condition. What more touching sight is there than to behold a strong man writhing in mute agony? There before me stands my poor, gentle, patient Brother; His knees trembling beneath Him with weakness, and every muscle of His mangled body shivering with torture; His head bowed down, and those pathetic eyes searching the crowd with a
